Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Yuna Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Children of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Svetlana Vetrova, Troy Barrett, Luca Haas, Wyatt Hayes

Additional Tags:

Mpreg | Male Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Childbirth, Graphic Description, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sick Character, Blood Disorder, Hollanov Girl Dads, Secret Baby, non-canon, tags to be added along with chapters, Not AI generated lol, Sad Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Genetic Disorders & Abnormalities

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-23 Completed: 2026-04-07 Words: 60,108 Chapters: 6/6

Held In The Quiet Between Us

Summary

Liliya squirms slightly as he slides her tiny arms into the sleeves, her face scrunching in mild protest. "I know, I know," Shane murmurs, smiling faintly. "Not your favourite thing." He glances briefly at the phone, then back to her. "Maybe one day," he says quietly, "we can show this to your papa."

There's a subtle shift in the room. Yuna's smile falters just slightly. David, standing nearby, looks down for a moment before composing himself.

Shane doesn't stop. "This is the day you came home," he tells her. "The first day of the rest of our lives kiddo." His fingers are careful as he buttons the cardigan, adjusting it so it sits just right.

"I think he'd like to see this,” he adds softly.

Or, Shane and Ilya sleep together the day they meet in December 2008. Shane ends up pregnant. Ilya has no idea, it’s only when their daughter is diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder that Shane realises he has no choice but the break the silence between them.

Notes

Hiii!! So I have the majority of this written up in my drafts, waiting to be edited. I’m going to aim for at least one chapter a week but no promises!!

Also full disclosure, I know a lot of fics on here at the moment are being written with the help of AI and it can be really hard to distinguish the difference between a writer who’s putting in the time and effort and someone who is cheating their way through.

But I can promise you now, I have not and will not ever use any form of AI within my writing. I’ve been writing these Mpreg fics since 2020 and I love every second of it! It’s such a shame that this is happening, but I swear I will keep at it despite all the negativity and cheaters <3

Anyways, hope you enjoy :))

Chapter 1

The first time Shane sees him, is outside of the arena at the International Prospects Cup.

The building hums behind him—noise bleeding through the walls, skates on ice, coaches shouting, the distant echo of pucks striking boards.

It's everything Shane had been working toward, everything he's dreamed about since he first touched the ice at six years old.

Scouts. Teams. A future just within reach.

And yet here he is,  stood outside. Too much energy in his veins to sit still. Too many thoughts pressing in. The perks of one being Autistic, never being able to switch off, despite how badly you needed to. 

It’s in that moment of self pity that he notices him.

Leaning against the side of the building like he doesn't have a care in the world, golden brown hair falling into his eyes, expression unreadable.

There's something sharp about him—not just in his features, but the way he exists, like he's deliberately set apart from everything around him.

Shane recognises him instantly. Anyone would. 

Ilya Rozanov. One of Russia’s most talked about teen prodigies. 

Shane hesitates for half a second. Then he walks over. Confidence taking over him in a way it never had before. 

"Erm — Y-you’re Ilya Rozanov, right?"

Ilya doesn't answer right away. He just looks at him—slow, measured, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette.

He taps it against the box, slides it between his lips, and lights it like Shane hadn't spoken at all. The flame briefly illuminates his face. Then he exhales.

"Maybe," Ilya says.

Shane huffs out a quiet breath, somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You know I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke here."

Ilya glances around, completely unbothered. "Okay." He makes no move to put the cigarette out.

Shane shakes his head slightly, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "I've er— I've watched a few of your games," he says instead. "You're... really good."

That seems to get his attention.

Ilya finally looks back at him, sharper this time. "Yes," he says simply.

Shane blinks, caught off guard. Then he laughs. "That's it? Just yes?"

Ilya shrugs one shoulder. "I mean—You are not wrong." There's no arrogance in it. No attempt to impress. Just fact.

And for some reason, that makes Shane grin. "I'm Shane, Shane Hollander." he says.

"I know."

Of course he does.

They stand there for a moment, the quiet settling between them—nothing too awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. Just... something.

"You excited to play later?" Shane asks.

"Yes."

"Good," Shane says. "I want to see if you're as good as you look when you're playing against me."

A pause mid drag, then Ilya smirks faintly. "You will see."

Shane should leave. He knows that.

But instead, he stays.

He allows himself to talk to someone and actually enjoy their company without feeling as though the ground is about to swallow him whole. It's strange, how easy it becomes. Talking. 

Shane is used to conversations about hockey being intense—competitive, edged with ego and expectation. 

But with Ilya, it's different. There's no performance. No attempt to impress. They talk about the game like it's something inevitable. Like breathing.

"You play center?" Ilya asks.

"Yeah."

Ilya nods once. "I can tell."

"Of course you can ," Shane mutters. That almost earns him a real smile.

Time slips away, unnoticed. For once the thought of clock watching didn’t appeal to either of them. 

The cold bites at Shane's fingers, harsh and brutal, but he ignores it. There's something about Ilya that makes it hard for him to walk away—not because he's warm or welcoming, but because he's... compelling.

"Do you ever talk to anyone about anything other than hockey?" Shane asks at one point.

Ilya considers that. “Ah.. No.” 

Shane huffs a laugh. "Yeah. Same here."

Their eyes meet. And something shifts. It's subtle. Barely there. But Shane feels it.

"You should go inside," Ilya says after a moment. "We have to be ready for game. Four hours to go now Da? Drills first, warm ups…” 

"Yeah," Shane agrees. “You’re probably right, I should go.” 

Neither of them moves.

The air feels heavier now. Charged in a way Shane doesn't quite understand—but doesn't want to break.

"Or..." Shane starts, then stops himself. What is he doing?! Shane Hollander doesn’t do things like this! 

Ilya tilts his head. "Or?"

Shane exhales slowly. Brown eyes locking on blue.  “Or we warm up by ourselves elsewhere?" Fuck where the hell did that confidence come from? 

A beat. Then Ilya flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his heel.

"Okay."

It happens pretty fast after that. Not rushed in a way that felt too much—rushed in a way that felt desperate and wanted. There's no grand decision, no drawn-out hesitation. Just a quiet understanding that neither of them questions.

They leave together. Find themselves stumbling into Ilya’s hotel room like a pair of reckless idiots.

Then,  once they're alone, once the door is locked and bolted. The tension that's been building between them finally snaps.

The first touch is electric.

Shane barely has time to register it before Ilya is pulling him closer, hands firm, certain. There's no uncertainty in him, no second-guessing.

Shane responds in kind. It's not soft. It's not slow. It’s messy and uncoordinated.  

It's intensity and curiosity and something that Shane imagines feels a little like falling into an abyss.

 It feels nice for once — Stepping out of line and pushing his boundaries just to see what happens. The panic he usually feels dampened by Ilya’s steady breaths catching against his lips in desperate pulls. 

Ilya is focused, deliberate, like he is on the ice. Every movement purposeful. Like he doesn’t want to mess this up. And Shane matches him.

They don't talk about what it means.

They don't talk about tomorrow.

They just exist in it.

For once in his eighteen years of life, Shane Hollander forgets the plan and lives in the moment. 

It’s the after that changes everything.

Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe it just reveals what was always true. 

Shane wakes first, the unfamiliar room coming into focus slowly. For a moment, he lies still, replaying over and over the hours before in his head. 

Reality hits hard. 

Shit had they fallen asleep?! What time is it?!

He quickly scrambles , looking over towards the clock. 4:30pm. Shit! The team will be wondering where he is, Shane is never late.

He turns his head. Ilya is still asleep. Even now, he looks composed. Untouchable.

Shane watches him for a moment, something complicated settling in his chest. He doesn't know what this is. Doesn't know what it could be. 

And maybe that's the problem.

Because outside of this room is everything he's worked for. Everything he can't risk losing. So he makes a decision. Maybe it’s one he’ll regret, maybe it’s not.

Quietly, carefully, Shane gets up and leaves. No note. No goodbye.

Just a simple press on the alarm clock to set it for five minutes. The least he could do is make sure Ilya got up in time for the game. 

They don't speak again. Not during the game. Not after. Just a simple hand shake and a see you at the drafts. That’s it. 

Life moves on.

Or at least in that moment, Shane thinks it does.

——————————————————————————

Seven months later, his whole world stops dead. 

Shane is on the ice when it happens.

One second he's skating, pushing himself harder than ever (the result of the draft , number two, laying on him, pressure mounting) And the next everything tilts. His vision blurs. Sound distorts. And then, nothing. Just silence. 

When he wakes, Shane's not on the ice anymore. The lights are too bright. The air smells sterile.

A hospital.

Panic flares immediately. The noise all too much, the smells only adding to the sensory overload he is experiencing. 

"What happened?" he demands, pushing himself up. Head spinning as he tried to focus in on the blurred figures standing in front of him. 

“Honey, don’t sit up too fast!” Yuna scolds, moving to help him sit. 

“Mom? Why- what’s going on?” 

David sighs, moving to stand on Shane’s opposite side. “You had a fall at practice son, hit your head pretty hard.”

“Really?” Shane winces, hand moving to scrub at his face. “How did that happen?” He asks, looking towards the medical professional hovering in the corner.

"Mr Hollander, I’m Doctor Jones. I was just explaining to your parents before you woke. The cause of your fall is simple. You fainted," The young doctor says , straight to the point. "We ran some tests. Is it safe for us to talk about those results in front of your parents?"

Something about his tone makes Shane's stomach drop.

"Y-yes of course it is. Why? What did you find?" Shane presses.

The doctor hesitates. His brow furrowing as he looks from him over to Yuna and David. Before finally settling his  gaze back on Shane. 

"Well Mr Hollander, You're pregnant."

The words don't land. They hover somewhere just out of reach, impossible to grasp. 

There’s just no way. 

"That's not funny," Shane says automatically.

"I'm not joking. I assure you.” Doctor Jones states calmly. “We ran the bloods, managed to do an ultrasound and foetal heartbeat check. You're most definitely pregnant." 

Silence. Deafening. 

"How far along?" Shane asks, his voice barely steady.

"The foetus measured in at 28 weeks. Approximately seven months along."

The room spins again. Seven months.

No. No, that's not -

And then it clicks. That one time before the prospects cup.

Ilya.

Shane's breath catches sharply. "No," he whispers. His hands start to shake. “W-What are my options?" he asks, even though part of him already knows the answer to his question.

The doctor's expression softens.

"At this stage, termination isn't safe. The legal limit for an abortion is twenty four weeks, you’re now past that. That leaves you with the option of Adoption or well, raising the child yourself.” 

Too late.

It's too late.

—

For Shane, telling his parents about Ilya is actually worse than witnessing them find out he’s pregnant. Not because they react badly—but because they don't. Because they listen. Because they care.

Because they don't make it easier for him to hate this by being angry.

"I don't know what to do," Shane admits, his voice breaking. "I have no way of telling him, at least not until I play against him again and who knows when that'll be. I don't even know what I'm going to do about the baby!" 

Yuna moves closer immediately, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to decide anything right now," she says gently. 

"But I do," Shane insists. "Montreal drafted me mom, it’s my career, my everything.  I-it's all finally starting to work out for me mom. Everything I've ever wanted and now this— this happened and it's thrown everything in a loop! I- I can’t deal with this.”

"Shane," David says firmly, "we'll figure it out."

Shane shakes his head. "I can't lose hockey." 

"Then don't," David replies.

It's that simple. And somehow, that makes it harder.

The days that follow are a blur of thoughts and possibilities. Every option feels impossible. Until It doesn't.

It’s 3am by the time he finally makes a plan. But he does it. It's seamless. Well, at least it is to him. And as far as Shane is concerned, that’s all that matters. 

"So last night I worked it out.” Shane tells his parents the following day. “ The baby's due about a month before my first season with Montreal," He begins pacing the room. "That gives me time. Time to get things sorted out, to get things ready to start the season. It means I can keep the baby, raise them. I don’t have to stress about giving them up or ruining my life-“

Yuna frowns. "Shane—"

"I can recover," he continues. "Train. Get back in shape."

"Birth isn't predictable," she warns. "Recovery isn't either."

"I know."

"And after? You don't know how you’re going to feel. You're eighteen years old Shane. It's a lot to take on at your age."

Shane stops pacing. "I'll figure it out. I always figure it out mom." 

David studies him carefully. "And if something goes wrong?"

Shane hesitates. " T-then I will just say I'm injured. Nothing dramatic , just a sprained ankle or pulled muscle."  Silence. "They won't cut me, you both know that much," he adds. "I'm too valuable. I may have been number two in the draft pick but I'm still one hell of a player." 

It's not arrogance.

It's reality.

Yuna exhales slowly, worry etched into every line of her face. "This is a lot," she says. "And you still need to figure out a way of telling Rozanov. It's not exactly something you can spring on a guy out of nowhere honey.." 

"I know."

"Im not so sure you do.” She sighs warily. “But if this is what you want..."

"It is."

After a long pause, Yuna looks to her husband. Smiling softly as David nods towards their son. “Okay, that’s that then.”

Yuna follows, though more reluctantly. "We'll help you," she says. "No matter what. We just need to make sure you and that baby make it through." 

Shane exhaled in relief. Hand slipping down to rest against his still firmly flat stomach. "We will." 

"Okay, right." His mother states standing. "We need to make sure we have an emergency statement in pending. This could be released at any given moment and if it happens during your rookie year... it's a media shit show."

"Mom!"

"What? It's true and you know it. Now come on," Yuna pressed, walking down the hallway. "You can help me write it seems as your silly ass got knocked up."

"I can't believe you talk to me like that." Shane grumbles, looking towards his chuckling father. "I can't believe you let her!" 

"You love me." 

—

That night, Shane lies awake, staring at the ceiling.

Everything has changed. But not every change was bad, it was something he was trying to tell himself everyday. 

His hand drifts to his stomach, resting there uncertainly. Seven months along . It was so surreal. His stomach was as flat as it had ever been. No evidence showing of the tiny being growing inside of there. 

A baby. A future he never planned for. And somewhere out there—

Ilya. 

A simple morning spent together that turned into something permanent.

There would come a time when he can finally tell him. Allow him to make a choice. But for now , all Shane could do is wait. Wait for the day that they finally come face to face on the ice again. 

Shane exhales slowly. "Okay," he whispers. "We've got three months to get it together kiddo." It's not confidence. Not yet.

But it's something. And for now— It's enough.

——————————————————————————

Ten weeks later is when Shane wakes to wet sheets and the immediate, bone-deep certainty that something is wrong.

For a second, he doesn't move.

His brain is still foggy with sleep, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the cold dampness clinging against his skin. 

Then it hits him all at once. His waters. "Oh…holy fucking shit."

The words come out thin and shaky. His hands hover uselessly over his stomach, his heart already racing too fast. "No, no, no. Baby it’s too early you can’t— Fuck.”  His bump is so tiny, it had only started to show four weeks ago. 

Panic crashes in, fast and overwhelming.

His breathing stutters, chest tightening as if it's being squeezed from the inside. "Mom!"

The shout breaks halfway through. Yuna is rushing in through his doorway within seconds. "Shane?"

"I—my waters broke—" His voice fractures. "It's too early, I- something's wrong—"

She crosses the room quickly, sitting beside him, grounding him with steady hands on his shoulders. "Hey. Honey, hey . You need to look at me."

He tries, but his vision is already blurring.

"I can't—I can't — Mom, I’m—“

"Yes, you can," she says firmly, her voice calm in a way that cuts through the chaos. "Shane, breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow."

He shakes his head, breath hitching. uncontrollably ."I can't—"

"You can," she insists. "With me. In." She demonstrates, slow and deliberate. Shane mirrors her—barely. "Out," she says.

They repeat the process. Again and again.

It takes a little time, but gradually the sharp edge of panic dulls. His breathing steadies just enough that the room stops spinning.

"Good," Yuna murmurs. "That's it."

Shane swallows hard, still trembling. "It's too early," he whispers. "Right?"

"Two weeks early," she says gently. "That's not unusual. It's okay. They'll be okay honey." 

It doesn't feel like it’ll be okay. He’s fucking terrified. But he nods anyway.

"Let's call the hospital," she adds.

The midwife on call that answers the phone is calm, professional. "Yes, come in," she says after hearing the situation. "Even if contractions haven't started yet. We'll want to monitor him and the baby. Without the amniotic fluid, baby and Shane are slightly more at risk of infection." 

Shane clings to that—monitoring, professionals, safety. It helps, keeps his brain calm during the ongoing chaos. 

David is already getting the car ready by the time they head downstairs. "You've got your bag?" he asks.

Shane nods, though he barely remembers packing it. Everything feels distant. Unreal. They get into the car. And for a few minutes, it's quiet. Almost peaceful. It comes out of nowhere…

Pain.

It hits suddenly, sharp and deep, wrapping around his abdomen and lower back like a vice tightening.

Shane gasps. "Ah—!" His hands fly to his stomach instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he freezes.

"Shane?" Yuna's voice is immediate.

"I—" He sucks in a breath and then... holds it.

"Don't hold your breath," she says quickly. "Breathe through it."

He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as the pain peaks. It's unlike anything he's ever felt—intense, consuming. It keeps building and building until it feels like it might split him open.

"Shane, breathe."

"I can't—"

"Yes, you can. In—slow—"

He forces himself to listen. In. Out. The pain crests. And then— It eases. Not gone. The dull ache a reminder that the pain will never fully be gone. But manageable.

Shane slumps back slightly, shaking. "Oh my god..."

"That was your first contraction," Yuna says softly. "This is it Shane, they're coming." 

His heart pounds. "It's only going to get worse, isn't it?"

She doesn't lie. "Yes."

—

Traffic turns a thirty-minute drive into two hours.

Two hours of contractions that start far apart but slowly, steadily close in.

At first, Shane can talk through them. But after a while he can't. Each one demands his full attention—his body tensing, breath stuttering as the pain builds from a dull ache into something sharp and overwhelming.

"They're closer," David notes from the front.

Yuna checks the timer on her phone. "Seven minutes."

Shane whimpers as another one starts, his hands gripping the seat. "Lasting forty five seconds," she adds. It feels longer. Much longer.

By the time they reach the hospital, Shane is exhausted—and it's only just beginning.

They get him into a delivery room quickly. Monitors are attached—one strapped around his abdomen to track contractions, another to pick up the baby's heartbeat. The steady, rapid thump fills the room.

Healthy and strong. Rapidly thumping away.

Shane clings to that. A midwife enters a few minutes later. "Hi, Shane. I'm Jenny," she says, her voice warm but efficient. "I'm just going to check how far along you are, okay?"

Shane stiffens immediately. "Check?"

"A cervical exam," she explains. "We need to know how dilated you are."

His stomach twists. "I—no. I don't want—" The thought alone is enough to spike his anxiety again.

"Shane," David says gently, stepping closer. "It's okay."

"No, it's—" His voice shakes. "I can't— that's so humiliating." 

"You can," Yuna says, just as steady as before. "Sweetheart, you need to. It's for the baby."

That word grounds him. Baby, it’s all worth it  for his baby. He exhales shakily.

David squeezes his shoulder. "We're right here."

Shane swallows hard, nodding once. "Okay... okay. You can check.” 

Jenny smiles reassuringly. "Good. I'll be quick."

She guides him through positioning—lying back, hips at the edge of the bed. "Knees apart, heels together," she instructs. It feels exposing. Vulnerable. Shane's face burns, his hands gripping the sheets as he forces himself to stay still.

"Try to relax," Jenny says gently. Easier said than done.

He flinches slightly as she begins the exam her gloved fingers, firm but careful. It's uncomfortable. A deep pressure that makes him tense instinctively.

"Almost done," she murmurs. A few seconds later, she withdraws. "Well," she says, sounding impressed. "You're at seven centimetres."

Shane blinks. "That's good, right?"

"Very good," she confirms.

Relief flickers— Then she adds, "But it does mean we're too far along for an epidural."

The relief shatters instantly. "What?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "Epidurals are typically placed earlier. At this stage, it wouldn't be safe or effective by the time they got around to it." 

Panic surges again. "No—no, you have to—please—"

"I can offer gas and air," she says quickly, picking up the mouthpiece. "It will help take the edge off."

Shane grabs it like a lifeline.

"Use it as the contraction builds," she instructs. "Deep breaths."

Another contraction hits just on time. Stopping him in his tracks before he can respond. He cries out softly, bringing the mouthpiece to his lips and inhaling sharply. The effect is almost immediate. The pain is still there; intense, undeniable—but it feels... distant. Blunted at the edges.

It helps. 

"Good," Jenny encourages. "Keep breathing."

—

Time loses meaning.

Hours pass in a blur of pain and effort. Shane cycles through it over and over. Each contraction building, peaking, fading. Each one stronger than the last. He cries. He moans. Sometimes he just whimpers, too drained to do anything else.

His body works without his permission—uterus tightening rhythmically, pulling him deeper into labor with every wave.

The monitors track it all.

"Contractions are strong and regular," Jenny notes at one point. "You're progressing well."

It doesn't feel like progress. It feels like survival.

"I can't do this," Shane gasps at one point, tears streaking his face. Gas and air clutched tightly in his tense grip. 

"You are doing it," Yuna says firmly, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

"I'm not—I can't—"

"Yes, you can. You already are."

David stays close. His calm presence the only thing keeping Shane grounded in the moments of pure agony, offering water between contractions, gripping him gently with a hand on his arm. "Breathe, Shane," he reminds him.

In. Out. Again. Repeat. 

The pressure builds as labor advances , not just pain now, but a heavy, downward force that makes Shane shift restlessly. "I feel—" He cuts off with a strained sound. "Something's wrong—"

"It's normal," Jenny assures him. "The baby is moving down. What you’re feeling is their head pressing against your cervix. It feels strange I know. But your body is doing exactly what it's supposed to."

It doesn't feel normal. It feels overwhelming and unnatural. But he trusts her. He has to.

Another contraction crashes over him, stronger than anything before. Shane cries out, gripping the bed rail with his spare hand as his body tenses involuntarily.

"Breathe through it, nice deep breaths of that Gas for me Shane." Jenny says. "You're getting close now."

Close.

The word echoes in his mind. Close to what? Close to the end. Or just another beginning. Either way— There's no turning back now.

Time fractures into something unrecognisable.

Shane doesn't know how long it's been, minutes, hours, an entire lifetime—but eventually, something shifts. The pressure he's been feeling changes. It's no longer just pain and tightening and waiting. Now it's heavier. Urgent. His body pushing downward in a way he can't control.

Jenny checks him again, quick and practiced.

"Shane," she says, her voice steady but laced with something new—purpose. "You're fully dilated. Ten centimetres."

The words barely register.

"You did it, baby." Yuna says softly, brushing his damp hair back. "You're ready."

Ready. Shane doesn't feel ready. He feels exhausted. Shaky. Completely overwhelmed.

"I can't—" His voice cracks. "I can't do more—"

"Yes, you can," David says, though his voice is tighter now, emotion creeping in. "You're so close."

Jenny moves quickly, adjusting the bed.

"Alright, we're going to get you into position," she says. The top of the bed is raised, supporting Shane's back so he's more upright. They guide him forward, carefully shifting him until he's perched at the edge, his body instinctively curling inward.

"Knees up," Jenny instructs. "Open your legs. Don't close them on me Shane. I know it's hard."

Yuna and David each take one of his legs, supporting him, holding him steady. It's intimate. Exposed. But Shane barely notices anymore. His world has narrowed down to this. To getting through the next moment. To surviving. 

"I'm right here," Yuna murmurs, her hand firm on his thigh.

"We've got you bud," David adds.

Jenny settles between his legs, calm and focused.

"Okay, Shane. When the next contraction comes, I want you to take a deep breath, hold it, and push. Like you're going to the bathroom okay?."

Shane nods weakly, clutching the gas and air mouthpiece. Another contraction builds.

He feels it rising—tightening, intensifying, pulling everything downward.

"Here it comes," Jenny says. "Deep breath—"

Shane inhales sharply.

"And push."

He bears down. Every muscle in his body engages, straining as he pushes with everything he has.

"Ten—nine—eight—" David counts steadily.

Shane whimpers around the mouthpiece, the effort overwhelming, his body shaking with it.

"—three—two—one."

"Breathe," Jenny says.

He collapses back slightly, gasping, the contraction easing. "I can't," he whispers, tears slipping down his temples. "I can't do that again—"

"You can," Yuna says immediately. "You've got no choice now honey, baby needs out."

Another contraction hits before he can argue.

"Deep breath and push," Jenny guides. “Give it all you’ve got Shane.”

Shane is locked in. The whole thing is insane, he can’t believe his body is capable of inflicting this much pain on itself. 

The pattern repeats. Push. Count. Breathe.

Push. Count. Breathe. Each time takes more out of him. Each time feels impossible. Shane cries openly now, soft, broken sounds between contractions, louder ones during. His body is no longer something he controls.

It's something he endures.

"You're doing so well," Jenny says repeatedly. "That's it. That's the one Shane! Perfect."

It doesn't feel perfect. It feels like too much.

Time stretches. An hour passes like this—endless pushing, endless effort.

Shane is shaking, drenched in sweat, completely spent. "I can't—" he sobs again. "Please—"

"You're so close," Jenny says. She's been saying that a lot. Shane is starting to think that she’s bullshitting— "I can see the head."

The words cut through everything. Shane's breath stutters. "W-What?"

"The baby's head is right there, I can just about see their hair," she says, a small smile in her voice. "You're almost there."

Relief floods him. Followed immediately by intense fear.

"There's going to be a lot of pressure," Jenny continues gently. "And when the head crowns, it's going to burn. But you have to focus. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Shane nods numbly. He doesn't think he has a choice. Another contraction rises. 

"Okay, Shane," Jenny says. "Push."

He does. A firm solid shove. And just like that…

Pain explodes.

Not just pressure. Not just intensity.

Burning. Sharp, stretching, overwhelming. For the first time since his labor began— Shane screams.

The sound tears out of him, raw and unrestrained.

"I can't—! Mom! Mom! It hurts— Ow- Fuck!" 

"I know," Yuna says quickly, her voice thick with emotion. "I know, baby, I know. You're so brave. You're so close. Oh I love you so much. It's okay."

"Use the Gas and air," Jenny reminds him. "Breathe through it—we can't rush the baby out. I don't want you hurting yourself sweetie." 

Shane shakes his head desperately. "P-Please—just get them out—please— it hurts so bad." 

"I need you to slow down," Jenny says, still calm, still steady. "Short breaths. Pant for me."

Shane sobs, but he listens. He pants, quick shallow breaths, trying not to push as the burning stretches wider, more intense. "Oh god—oh god—"

"That's it," Jenny encourages. "You're doing it exactly right."

It doesn't feel right. It feels unbearable.

There's a strange, overwhelming sensation as more fluid leaks, warm and undeniable, as the baby's head begins to emerge. The slow slide unbearable as he grits his teeth against the plastic mouthpiece. There's a sharp second of white hot pain. 

Shane yelps, his body jerking.

"I can't do this," he cries. "I'm going to mess up—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," David says once again, firmly, even as his voice wavers. "You're doing it. You've been doing it for hours.”

"We're right here," Yuna adds, pressing close to him. "You're not alone."

Shane sobs brokenly. "Holy shit, I need to— I need to push!"

Jenny spoke gently. "Okay , okay sweetheart. One short push alright? Baby's right here I promise."

Yuna held him close as he gave one short push, his whole body shaking as he screamed in desperation, a startled gasp cutting it off as the head was born into his midwife's firm hold. 

"Heads out Shane! Hardest parts over!" Jenny works quickly but carefully. "I'm just checking for the cord," she says. "Okay—good."

Another contraction builds. "Alright, Shane," she says. "This is it. I need one more big push."

Shane shakes his head weakly. "I can't—"

"You can," she says. "With everything you've got."

The contraction peaks. "Deep breath—"

Shane inhales, sobbing. The gas and air filling his lungs to the brim. 

"Push."

He does. Everything in him strains, every last bit of energy pulled into this one effort. He screams through it, voice breaking, body shaking violently as he bears down.

"Keep it going," Jenny urges. "Few more seconds—"

He gasps for breath— Pushes again. Suddenly—

Release.

A rush of sensation as the baby slips free. Jenny moving swiftly to ensure the glide is safe. 

Shane collapses back, sobbing hysterically.

"Are they out?" he cries. "Are they out? Am I done?— Shit that hurt so fucking much." 

"Yes, they're out Shane." Jenny says, her voice warm, almost boarding on amused. "You've done it. Well done honey."  

There's movement. Quick, efficient. Shane barely sees it through his tears. 

Jenny clears the baby's airway, gentle but practiced. For a split second, there's silence. Then ; A cry. Sharp. Strong. Alive.

Shane's breath catches. "Oh my god—"

"A beautiful baby girl," Jenny says softly.

She lifts her carefully, placing her against Shane's chest. Squirming. Small. Real. Shane stares down at her, his entire body trembling.

She's tiny. Perfect. Crying as she settles against him, her skin damp, her presence overwhelming. "Oh my god," he repeats, voice breaking completely.

Tears stream freely now—not from pain, but something deeper. Something bigger. His hands hover uncertainly before finally, gently, holding her close. "She's—" He chokes on the words. "She's mine?"

Yuna is crying too, one hand covering her mouth.

"Yes, baby," she whispers. "She's yours. You done so good. I'm so proud of you." 

David turns away briefly, trying to compose himself, but his voice gives him away. "I - woah. I - I can't believe this. You did it, Son."

Shane looks down at his daughter, awe written across every inch of his face. Everything else fades. The pain. The fear. The uncertainty. All of it replaced by this one, overwhelming truth.

He did it.

And she's here.

For a while, Shane doesn't hear anything. Not Jenny moving around. Not the quiet instructions being exchanged. Not even his parents.

All he can focus on is the tiny, warm weight resting on his chest.

His baby. His daughter. His eyes trace over her slowly, like he's trying to memorise every detail all at once. Her face is small—so small it almost doesn't feel real—but perfectly formed. Her skin is flushed, still adjusting to the world, her little mouth opening and closing between soft cries.

"Hey..." Shane whispers, his voice wrecked but full of something soft. "Hey, baby..." She squirms slightly against him, her movements weak but determined, her cries tapering into little hiccups.

Shane lets out a shaky breath, one hand finally lifting to touch her properly. His fingers are careful, hesitant, as they brush against her cheek. Warm. Real. He swallows hard. And then he sees it. The details he hadn't fully processed before start to settle into place.

Her eyelashes, long, dark, resting delicately against her cheeks. Her lips, soft, pouty in a way that makes something ache deep in his chest.

Her hair, damp and matted, but unmistakably golden-brown, already curling slightly against her head. Shane's breath catches. "....you look just like him," he murmurs. It hits him all at once.

Ilya.

There's no doubt.

It's there in the shape of her mouth. In the delicate structure of her face. In the tiny, familiar details Shane had only seen once—but apparently never forgot. 

The only things that seem to belong to Shane are the shape of her eyes... and her ears.

Everything else,  Ilya.

Shane lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, tears slipping down his temples again. "Yeah," he whispers to her. "You look like your papa."

There's a brief, quiet pause behind him. He knows his parents heard that. He knows the looks they're probably exchanging. But he doesn't care. Not right now. Not when she's here. Not when she's real. Ilya is her papa, she will always know that.

He shifts slightly, wincing faintly but ignoring it as he adjusts her closer. "Hi," he murmurs, voice softer now. "I'm your daddy." 

She makes a small sound in response, her tiny hand twitching weakly against his chest.

Shane's heart feels like it might burst. "I've been waiting for you," he tells her gently. "Even when I didn't know I was. You're everything baby."

Yuna moves closer, her hand brushing lightly over Shane's arm. "She's so beautiful," she says quietly.

Shane nods, still staring down at his daughter like he can't look away. "She really is." He shifts again, angling her slightly.

"Baby girl," he whispers. "You ready to meet your family?" Her eyes are still closed, her tiny face scrunching as she lets out another soft cry. "This is your Nana Yuna," Shane says, glancing up at Yuna with a small, emotional smile. "She's going to love you a lot. Spoilt won't even come close." 

Yuna's expression crumples slightly, tears spilling freely now as she reaches out, brushing a finger gently over the baby's arm. "And this," Shane continues, his voice thick, "is your Grandpa David." 

David steps closer, his usual composure clearly shaken. "Hi, sweetheart," he says quietly, his voice rough.

Shane looks back down at her, something settling deep in his chest. "Oh, I know what I haven't told you before," he murmurs. He takes a slow breath.

"If you were a girl... I had already picked out a name for you." His fingers stroke gently over her back."I didn't know if I'd get to use it." Another breath. "But I do and I'm so happy I get to." 

He smiles softly, tears still slipping down his face.

"Liliya," he says. "Liliya Mei Hollander."

The name feels right the second he says it out loud.

Like it always belonged to her. "Hi, Liliya, my little Lilliepad," he whispers. "That's you."

For a moment, everything is perfect.

Then Jenny's voice cuts in gently. "Shane, I'm going to need Claire over here to take Liliya for a quick check, okay? And we still need to deliver the placenta."

The words hit like a disruption. Shane's arms tighten instinctively around his daughter. "No—" he starts, then stops himself. He knows they have to. He swallows hard.

"...okay," he says quietly.

A nurse steps forward, waiting. Shane hesitates for just a second longer before carefully, reluctantly, handing Liliya over. The absence is immediate.

Sharp. "Dad,” Shane says quickly, his voice wavering. "Go with her. Please."

David nods without hesitation. "Of course."

He follows the nurse as she carries Liliya across the room, his eyes never leaving her. Shane watches until he can't anymore.

Another contraction starts, stealing his focus. Different this time. Less intense, but still uncomfortable. Jenny steps back into position.

"Alright, Shane. One more push for the placenta."

He nods weakly, exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Okay..." He bears down again, far less forceful than before—but enough. There's a strange, slipping sensation. And then it's over.

"Placenta's out," Jenny confirms, efficient as ever. "Nice and smooth."

Shane exhales, his body going limp against the bed. "Good," he mumbles.

Jenny works quickly, checking him over.

"You've got a small tear," she says. "Nothing major. No stitches needed. I'll just need to pack it."

Shane tenses immediately. "That doesn’t sound very good."

"It'll be uncomfortable," she admits. "But quick."

Yuna moves closer, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "I've got you," she murmurs.

Shane nods, already bracing himself. When Jenny starts, the pain is sharp—unexpectedly so. Shane gasps, his body jerking slightly. "Ah—!"

"It's okay," Yuna soothes, pulling him closer.

He buries his face into her neck, fresh tears spilling over as he tries to breathe through it.

"It hurts—"

"I know," she whispers. "It'll be over soon."

Jenny works quickly, efficient and careful. And after a few long, painful moments, "It's done," she says.

Shane sags against Yuna, completely spent. "Okay..." he breathes.

Okay. He did it. It’s finally over.

A few minutes later, David returns. And in his arms, Liliya.

Shane's head lifts immediately, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "She's okay?" he asks, panic flickering again.

David smiles softly. "She's perfect," he says. "Healthy as can be."

Relief crashes over Shane so hard it almost hurts.

"She weighs five pounds, six ounces," David adds. "Tiny thing."

Shane lets out a weak, emotional laugh. "Yeah... that makes sense." His bump had been so damn small. She'd even managed to stay hidden away for the first seven months. 

He hadn't really realised just how small she'd be until now. So delicate, like a flower. 

David carefully places Liliya back onto Shane's chest. The warmth returns. The weight. The reality.

Shane wraps his arms around her immediately, holding her close as his eyes start to droop. Everything aches. Everything feels heavy. But beneath it all, there’s something steady. Something full.

"I'm so tired," he murmurs.

Yuna brushes his hair back gently.

"You can sleep," she says softly. "We've got her. She won't roll anywhere I promise." 

Shane nods faintly, his grip on Liliya loosening just enough to relax as Yuna's hand rests over them, but not enough to let go. His last thought before sleep takes him is simple.

She's here. And somehow,

Everything is going to be okay.

——————————————————————————

It feels surreal that less than twelve hours ago, Shane thought he wasn't going to survive it. Now he's sitting upright in a hospital bed, sore in places he didn't know existed, exhausted down to his bones—and completely, overwhelmingly ready to leave.

Liliya is tucked safely in his arms, quieter now, her tiny body warm and heavy in that fragile way newborns have. Every now and then she makes a soft sound, her face scrunching before settling again.

Shane watches her like he still can't quite believe she's real. "Ready to go home, Lily?" he murmurs.

Yuna smiles softly from across the room, already unpacking the little bag they brought. "Let's get her dressed," she says.

Shane nods, carefully shifting Liliya as they lay her down on the bed between them. His movements are slower than usual, everything aches, but there's a gentleness to him now that wasn't there before.

Yuna hands him the outfit. It's small. Ridiculously small. A pastel yellow baby grow, soft and covered in tiny white daisies. A knitted white cardigan, delicate and warm. And the hat, Shane pauses when he sees it, a soft white knit with a large daisy stitched onto the front.

His chest tightens. "She's going to look so cute," he whispers.

"She already does," Yuna replies.

Shane glances up at her. "Mom... can you record this?"

She blinks slightly, then nods, pulling out her phone. "Of course."

Shane takes a breath, then looks back down at Liliya. "Okay," he says softly, his voice shifting, gentler, a little more intentional. "This is your going home outfit, Lilipad." He carefully starts dressing her, talking as he goes. "I picked this out for you," he continues. "I thought... I thought it might be nice. Maybe I should have done Lillie’s over Daisies though huh? Silly Daddy.” 

Liliya squirms slightly as he slides her tiny arms into the sleeves, her face scrunching in mild protest. "I know, I know," Shane murmurs, smiling faintly. "Not your favourite thing." He glances briefly at the phone, then back to her. "Maybe one day," he says quietly, "we can show this to your papa."

There's a subtle shift in the room. Yuna's smile falters just slightly. David, standing nearby, looks down for a moment before composing himself.

Shane doesn't stop. "This is the day you came home," he tells her. "The first day of the rest of our lives kiddo." His fingers are careful as he buttons the cardigan, adjusting it so it sits just right.

"I think he'd like to see this,” he adds softly. “One day when he’s ready, when he knows.”

Yuna keeps recording, though her eyes glisten.

David watches silently, his jaw tight. They both know what Shane isn't saying. They both hope for something they can't promise.

That one day, Ilya will be there. That he'll want to be. That he'll get to know the daughter who already looks so much like him.

“If that's what he wants," Yuna had whispered to David earlier after a brief conversation. 

Now, they just watch their son.

And hope.

—

Getting Liliya into her car seat takes longer than expected. Shane is careful, overly careful, double-checking every strap, every buckle. "Is this right?" he asks for the third time.

"It's right," David assures him gently.

Shane nods, though he still adjusts it one more time. They don't rush him. They don't rush anything. Eventually, they're ready. Before they leave, Shane turns back.

Jenny is standing near the door, watching with a soft, proud expression. She loves this part of her job. Watching nervous parents take their very first steps out into the world with their precious cargo. 

"Hey," Shane says, shifting slightly, still holding onto Liliya's car seat handle. "Um.. I never got to say this earlier, but thank you."

Jenny smiles. "You're very welcome."

"I mean it," he adds quickly. "That was... well it's was absolutely terrifying."

She chuckles softly. "You did amazing."

"I didn't feel like it," he admits.

"That's normal honey," she says. "But you did."

Shane hesitates, then nods. "I mean I'm only eighteen," he says, like that explains everything. "I didn't... I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't know what to expect. I genuinely thought at one point I wouldn't be able to get her out—"

Jenny's expression softens even more. "And yet you did," she says.

Shane glances down at Liliya, then back up. "You made it feel... less scary," he says. "So, yeah. Thank you. I don't think you realise how good you are at making things feel at ease." 

"You're going to be a great dad," she tells him.

Shane swallows hard. "I hope so."

—

Going home feels different. Quieter. Bigger, somehow. Despite the fact that three people already lived there before.  Everything just feels so new, even though it's the same house he's lived in for years. Because now,  there’s Liliya.

They settle in slowly. Carefully. Every movement still deliberate, every moment filled with learning.

And for a while, it's okay.

Two days later, it’s not so much.

Shane sits hunched on the couch, Liliya in his arms, frustration and exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

"I don't think I can do this," he says quietly.

His chest aches, not the same way as before, but still painful. Uncomfortable. Difficult. Liliya fusses, pulling away, crying again.

Shane's throat tightens. "I'm trying," he whispers. "I am, I just—" It's not working. Not the way it's supposed to.

The worry creeps in, heavy and suffocating.

"What if I can't feed her properly?" he says, voice shaking. "What if I'm—what if I'm already messing this up?"

David sits beside him, calm as ever. "You're not messing anything up," he says.

"It feels like I am," Shane admits. "She's hungry and I—" He cuts himself off, blinking back tears. “I'm supposed to be able to do this."

David watches him for a moment before speaking.

"Do you love her?" he asks.

Shane looks down at Liliya, who's still fussing in his arms. "With everything I have."

"Then that's what she needs," David says simply.

Shane shakes his head. "That's not enough dad, she needs—"

"She needs to be fed," David agrees. "And there's more than one way to do that."

Shane hesitates.

"You're not failing her," David continues. "You're figuring out what works. That's what being a parent is about.” 

The words settle slowly. "You think,  it's okay? For me to admit defeat?”  Shane asks quietly.

"I know it is." 

Shane looks down at Liliya again. At her tiny face.

Her little hands. His chest tightens—not with panic this time, but something softer. Something resolute. "I don't want to let her down," he whispers.

"You won't," David says.

A long pause. Then Shane nods. "Okay."

It's not an easy decision. But it's the right one. Later that day, they switch to formula. And for the first time since she was born,  Liliya feeds without fuss. Without struggle.

Shane watches her, relief flooding through him so strongly it almost makes him dizzy.

"Hey," he murmurs softly. "That's better, huh?"

She settles against him, content. And Shane exhales. Not perfect. Not the way he imagined these moments in his life. 

But good.

And right now,  good is enough. It’s more than enough. He will take it one day at a time. He has to.

——————————————————————————

Six weeks.

It's been six weeks since everything changed.

Shane stands in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his linen shirt with slightly unsteady hands.

His body feels like his own again—mostly.

Cleared by his doctor. Back on the ice. Two solid weeks of pushing himself harder than ever to get back into shape. It hasn't been easy. Some days his muscles screamed. Some days his energy crashed faster than he expected. And every single day, there was Liliya, needing him, grounding him, reminding him why he couldn't give up even when it felt impossible.

Now though, It's time.

"Ready?" David calls from downstairs. 

Shane takes one last look at himself. Not the same person he was before . But strangely still him. "Yeah," he calls back.

He turns, glancing toward the crib where Liliya is bundled up, already dressed for the day. She's awake, her little eyes blinking slowly as she takes in the world in that quiet, curious way she has.

Shane's chest softens instantly. "Hey, Lily," he murmurs, walking over and gently picking her up. "Big day today."

She makes a small sound, her tiny hand curling weakly against his shirt. He smiles. "Yeah," he whispers. "I think so too. I need to remember to vlog this for papa huh? Another big milestone in your little life." 

—

The drive is quiet. Not uncomfortable, just... heavy. Yuna sits in the back with Liliya, watching her like she's something precious and fragile, which, to be fair, she is. 

David drives, steady as ever.

Shane sits in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city shifts around them. Montreal.

His future. His dream. And now, his home.

His stomach twists slightly. It's exciting. It's terrifying. It's everything all at once.

"You're quiet," David notes.

Shane huffs a small breath. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"...everything. How quickly it's all came around."

That earns a soft chuckle. "Fair enough."

Shane glances back at Yuna, who's gently adjusting Liliya's blanket. "She okay?" he asks, for what feels like the hundredth time.

"She's perfect," Yuna says, smiling.

Shane nods, turning back to the window. Perfect.

Yeah. She really is.

—

The apartment is exactly what Shane needs. Not too big. Not too small. Nothing too fancy or flashy. Just enough space for him and Liliya. For their life.

Their new start.

The moment they step inside, it hits him. This is it.

No going back. No safety net just down the hall. Just him. And her. Their little bubble.

David sets down the last bag while Yuna carefully lifts Liliya from her car seat.

"Well," David says lightly, "home sweet home, you two."

Shane lets out a slow breath. " Yeah."

Yuna doesn't hand Liliya over right away. Instead, she holds her close, pressing soft kisses to her tiny face. "There's Nana's girl," she murmurs. "We're going to miss you so much."

Liliya squirms slightly, letting out a small sound that makes Yuna smile through the obvious emotion in her eyes.

David steps closer, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the top of Liliya's head. "Be good for your daddy, okay?" he says softly.

Shane watches them, something tight building in his chest. This moment, It feels bigger than it should. Like a line being drawn.

Yuna finally looks up at him. And that's it. The tears he's been holding back threaten immediately.

She crosses the room in two quick steps and pulls him into a tight hug, Liliya carefully cradled between them. "We're only a drive away," she says firmly. "You call me, any time and I'll be here."

Shane nods against her shoulder, blinking rapidly.

"I know."

"I mean it," she adds. "Day or night. Doesn't matter."

"I know," he repeats, voice thick. "I know mom, Thankyou. Seriously, I couldn't have done this without you. Both of you." 

David steps in, placing a steady hand on Shane's back. "You've got this," he says.

Shane lets out a shaky breath. "I hope so."

"I know so." There's no hesitation in his voice. And somehow, that helps.

They don't drag it out. They can't. Another round of kisses for Liliya. Another tight hug for Shane.

And then— They're gone.

The silence is immediate. Normally the silence would soothe him, but it wasn’t right now. Right now it felt deafening. 

Shane stands in the middle of the apartment, Liliya in his arms, listening to the door click shut. It's just them now. He looks down at her. "Well," he says softly, "guess it's just us, huh?"

She blinks up at him, completely unaware of the weight of the moment.

Shane huffs a small, nervous laugh. "Yeah. Okay." He takes a breath. Then another. "I can do this," he murmurs. "I mean, I gave birth to you right? Not like we're strangers or anything?" 

Not entirely convincing. But not entirely doubtful, either.

The rest of the day is... a lot. Phone calls. Emails. Figuring things out on the fly. Liliya spends most of it either in his arms or in the little bassinet he sets up beside him, her presence constant, even when she's sleeping.

At one point, Shane ends up on a call with his coach, pacing the small living room with Liliya tucked against his chest. "I want to be there," Shane says. "For training. For everything. I just—" He glances down at her. "I've got my baby , she's only six weeks old I can't just up and leave her with a stranger in a city I barely know." 

There's a pause on the other end. Before an answer he wasn't expecting comes.  

"We'll figure it out," Coach Theriault says.

Shane blinks. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirms. "For now, bring her along. We'll make it work."

Shane stops pacing. "W-wait? You— you're serious?"

"I've got no problem keeping an eye on her while you're on the ice," his coach adds. "Team effort and all. Look , Hollander you're a good player, most likely the best we've got. I'm not going to let you sit on the sidelines. Especially not during your rookie season."

For a second, Shane can't speak. Relief hits him hard. "Thank you," he says finally. "Seriously. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that." 

"We'll sort a proper schedule soon," Theriault continues. "But don't stress. You focus on playing."

Shane nods, even though he can't see him. "Yeah. Okay. I will." The call ends. And for the first time all day, Shane feels like he can breathe.

He looks down at Liliya, who's shifted slightly, her tiny face relaxed against him. "Did you hear that?" he murmurs. "We're going to make it work."

She doesn't respond. But she doesn't need to.

Shane smiles softly. "You and me," he says. "We've got this. And one day, papa will be able to see how hard I worked to get us here yeah?" 

He leans back against the couch, exhaustion creeping in, but underneath it, something new.

Excitement. Hope. A future that feels possible again. Not the same as before. But maybe..Better.

Because now, he's not chasing it alone. Now, he's doing it for her. And one day, he hopes she'll see that. That no matter what life throws at you... You can still make it. And maybe, just maybe— You can build something even stronger because of it.

The first day of practice feels like stepping onto a different kind of ice. Not unfamiliar, but heavier somehow. Bigger.

Shane stands just outside the locker room, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder, Liliya tucked securely in her carrier against his chest. She's wrapped up in an adorable, lilac snowsuit, with adorable bunny shaped ears sticking out of the hood. He can hear voices inside laughter, movement, the easy chaos of a team settling in. 

His team. 

He exhales slowly. "You ready?" he murmurs, glancing down at Liliya. She blinks up at him, completely unfazed. Shane huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. That's about the response I expected."

He pushes the door open.

The room quiets for about half a second. Then, chaos. 

"Hey!"

"Look who it is—"

"That's him, the new rookie!” 

It's not overwhelming, not in a bad way. More like... energy. Excitement. He barely steps in before someone steps forward. "Alright, move," the guy says, waving the others back slightly. "I called dibs."

Shane blinks. "Oh, Uh—"

"I'm Hayden," he says, already leaning in slightly to look at Liliya. "Hayden Pike."

"Shane," he replies automatically.

"Yeah, I know," Hayden grins. "Rookie sensation and all that."

Shane rolls his eyes faintly. "Sure. I got number two , but if you consider that as sensational , I'll take it." 

But Hayden's already focused on Liliya. "Well, hello there," he coos, his entire demeanor softening instantly. "And who's this, huh?"

"This is Liliya," Shane says, adjusting the carrier slightly so she's more visible.

Hayden's face lights up. "Liliya," he repeats. "That's a beautiful name. Coach said you had a kid, I didn't expect her to be so little though!"  She stares up at him, wide-eyed and completely still, like she's trying to process this new, very enthusiastic human.

"Oh my god," Hayden laughs softly. "Look at her, she's judging me already."

Shane snorts. "She does that."

Hayden leans a little closer, careful not to crowd her. "Her hair," he says suddenly. "That is insane. Man that's adorable." 

Shane glances down. It's grown in more over the past weeks, still soft and fine, but undeniably there. Golden brown, curling slightly at the ends. Ilya's hair.  "Yeah," Shane says quietly. "She got lucky."

"Lucky?" Hayden scoffs. "Dude! That's better than mine!" He runs a hand through his own hair dramatically. "I've got two girls at home, twins. Jade and Ruby," he adds. "Few months older than her. They came out practically bald."

Shane smiles faintly, ah so he's a dad too. That makes sense. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Took forever for anything to show up. But this one?" He gestures toward Liliya. "She's already ahead of the game."

Liliya makes a small, confused noise, her tiny hand twitching. "See? She knows I'm right," Hayden says proudly.

Shane laughs under his breath. "Sure, man."

"Am I allowed to say hi, or is there a waiting list?"

Shane looks up at that. 

Another teammate, Jean-Jacques Boiziau -JJ, if he remembers correctly from the things he'd seen online—stands a little off to the side, looking... cautious.

"Uh, yeah," Shane says. "You can say hi."

JJ steps closer, but hesitates just before getting too near. "She does not... bite, right?" His accent thick as he speaks. 

Shane blinks. "...she's six weeks old."

"Yeah, but you never know," JJ says seriously.

Shane stares at him for a second. Surely this guy isn't serious? There's a loud pause.  "She won't bite," he says, deadpan.

JJ nods, like that's reassuring. "Okay. Good." He leans down slightly, giving Liliya a small, awkward wave. "Hi."

Liliya stares at him. Unblinking. Silent.

JJ straightens. "I think she likes me."

"Yeah," Shane says. "That's definitely what that is."

Hayden snorts.

It's... easier than Shane expected. The team doesn't treat him like he's fragile. Or like he's something strange. They just accept it. Him. Her. All of it. It's so simple to them. He had a kid less than two months ago, so what? Who cares? 

And for the first time since stepping into this new life, Shane feels like maybe he doesn't have to split himself in two to make it work. Maybe both parts of his life can exist in the same space.

Just as he finally feels grounded, comes the hard part. "Alright," his coach calls. "Let's get moving."

Shane's stomach tightens slightly. He looks down at Liliya. "Okay," he murmurs. "Time to hand you over. Shouldn't be too hard right?"  She blinks up at him, completely trusting. That somehow makes it worse.

His coach steps closer, already reaching out. "I've got her, kid. She'll be fine." he says easily.

Shane hesitates for just a second. Just a second longer than necessary. Then carefully, gently, he lifts Liliya from the carrier and places her into his coach's arms.

"Hey, sweetheart," Theriault murmurs, surprisingly natural as he adjusts his hold. "You're with me for a little bit okay? Daddy's got some rough work to do." 

Shane watches for a moment. "She's—just— she can be a little ..." He trails off.

"I've got kids," the coach says simply. "I can handle it Hollander. Now go." 

Shane nods. Following the order.  "Okay."

He grabs his gear, forcing himself to turn away.

The ice feels like home. The second his skates hit, something in him settles. This is where he knows what he's doing. Where his body understands the rules. The drills start. Fast-paced. Sharp. Shane throws himself into it.

Every pass crisp. Every movement precise. He doesn't hold back. He can't afford to. And it shows. The sounds of his teams praise echo around him. 

"Nice!"

"Holy—did you see that?"

"Again!"

The energy builds around him as the practice goes on. Shane moves like he belongs. Like he was always meant to be here. At one point, he catches sight of the bench—his coach standing there, Liliya bundled in his arms, watching.

Something in Shane's chest tightens. Then he turns back to the play. Focuses. Pushes harder.

By the time practice ends, the room is buzzing.

"Okay, yeah," Hayden says, shaking his head as they head off the ice. "You're ridiculous."

Shane huffs out a breath, pulling off his gloves.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," JJ adds. "That was insane."

"Rare talent," someone else chimes in.

"Yeah," another voice agrees. "We got lucky with you."

Shane shakes his head, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks. I appreciate it."  He glances toward the bench again.

Liliya is still there. Still safe. Still his.

And suddenly, everything clicks into place. This, This is how it's going to work. Not perfectly. Not easily. But it will work.

Shane walks over, gently taking Liliya back into his arms. "Hey," he murmurs softly. "Miss me?"

She squirms slightly, settling against him. Soft new baby sounds falling from her lips.  He smiles.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Me too."

And for the first time since all of this began— He doesn't feel torn between two worlds. He feels like he's finally standing exactly where he's meant to be.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

A look into Ilya’s life after their time together and little glimpses into parts of Liliya’s life he’s missing out on.

Chapter Notes

Heyyyy, just a reminder to you all, this story does not exactly follow canon. Parts of it yes, other parts not so much! Anyway, hope you enjoy this part! So excited for you all to get to know the characters a little better :))

Ilya stands frozen.

The arena hums with that familiar, electric tension, crowd noise swelling and dipping like a tide, but Ilya barely hears any of it. All he can hear is the pounding of his own pulse.

A year.

It's been a year since that one time, since something reckless and confusing and impossible shifted the axis of his life. And now Shane Hollander is standing across from him like nothing ever happened. Like they're just two centers lining up for a faceoff.

Like he didn’t just leave Ilya lying there all those months ago. 

Ilya rolls his shoulders once, gripping his stick a little tighter than necessary as he skates into position. The ice feels too smooth beneath him, too exposed. There's nowhere to hide out here.

And then he looks up.

Shane's already watching him. Of course he is.

Ilya's chest tightens, something sharp and immediate. God, those eyes. He remembers them too well.

He remembers them in the dark shadows of the hotel room that day, remembers the way they softened, the way they saw him in a way no one else ever had. Like they were looking right through the walls he’d been building for years of tortured life. 

He can't do this. Not here. Not now. Not with cameras and teammates and a thousand screaming fans.

If Shane says anything, if he tries to talk, tries to go there. Ilya doesn't trust himself not to crack wide open on the spot. 

He had woken up alone that afternoon. To an alarm set by someone who wasn't him. Someone who had left without a single word of notice. Someone who clearly hadn’t cared enough to. 

It had hurt, really hurt.

A Russian ego didn't bruise easily. But Shane Hollander had managed to bruise Ilya's in a way he'd never felt before. 

So, instead of facing up to it. He does what he always does. He smirks. Tilts his head just slightly, voice low enough that only Shane can hear, sharp enough to cut. "Try not to embarrass yourself, kid."

It's easier this way. Safer. Keep it shallow, keep it mean, keep it controlled.

Because if he lets himself feel anything else, even for a second, he might say something he can't take back. And he can't afford that.

Not when he's already spent the past year wondering what would've happened if Shane hadn't walked away first.

—

Shane doesn't hear the crowd either. He doesn't hear his teammates calling, doesn't hear the ref shifting beside them, doesn't hear anything except the echo of Ilya's voice, familiar, biting, safe in its sarcasm.

Because at least sarcasm means there's still something there. But in that moment, Shane can't even bring himself to respond. He's stuck. Completely and utterly stuck on Ilya's eyes.

They're exactly the same.

That's the thought that keeps looping, drowning everything else out. The same shade of blue, the same intensity, the same way they lock onto him like he's the only thing in the world worth focusing on.

The same eyes their daughter has.

The thought hits him so hard it almost knocks the breath out of him. She'd been awake when he left that morning, small and warm in his arms, blinking up at him with those bright, curious eyes that were just starting to focus on faces. Two and a half months old and already so alert, already so present.

Looking so much like Ilya it hurts to look at her sometimes.

Liliya was his best kept secret, yet it felt so damn hard knowing she was a secret kept away from the man who created half of her. 

David and Yuna had stood nearby watching the goodbye, soft and steady, promising they had her, they had laughed when Shane had  stood there for a second too long, staring. Lily staring right back. 

"She's got your focus," David had said. "That stare is all you son." 

But Shane knew better. She had Ilya's eyes. She had his gaze. 

And now those same eyes, that same intense gaze is staring at him from across the faceoff line. Older, sharper and guarded in a way their daughter will hopefully never have to be.

Shane's throat tightens. He wants to say something. Anything.

We need to talk. I need to tell you something. You have a daughter.

The words sit heavy and urgent in his chest, pressing against his ribs, demanding to be let out, but he can't find the right moment. Can't find the space. Can't figure out how to say something that big in a place like this.

He opens his mouth anyway, to at least try. And then the puck drops.

The game takes over. As it always does. The moment slipping away for any form of communication that doesn’t include insults and shoving one another into boards. 

It’s a blur of Instinct.

Muscle memory, years of training, all of it takes over. It’s as though everything snaps into place, and suddenly there's no room for hesitation, no room for past or future, only the immediate, relentless now of the game.

Shane plays well. More than well in fact.

He's fast and sharp. Pushing himself harder than he has in weeks. Like if he skates hard enough, hits clean enough, shoots often enough, he can maybe burn off the pressure and guilt building inside him.

Ilya matches him shift for shift. Because of course he does.

There's something almost cruel about how in sync they are. Both reading each other's movements, anticipating plays, adjusting without thinking. Like no time has passed at all.  Like they didn't spend a year pretending the other didn't exist, whilst watching every move one another made from a distance. 

But time had passed.

And now a tiny human they created together exists in the world. 

When the final horn sounds, it's the Montreal Metros who come out on top.

The Boston Raiders lose. 

Shane barely registers it. The win is a huge deal, he finally beat Ilya. Finally proved himself worthy of his place in the NHL. Yet all he can think is: Now. I have to talk to him now.

He pulls off his helmet, chest heaving, scanning the ice as players start lining up for handshakes. His pulse spikes again, not from exertion this time, but from something far more fragile.

This is his chance. Maybe his only one. If he doesn't have the balls to do it now, he never will.

He steps into the line, heart pounding in his ears, rehearsing the words he's been holding onto for months. Ilya, hold on a second.  There's something I need to tell you.

 Ilya reaches him. Their hands clasp, brief, firm, familiar. And before Shane can say a single word—

Ilya moves on.

Quick. Efficient. Gone.

Like he couldn't get away fast enough.

Shane's hand lingers in the empty space for half a second too long. The line keeps moving around him, but everything inside him just... drops.

That was it.

That was the moment.

And now it's gone. Ilya was gone. 

The realisation hits like a body check, sudden, jarring, impossible to ignore. His chest aches, sharp and hollow all at once.

Because how do you tell someone they have a daughter if you can't even get them to stop and look at you for more than a second?

—

Ilya doesn't look back. He can't.

If he does, he knows exactly what he'll see. Shane standing there, that open, searching look on his face, like he's about to say something important.

Like he wants to say something important. Like he wants them to talk about that morning they ended up in bed as two strangers. 

Ilya doesn't trust himself to hear it.

The rejection. The pleas of secrecy. 

So he keeps moving. Keeps shaking hands, keeps his expression neutral, keeps everything locked down tight.

Professional. Detached. Safe.

It isn't until he's off the ice, tucked into the relative quiet of the hallway, that it hits him. Hard. You idiot Ilya!. He scrubs a hand over his face, jaw clenching. 

That was his chance! 

A whole year of wondering, of what-ifs and almost reach outs and late night thoughts he never let himself finish.

And just minutes ago Shane Hollander had been right there.

Close enough to talk.

Close enough to finally get answers.

And Ilya had bolted.

Because he was scared of what Shane might say. Because he was even more scared of how much he wanted to hear the words 'It mattered to me too.'

He exhales sharply, leaning back against the wall for a second, staring at nothing. He can’t help hoping that maybe on the other side of the arena in the home locker room, Shane is sat thinking the same thing.

That they missed it.

That they let the moment slip.

Again. 

And yet neither of them really knew just how much is still waiting to be said.

——————————————————————————

The apartment is quiet in a way Shane is still getting used to.

No arena noise. No early morning drills. No constant pressure humming in the background.

Just the soft flicker of the TV and the occasional rustle of fabric as Liliya kicks her legs against the cushioned play mat.

Four months old today.

Shane lies on his side beside her, one arm propping up his head, the other lazily flipping through channels he isn't really watching. Cartoons, news, some cooking show, none of it sticks. 

His attention keeps drifting back to her.

The same way it always does.

"Not impressed, huh?" he murmurs, glancing down as she stares past the TV entirely, far more interested in the dangling toys above her.

Liliya blinks up at him, her blue eyes bright and focused now, so much more aware than even a few days ago. It still catches him off guard sometimes, how present she is. Like she's really there with him, taking everything in. Like she's listening.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he shifts closer, reaching out to gently tap one of the soft toys so it sways above her. "You know," he starts, voice softer now, more thoughtful, "If I'm going off of all the interviews I've seen , your papa would probably say this is a terrible way to spend a day off." He huffs out a quiet laugh.

"He'd probably tell me I should be at the gym. Or taking you on my run. Or doing something useful." A pause. "He'd be right, too."

Liliya makes a small noise, something between a coo and a hum, her arms waving slightly as if responding. Shane's chest tightens, but in a warm way this time. "Yeah?" he says, like they're having a real conversation. "You think so too?"

He shifts onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before glancing back at her.

"Your papa..." He hesitates, choosing his words even though she won't understand them. "He came from Russia. That's where he grew up."

His voice grows quieter, more careful. "That place... you know, it's not always kind. Especially if you're... different. If you love someone they believe you're not supposed to." His eyes drift back to her. "You wouldn't know it from looking at him, though. He's..." Shane exhales softly. "He's the most confident person I've ever met. Stubborn. Annoying. Way too good at hockey." A faint smile. "But I suppose he made it out. Built something better for himself. I don’t really know that much. But I like to think that.”

There's a pause. Something heavier settles in his chest. "Last but not least he helped make you. And I happen to think that's the most incredible thing about him."  The words hang there, fragile and enormous all at once.

Liliya kicks her legs again, completely unaware of the weight behind what he's saying. Her gaze locks onto his face instead, like that's the only thing that matters. It probably is. Shane swallows, his throat tightening. "I'm gonna tell him about you,” he says quietly. "Someday."

Shane reaches out, gently brushing his fingers against her tiny hand. She curls her fingers instinctively around his, grip surprisingly strong.

"I just- I need to figure out how to be brave enough first. After I seen him last time,  I've sort of got it into my head that maybe he doesn't wanna talk to me..." His voice cracks slightly on the last word, but he pushes through it. "Until then, you've got me, okay? Always. I'm not going anywhere."

For a second, there's just silence. Then a sound. Different from the usual coos and little noises she makes. Brighter. Lighter.

Liliya's face breaks into the widest smile he's ever seen on her, her eyes crinkling just slightly, and then she laughs.

A real laugh. Clear, bubbling, unmistakable.

Shane freezes. "Lily....wait."

She does it again. A tiny, perfect burst of laughter that fills the room and hits him straight in the chest.

"Oh my—" His voice falls apart completely as he scrambles upright, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. "Lily? W-was that—did you just—?"

Another laugh. And that's it. He's gone. Tears hit his eyes instantly, blurring his vision as a shaky, disbelieving laugh escapes him. "Hey, hey, no, don't—don't stop, that was—" He fumbles for his phone with clumsy hands, nearly dropping it before finally getting the camera open. "Do that again, c'mon, sweetheart—"

His voice is thick now, breaking around the edges as he aims the camera at her. She kicks again, delighted, like she knows exactly what she's done.

And then, another giggle.

Shane lets out a strangled sound that's half laugh, half sob. "There it is," he whispers, more to himself than anything. "There it is baby, you’re laughing.” 

He keeps recording, even as tears start slipping down his face, even as he tries and fails to steady his breathing. Because this matters.

This moment, this tiny, perfect, everything moment. It matters. More than anything. 

"Your papa's gonna see this," he murmurs, phone held up, voice trembling. "Someday... I'll show him. I swear I will."

On the mat, Liliya beams up at him, her laughter softening into happy little noises, her bright blue eyes shining. The same eyes.

Always the same eyes.

Shane lowers the phone just slightly, still recording, still capturing every second. "Look at you," he whispers, overwhelmed. "You're incredible."

She doesn't understand the words. But she smiles anyway. And for now, for this moment. That is more than enough.

——————————————————————————

The glow from the laptop screen is the only light in the room. Ilya sits hunched forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, one hand half-covering his mouth as the video plays.

It's a highlight reel.

One of someone who has become some what  of an obsession to the Russian over the last year and a bit. A constant want. 

Clips of Shane, fast, sharp, relentless. Clean faceoff wins. A breakaway goal. That stupidly smooth edgework Ilya knows all too well.

The camera cuts to a close-up at one point, Shane pushing his helmet back slightly, eyes focused, lips parted as he catches his breath.

Ilya pauses the video. Just sitting there as he stares. Those fucking freckles... 

"Ты серьёзно?" Are you serious?

The voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

Ilya flinches slightly, snapping the laptop shut halfway before looking over his shoulder.

Svetlana stands in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised high in unmistakable judgment.

He exhales through his nose. "You forgot how to knock now? Also speak English!” 

They had both agreed that speaking in English whilst they’re in America together would help benefit Ilya and help him to cope better doing press and interviews. 

"I did knock," she shoots back. "You just didn't hear because you were too busy watching your rival like he's your favourite movie star crush.”

Ilya rolls his eyes, but there's no real heat behind it. "Game film. Is good to keep an eye on the enemy Sveta.” 

She steps further into the room, unconvinced. "Hmmm, Game film doesn't usually get paused on someone's face so up close."

He says nothing.

That's all the confirmation she needs.

Svetlana's expression shifts—less teasing now, more curious. Careful.

"...Okay," she says slowly. "What is this?"

Ilya leans back into the couch, dragging a hand over his face.

"It's nothing."

"Mm." She doesn't believe him for a second. "Try again."

Silence stretches for a moment.

Ilya stares at the dark screen of his laptop, jaw tight, weighing whether to brush it off like he always does.

But something in him is tired.

Tired of carrying it alone. Tired of pretending it didn't matter.

"...We met before rookie season ," he mutters finally. "We already knew each other."

Svetlana blinks. "What?"

He shrugs, like it's nothing. Like it doesn't still sit heavy in his chest a year later.

"Summer before rookie season. We were both playing in prospect cup . Same city. Canada vs Russia , you remember?" A pause. "We met outside arena, he came to introduce himself."

Her eyes narrow slightly, interest sharpening. "And?"

Ilya huffs out a quiet breath, gaze dropping to his hands.

"And we went back to hotel together."

That lands.

Svetlana straightens a little. "You—"

“Yeah," he cuts in, flat. "That. Me and Hollander.” 

There's a beat of silence.

"And then?" she asks.

Ilya's jaw tightens.

"He left."

"Left?"

"A couple hours later." His voice is quieter now, edged with something he doesn't bother hiding anymore. "Had a game, was a big day for us both. He— eh — he couldn't stay."

Svetlana studies him. "And after?"

Ilya lets out a humourless laugh.

"Nothing. We got drafted. Played against each other twice since. Once that same day and once since season started.” He shakes his head slightly. "Not one word."

Not a single word.

Svetlana's expression softens, just a fraction.

"...That messed with you," she says gently.

Ilya scoffs automatically. "No, it didn't."

She just looks at him. Really looks at him.

And that's enough to make him look away first.

"...It was one time," he mutters.

"Mm," she hums. "And you're watching videos of him alone in the dark because...?"

He doesn't answer. Because he doesn't have a good one. Because the real answer is sitting right there, heavy and inconvenient and impossible to ignore.

Svetlana exhales, then shifts tactics. "So reach out."

Ilya's head snaps up. "No."

She blinks at the immediate response. "You didn't even think about it."

"There's nothing to think about."

"You just told me—"

"I said no."

His tone is sharper now, defensive in a way that gives him away instantly.

Svetlana tilts her head. "You're one of the biggest names in hockey now. Don't tell me you can't get his number."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is?"

Ilya pushes to his feet, restless energy kicking in, pacing once across the room before turning back to her.

"The last game," he says, like that explains everything. "A few months ago."

Svetlana waits.

"He barely looked at me."

The words come out quieter than he intended.

"He—" Ilya exhales sharply. "Handshake line. I tried—" He stops himself, jaw clenching. "Doesn't matter. He didn't want to talk."

Svetlana stares at him for a second. Eyes showing how little she believed his version of events. 

"Боже, ты идиот." God you’re an idiot.

Ilya scowls. "Excuse me?"

"You're an idiot," she repeats, switching back to English just to make sure it lands. "That's your evidence? A five-second handshake?"

He crosses his arms. "You didn't see it."

"No, I didn't," she agrees. "But I see this." She gestures to the laptop. "And I see you. And this whole dramatic story you've built to make sure you never have to actually try. Never have to take accountability!" 

Ilya lets out a sharp, disbelieving huff. "That's not—"

"It is," she cuts in. "It's easier to say 'he didn't want to talk' than to risk finding out you're wrong."

That hits closer than he'd like. So he does the only thing he can.

Deflect.

"Ты идиот," he mutters back at her. You’re an idiot.

Svetlana snorts. "Very mature."

Ilya doesn't respond. Just reaches down, grabs his laptop, and snaps it fully shut this time.

Conversation over.

He moves past her without another word, heading for the hallway.

"Ilya—" she starts.

He doesn't stop.

Because if he does, he might have to admit that she's right.

And he's not ready for that.

Not when the familiar ache is already back, settling deep in his chest. That same dull, persistent pull.

The what-if.

It follows him down the hall, louder than any crowd, more relentless than any game. What if he didn't mean to leave like that? What if he was just as affected? What if you're wrong?

Ilya exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

He doesn't look back.

But the questions don't stop.

They never do.

——————————————————————————

The air inside the pool facility is warm and thick with humidity, carrying the constant echo of splashing water and soft chatter from other parents.

For once, Shane barely notices any of it. He's too focused on the tiny, giggling bundle in his arms.

"Okay, okay, easy," he murmurs, wading slowly through the shallow water, holding Liliya securely against his chest. "You're doing great, Lily. You're a natural already, huh?"

Six months old. And already completely fearless.

Her little hands slap at the water, sending droplets everywhere as she babbles excitedly, her bright blue eyes wide with curiosity. Every splash, every ripple seems to fascinate her. Shane laughs under his breath, completely gone for her.

"Yeah? You like that?" he says, dipping her just slightly so her feet skim the surface. "Wait till you figure out kicking, then I'm in real trouble."

From the side of the pool, Yuna watches with a soft, glowing expression, one hand pressed lightly to her chest like she's trying to physically hold all the love in. "Oh, she is nana’s favourite girl! Oh she's so clever," she calls, crouching closer. "Look at her, she's talking away to you! So bright!”

Liliya lets out a string of excited babbles, as if on cue. Yuna gasps dramatically. "See? She agrees with me."

Shane rolls his eyes, smiling anyway. "Of course she does."

The lesson itself is simple, gentle movements, getting her used to the water, encouraging comfort rather than skill. But to Shane, it feels like something monumental.

Every tiny reaction, every new expression, it's all everything and more to him. He never expected this. Never expected her. Never expected how much it would change him.

At nineteen years old, he felt like he already understood the meaning of life. 

By the time they're climbing out of the pool, Liliya wrapped snugly in a soft towel, she's still babbling happily, completely unbothered by the shift from water to air. "Alright, little fish," Shane murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her damp head. "You survived your first lesson."

"Thrived," Yuna corrects immediately, stepping in with another towel. "She thrived."

Shane snorts, handing Liliya over so Yuna can help dry her off.

Yuna is gentle, carefully patting her dry, tucking the towel around her, cooing softly the entire time.

"Oh, look at you," she murmurs, brushing a thumb lightly over Liliya's cheek. "So beautiful... so happy..."

Liliya responds with a soft noise, blinking up at her, completely content. And then Yuna stills. Just slightly. Her gaze lingers.

On Liliya's eyes.

That same striking blue.

The same ones she's noticed a hundred times before ; but something about this moment, the light catching them just right, makes it impossible not to think about it again.

About him.

The eyes she'd seen lock onto her sons during many a face off. 

Yuna glances up at Shane. "So, Have you tried again yet?" she asks gently.

Shane, halfway through pulling his hoodie over his head, pauses. "Tried what?"

"You know what."

He exhales, already shaking his head before she finishes. "No." It's immediate. Automatic.

Yuna watches him carefully. "Shane—"

"I said no, Mom." There's no bite to it. Just... avoidance. 

Which is almost worse.

She adjusts the towel around Liliya, quieter now but no less firm. "You haven't even looked for a way to get in touch? Why honey? You've been making all those videos for him. Recording every moment of her firsts. What's the point if you're not going to tell him?" 

He shrugs, grabbing the diaper bag, focusing on anything that isn't her question. "It's not like it's easy."

Yuna raises an eyebrow. "You're telling me one of the most talked about young players in the NHL, can't find a damn phone number? Shane you manage to avoid paparazzi on the daily, you've kept a baby hidden for over six months! Finding a phone number can't be that hard surely?" 

Shane huffs. "That's not—"

"And what about all of this around you ?" she gestures vaguely, meaning more than just the room. She’s talking about the world outside of it. "People connect all the time now. Facebook, BBM... you don't think you could find him if you really tried?"

Shane's jaw tightens slightly. He busies himself zipping up the bag. "We'll play Boston again," he says instead. "If not , there’s always next season.”

Yuna doesn't look convinced. "And?"

"I'll tell him then." The words come out too quickly, like he's been holding onto them as a shield. "A proper conversation. Not rushed. Not—" he gestures vaguely. "Not in passing."

Yuna studies him for a long moment. She knows that tone. Knows it's part hope, part fear, and part delay. "Shane," she says softly.

He doesn't look at her.

"Look at me."

Shane sighs, but he does as told. She meets his eyes, steady and certain. "You can't keep waiting for the perfect moment," she tells him. "It doesn't exist."

His grip tightens slightly on the strap of the bag.

"The longer you leave this..." she continues, glancing down briefly at Liliya before looking back at him, "the harder it's going to be for him to hear."

That lands.

Shane swallows. "I know," he says quietly.

"Do you?"

He hesitates. And that hesitation is answer enough.

Yuna steps closer, resting a hand briefly on his arm. "Promise me," she says.

He looks at her. Really looks this time.

"Promise me you won't keep putting this off."

Shane glances down at Liliya. She's calm now, her tiny hand curled into the edge of the towel, her eyes drifting between them like she's trying to follow the conversation.

His chest tightens.

Everything always comes back to her.

"...I'll tell him," he says finally. "Next time we play."

Yuna doesn't move. "Promise."

A beat.

"...I promise." It's quiet. But it's real.

Yuna nods slowly, satisfied, for now. "Good." She leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Liliya's forehead. "Because if it's what he wants, he deserves to get know you and this precious little girl," she murmurs gently.

Shane looks away at that. Not because he disagrees. But because he knows she's right.

And because promises like that mean the clock has officially started ticking. 

——————————————————————————

The All-Star weekend feels... different.

Looser. Less stressful. It's nice. 

No real stakes. No desperate push for points in the standings. No weight of entire teams riding on every shift. Just the best players in the league, scattered across opposing sides, laughing a little easier than usual.

And for the first time, Shane feels like he might actually have a chance. A real one. Not a rushed handshake. Not a passing moment on the ice.

Something longer. Something that might actually matter.

The bar is buzzing, full of players and media and low music humming under it all. Shane spots him almost immediately.

Ilya sits at the bar, shoulders relaxed in a way Shane's never seen during a game, a bottle of beer loose in his hand. He looks... normal. Not the sharp edged rival Shane's built up in his head over the course of their first season playing against one another. 

Just Ilya. 

The same Ilya he met outside of the arena that day.

Shane's heart starts pounding anyway. He hesitates for half a second. Then forces himself forward. Now or never.

He steps up beside him. "Hey."

Ilya glances over. There's a flicker of surprise, quick, gone almost instantly. But it's there.

Shane latches onto that. "Can I get a—uh—ginger ale?" he asks the bartender, voice just slightly too tight.

There's a beat.

Then, A quiet snicker.

Shane's head snaps toward Ilya immediately, defensive instinct kicking in. "What?"

Ilya lifts a shoulder, smirk tugging at his mouth. "Nothing."

"No, what's funny?"

Ilya takes a slow sip of his beer, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "I've seen your commercial."

Shane blinks. "What?"

"The Canada Dry one," Ilya says, like it's obvious. "You and your ginger ale."

Realization hits, and along with it, embarrassment.

"Oh my—" Shane huffs, dragging a hand over his face. "Seriously?"

Ilya's smirk widens just slightly. "You did good."

There's a pause. Then, more quietly, "For a rookie." It's teasing. But not cruel.

Not like it is on the ice.

Shane exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders despite himself. "Wow," he mutters. "High praise."

Ilya hums. "Don't get used to it." That— That feels familiar.

And suddenly, Shane's not as tense anymore.

"Yeah?" he shoots back. "You saving all your compliments for the awards show?"

Ilya's eyes flicker with something sharper—amusement, maybe. "Of course."

"Confident, huh?"

"I'm ready to win rookie of the year, yes."

Shane laughs. Actually laughs. And it feels... easy.

God, it feels easy. His shoulders drop, the tight knot in his chest loosening as they fall into something that feels dangerously close to that first morning they ever spent together, banter, back-and-forth, something light and natural and unchanged.

Like no time has passed at all.

Like nothing complicated is sitting between them.

They talk. About hockey, mostly. About the weekend. About the absurdity of some of the events. It's simple, surface-level, but it's something. And then, Ilya glances at him, expression shifting just slightly.

"Ты как?" he asks, softer now. Then, in English, "How have you been?"

Shane stills. There it is. The moment.

It lands heavy in his chest, all the words he's been holding onto for months suddenly crowding forward at once. Tell him. Now.

His grip tightens slightly around the cold glass in his hand. "I've been—" he starts.

His voice falters. Because how do you even begin?

I have a daughter. She's yours. She has your eyes and your curls- your everything.

His heart pounds. "I need to tell you something—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

The interruption crashes in like a body check.

Both of them turn.

JJ clumsily barrels into the space between them, grinning like he's just caught something scandalous. "Are we seriously letting this happen?" he laughs, throwing his hands up. "Rivals fraternizing at the All-Star bar? This is bad for business, boys."

Shane's stomach drops. "No, JJ, I—"

"Relax," JJ cuts him off, slinging an arm loosely between them. "I'm saving you both from the headlines."

Ilya chuckles under his breath, shaking his head.

"Seems we have our orders," he says, glancing back at Shane, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

Shane opens his mouth. Tries again. "Wait, Ilya, I just—"

But it's already slipping. The moment. Again.

Ilya steps back, easy, casual—too casual. "Another time," he says lightly.

And then he's gone. Swallowed back into the crowd. Shane stands there, rooted in place, the unfinished sentence still sitting heavy in his chest.

I need to tell you something.

It echoes, useless now.

They don't get another chance. Not that night. Not the next day. Not before everyone scatters back to their teams, their cities, their separate lives.

Two days later, Shane is home. The apartment is quiet again. But not empty.

Liliya is in his arms, ten months old now, warm and solid and very real as she rests sleepily against his chest.

He sways gently, back and forth, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "I almost told him," he murmurs. His voice is tired. More than tired.

Defeated.

Her tiny hand grips the fabric of his shirt, completely unaware of the weight behind his words. "He was right there," Shane continues quietly. "We were talking. It was... good." Normal.

Easy. Everything it shouldn't have been.

"And then—" he exhales softly. "Gone again."

He leans his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "How many times will I get that chance?" he whispers. No answer. Just silence.

And the soft, steady sound of Liliya breathing.

Shane looks down at her. At her face. At her eyes.

The same eyes. Always the same. His chest aches. It’s always the same damn thoughts.

It physically hurts to breathe. The ugly layer of guilt weighing him down in ways he never knew possible. 

Because the thing was,  it was starting to feel like more than bad timing. More than missed moments.

It was starting to feel like something else. Like the universe is nudging him in a direction he doesn't want to accept. Maybe this isn't supposed to happen. Maybe Ilya isn't supposed to know.

Maybe—

Shane swallows hard, tightening his hold on her just slightly. "I don't know, baby girl," he murmurs.

And for the first time since she was born— He lets the doubt settle in.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Persistent.

Like maybe fate has already made the decision for him. And he's just been too stubborn to see it.

——————————————————————————

His apartment is louder than Shane ever imagined it could be. Laughter. Talking. The soft, constant background noise of people moving around, celebrating, living.

And right in the middle of it all is Liliya.

One year old today.

Shane stands back for a moment, phone in hand, recording as he slowly pans across the room. Decorations are strung up, soft yellows and whites, little daisies scattered everywhere. Much like the daisies she wore the day Shane brought her home. A small table holds her cake, carefully made, slightly uneven in that homemade way that makes it better.

"Okay," Shane murmurs quietly into the camera, keeping his voice low but steady. "This is Lily's first birthday." He turns it slightly, catching her where she's sitting on a blanket, surrounded by people.

"She's one," he adds, like he still can't believe it. 

And he really can't. “I really wish you were here for this Ilya, I’m sorry you’re not. I hope one day I can’t make it up to you.” 

One whole year since his entire world tilted on its axis. Man. What a beautiful year it had been. 

"Dada!"

Shane immediately lowers the phone, turning.

Liliya is looking right at him, her whole face lighting up as she reaches out with both hands. His chest tightens instantly.

"Hey, baby," he says, crossing the room without hesitation and scooping her up. "There you are."

She babbles happily, patting at his face, completely unaware of the way she just undid him. "Yeah?" he murmurs. "You having fun?"

"Nana!" she adds suddenly, twisting in his arms.

Yuna laughs from across the room. "I'm right here, sweetheart. I can see you big girl!" 

Liliya beams.

Shane presses a quick kiss to her cheek, smiling despite the lump in his throat.

Her favourite words.

Dada.

Nana.

Baba (Grandpa) 

Simple. Yet so unbelievably her.

The way she says them small four lettered words is everything. 

Perfect. Just like she is.

—

The team and family fill the space easily.

JJ is off to the side, attempting, poorly—to entertain Liliya with a plush toy while she watches him like he's deeply confusing. "I swear she liked me before," he mutters.

"She tolerates you," Shane corrects.

"That's harsh."

Hayden, on the other hand, is in his element. "Alright, girls, gentle," he's saying as his twin daughters, Jade and Ruby, hover near Liliya with wide, curious eyes.

Jackie stands nearby, smiling as she keeps a loose eye on all three kids.

"They're obsessed with her," Hayden says over his shoulder to Shane.

"Can't say I blame them," Shane replies. "I'm pretty obsessed myself man." 

"She's still got the best hair out of all of them," Hayden adds immediately. A soft pout forming on his lips. 

Jackie rolls her eyes. "You're still stuck on that?"

"I'm never letting it go," he insists. "Look at it!"

Liliya's golden brown curls are soft and slightly wild today, bouncing as she moves. Two little bow clips holding up the tiny, pigtails Yuna had struggling to fix. 

Shane smiles faintly. Memories of a certain Russian flashing through his brain. 

"Yeah," he says quietly. "It's... something."

David and Yuna are just as smitten. If not even more so than anyone else.  Yuna barely puts Liliya down, showering her with kisses and soft words every chance she gets.

"There's my birthday girl," she coos.

David stands close by, quieter but just as present, his hand often resting gently on Liliya's back whenever Shane passes her over.

It's good. It's everything Shane had ever wanted for her. A room full of people who love her. Who show up. Who care.

That way she will never feel the ache of who is missing. 

"Hey."

Shane glances over. Hayden jerks his head slightly toward the balcony. "Got a minute?"

Shane hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. One sec."

He hands Liliya back over to Yuna, who takes her without question. "Go," she says softly. "We've got her for a few minutes."

Shane nods, then follows Hayden outside.

—

The noise dulls the second the door closes behind them.

It's quieter out here. Cooler.

Shane exhales slowly, leaning back against the railing.

"For a one-year-old, she throws a pretty good party," Hayden says lightly. "I gotta hand it to her man." 

Shane huffs a small laugh. "Yeah."

There's a pause. Then his best friend looks him in the eye straight on. 

"You okay?" Hayden asks.

Shane doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks back through the glass doors.

At Liliya. At his parents. At his team. All of them gathered around her. All of them there.

Except—

"...yeah," Shane says finally.

Hayden doesn't buy it.

"Alright," he says. "Try again."

Shane lets out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

"It's just—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

Hayden leans against the railing beside him.

"It's about him, isn't it?"

Shane doesn't need to ask who.

"...we've played Boston," he says quietly. "We've played them multiple times."

Hayden nods. He knows that. He was there. 

"I thought maybe—" Shane exhales sharply. "I don't know. That he'd notice or something. That he'd notice I was desperate to talk; that I wanted him to talk. Every time I came to that face off line; I'd pray for him to notice. Just once." 

But he hadn't.

Not really.

"Did you talk to him at all?" Hayden asks. "After last week's game I mean." 

Shane shakes his head. "He was on the bench for most of it remember? By the time we got off the ice he was being pulled for press," he says. "I get it. Why they wanted him I mean. First game back since the loss last season, lots of pressure, being assessed for captain , all of that, I get it."

And he does.

He really does.

But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

"I just—" Shane swallows hard. "He doesn't even know about her, he's missed a whole year of her life Hayd. I feel so damn guilty. There's nothing stopping me from sending an email or reaching out on Facebook. I have no reason to be holding back!" 

Hayden is quiet for a moment. "Fear does crazy things to the brain brother. As much as you think you're okay with everything, deep down there is always something holding you back. Who knows what it is. I get that it's hard for you , doing it without him. I do. But, You've got all of this," he says eventually, gesturing back inside. "That's got to count for something right?" 

"I know," Shane says quickly. "I know that."

And he does.

He's grateful.

So grateful it almost overwhelms him sometimes.

"But he's her dad," Shane adds, his voice softer now. "He should... he should know her. I'm being selfish Hayden." 

Hayden nods slowly.

"Yeah," he says. "He should. And maybe you are being selfish wanting to do it in person. But also, maybe you're just protecting her from heartbreak. Maybe even protecting yourself from it too. Whether that’s something you’re ready to admit to yourself or not.” 

Shane looks back inside again.

Liliya is laughing now, her tiny hands clapping together as Yuna encourages her.

"She's perfect," Shane murmurs.

"She is," Hayden agrees. Eyes shining as he watches his pseudo niece and daughters interact. 

"You'll tell him," He says eventually. "One way or another. Whether it's today or years away. I know you and I know you will tell him."

Shane nods, though it doesn't feel that simple.

"I've been recording everything," he says. "Just in case."

Hayden glances at him.

"In case what?"

"In case I get the chance," Shane replies quietly. "To explain. To show him."

He shrugs slightly.

"So he doesn't think I just... kept her from him without thinking it through. So that he doesn't think that I wasn't thinking of him as I raised her on my own. I need him to know he was there; always spoken about. That I didn’t do any of it to spite him.” 

Hayden studies him for a moment.

"You wouldn't do that to him Shane."

"I know that," Shane says. "But he doesn't."

That's the problem.

"Dada!"

They both turn.

Liliya is at the door now, Yuna just behind her, guiding her gently. Her little hands press against the glass. "Dada!"

Shane's face softens instantly."Yeah," he murmurs. "I'm coming."

He pushes off the railing, glancing at Hayden.

"Thanks."

"Anytime," Hayden says.

The second Shane steps back inside, Liliya reaches for him. He scoops her up easily, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Hey, birthday girl."

She babbles happily, completely unaware of anything but the moment. Shane holds her close, his chest tight. He looks around the room again.

At everyone who showed up.

At everything he's built.

At the life he's making for both of them.

And still— There's a small, quiet ache. A missing piece. He presses another kiss to Liliya's hair, breathing her in.

"I've got you," he whispers.

Just for now. 

That has to be enough. 

——————————————————————————

The sound of it hits first.

A sharp, sickening snap that echoes far too loudly for a routine practice. Ilya doesn't even register hitting the ice at first. One second he's pivoting—weight shifting, blade catching slightly at a bad angle and the next.  Pain.

Blinding. Immediate. All-consuming.

It tears up his leg like something has split apart inside him, white-hot and violent, stealing the air from his lungs before he can even shout. Then it hits. He's down on the ice. And something is wrong.

Very wrong.

He tries to move out of instinct, panic, but the second he does, another wave of pain crashes through him so hard it forces a strangled sound from his throat.

His leg doesn't respond the way it should. It feels... unstable. Disconnected.

Teammates are suddenly there, voices overlapping, urgent, blurred. Cliff's voice standing out above them all.  "Don't move—"

"Coach! Fuck get coach will you—"

"Jesus, Rozanov—"

Ilya squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight it aches, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

He doesn't need anyone to tell him. He knows.

–

The diagnosis comes in bits and pieces. Words he recognizes. Words he wishes he didn't. 

"Comminuted fracture."

"Multiple fragments."

"Displacement."

The doctor gestures carefully at the scan, the image of his leg lit up in stark, clinical detail. "The tibia has fractured in more than one place," he explains, voice steady, practiced. "And there's involvement near the joint line. We're also concerned about ligament damage, possibly the ACL, though we'll confirm during surgery."

Ilya stares at the image. It barely looks like a leg anymore. More like something shattered.

"We'll need to operate," the doctor continues. "Internal fixation plates and screws to stabilise the bone fragments. Depending on the ligament damage, there may be reconstruction required as well."

"How long?" Ilya asks. His voice sounds distant.

Not quite his own.

The doctor hesitates—just for a second.

"Recovery from this kind of injury... it's significant. You're looking at a minimum of twelve to eighteen months before returning to high-level play. Possibly longer." A pause. "We also need to be realistic. With the complexity of the fracture, there's a risk of complications, delayed healing, reduced mobility, blood clots, chronic pain."

The words settle like weight.

Heavy. Unavoidable.

"We can't guarantee," the doctor finishes carefully, "that your leg will return to its previous condition."

Silence.

Ilya doesn't react right away. He just... sits there. Staring. Processing. A year. Maybe more.

Or— Maybe never the same again. 

What the fuck am I going to do? 

The surgery happens the next morning.

Hours under bright lights and sterile air.

They realign the bone fragments as best they can, securing them with a metal plate along the tibia, screws anchoring everything into place. 

The damaged ligament is worse than expected, partial tear confirmed, requiring reinforcement.

When he wakes up, his leg is immobilized, wrapped and braced, heavy and foreign. It throbs.

A deep, relentless ache that doesn't fully fade, even through the medication.

But the physical pain isn't the worst part. It's the realization. Season's over. Gone. Just like that.

As is the chance of him seeing Shane Hollander. 

—

A few weeks later, the room is quieter. Too quiet.

Ilya sits propped up in bed, staring out the window, his crutches leaning uselessly against the wall. He hasn't touched them much. Hasn't needed to. Hasn't wanted to.

"They're sending you home?" Svetlana's voice is gentle, but it still pulls him out of his thoughts.

He nods once. " To Russia," he says flatly. "For rehab. No reason for me to stay in Boston." 

She steps further into the room, setting her bag down before sitting beside him. "That's good," she says. "You'll have the support of some of the best medical professionals there."

Ilya lets out a quiet, humourless laugh. "Yeah."

Support. Or distance. From everything.

From the league.

From the life he built here.

From—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I was going to talk to him." The words slip out before he can stop them. Svetlana doesn't need to ask who.

"The All-Star game , it was different. He was different. It felt like maybe he wanted to talk," he continues, staring down at his hands. "And we did, but not about- you know… We almost did. But Boiziau interrupted and..." Almost. It feels like a cruel joke now. "I thought ah well, next time we play it is. Then I was benched and press took over ..." he mutters. "There's always next time." His jaw tightens. "But now—"

He gestures vaguely at his leg. At everything. "Now there isn't. I may as well give up. Accept that maybe it wasn't meant to mean anything." 

Silence settles between them.

Then Svetlana nudges his shoulder lightly. "You don't know that."

He scoffs. "Feels like I do."

She shakes her head. "You're acting like this is the end of everything."

"It might be."

"It's not." Her voice is firmer now. "You're going to recover. You're going to be back on the ice. And when you are, you can talk to him then."

Ilya looks away. It sounds nice. Hopeful. Unrealistic. "You don't know that," he says quietly.

"No," she admits. "But I believe it."

He lets out a slow breath. "I don't." The words hang there, raw and honest. And for once—

He doesn't try to take them back.

–

Back in Montreal, the radio crackles softly in the background of Shane’s kitchen.

"....Oh! There is breaking news out of Boston—star forward Ilya Rozanov has suffered a significant leg injury during practice and is expected to miss the remainder of the season..."

Shane stills.

The mug in his hand pauses halfway to his lips.

"...surgery was performed earlier this week, though sources say there is uncertainty surrounding the full extent of his recovery. The raiders are remaining positive..."

A long silence fills the room after the segment ends. Shane exhales slowly. "Of course," he mutters under his breath.

Because of course.

Because apparently, the universe and fate aren’t done with them yet.

His gaze drifts across the room. To Liliya.

Eighteen months old now, sitting on the floor surrounded by toys, completely absorbed in her own little world.

"Fate's got a funny way of doing things, huh?" he says quietly. She doesn't understand. Of course she doesn't. She just looks up at him instead, her face lighting up instantly.

"Dada!" she shouts, clapping her hands together excitedly. The sound echoes in the room. Bright. Joyful. Certain.

Shane's expression softens immediately. "Hey, you," he murmurs, setting his mug down and walking over to her. He crouches, brushing a hand gently through her hair. "You've got no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Dada!" she repeats, like that's the only word that matters. Maybe it is.

Shane huffs out a quiet, sad smile. "Yeah," he whispers. "That's me."

She laughs, clapping again. And for a moment ; Just a moment. It's enough to pull him out of his head. Though not completely.

Because the thought lingers.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

You were finally getting somewhere. And now he's possibly gone for good.

Shane presses a soft kiss to the top of Lily’s curls, holding her just a little closer than usual.

"Guess it's just not up to me," he murmurs.

Not anymore. Not when distance, and time, and now injury have stretched things thinner than ever before. 

Liliya just hums happily against him. Unaffected.

Unaware. While somewhere across the world

—

Everything hangs in the balance.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary

Ilya faces up to the reality of his career changes as Shane faces the reality of the situation he’s put himself in.

Chapter Notes

Holaaa, so I have been absolutely loving reading all of your amazing comments and feedback! I am certainly one who loves to read and take in anything given to me. However, lately there is a lot of comments about how unrealistic this story is and how I should change things within my plot. But that’s the whole point of this website. This is fanfiction, it’s supposed to be unrealistic and full of angst. If you came looking for a story that was based off of reality , then this is certainly not the place for you! I appreciate the feedback though, just had to make that clearer.

But anyways , I love you all! Enjoy this chapter is a rollercoaster ;)

By the time Liliya is two years old, Shane likes to think that he knows her better than he knows himself.

Every sound. Every expression. Every tiny shift in her mood. So when something feels off—He notices. Even if it’s something nobody else can see, he sees it. 

At first, it's small. Easy to brush off. Nothing to worry about. 

"She bruises a lot," Shane says one afternoon, gently turning Liliya's arm in the light. There's a faint yellow-purple mark along her forearm, another on her shin. "Like , really easily. There’s so many of them.”

Yuna barely looks up from where she's folding laundry. "She's a toddler," she says. "They fall. They bump into things."

"I know, but—" Shane hesitates. "It just feels like it's- I don’t know- more than that."

Yuna smiles faintly. "You're overthinking it honey. You were always covered in bruises at her age!" 

And maybe he is. He sure as hell wants to be. Liliya has been nothing but healthy since the day she was born. Strong. Happy. Perfect.

So Shane lets it go.

For a while at least. 

Then it's the cuts. Nothing too serious, just small scrapes from playing—but they take longer to stop bleeding than they should. Especially the ones close to her palms or ankle area. 

Shane notices the way the blood wells up, slow to clot, slow to steady, even with pressure. "That's not normal," he mutters, pressing a clean cloth gently to her knee.

Liliya sniffles but doesn't cry much, distracted easily when he kisses her forehead. Still, it lingers in his mind. The thought that something isn’t quite right. 

Finally, last but not least, there's her colour. It's subtle. But once Shane sees it, he can't unsee it. "She looks really pale today,” he says one morning.

Yuna glances over. "She's always been a little fair. Rozanov is pale , he's Russian. It's in her genetics." 

"No, mom," Shane insists quietly. "Not like this. Surely you can see how blue she’s looking. That’s not a normal shade of pale.”

She studies Liliya a litter closer this time. Really looks. And for the first time, much to Shane’s devastation- She doesn't dismiss it. "... maybe," she admits. "She might be coming down with something. Just- I don’t know, keep an eye on her sweetheart.”

That's when it starts to build. Piece by piece. The bruising. The bleeding. The pallor. The concern. It’s all hinting towards something Shane’s not prepared to acknowledge. 

Yuna brings it up to David that evening.

"I think Shane might be right," she says quietly. 

David frowns. "About what?"

"Liliya. Something's not quite right. I don't want to scare him. I keep trying to ease his worry, but he knows her. She's a part of him. He knows it in his gut that somethings not right.” She sighs shakily. “I can't - I can't keep straying him away from his instincts." 

David is quiet for a moment, sat thinking. Finally coming up with a response. "You should talk to him. Tell him that you don’t want to scare him, but you’re starting to think maybe he's right, that maybe it's time to get her checked out," he says.

Yuna hums, already pulling out her phone to make the call.

—

The next morning, Shane doesn't hesitate. The phone call from his mom the night before had changed everything. Now that it's not just him seeing it— Now that it's real-Panic sets in hard.

He calls the paediatrician immediately. Books the earliest appointment he can get. His hands shake the entire time. 

Lily’s paediatrician's office feels too small.

Too quiet. She sits on Shane's lap, playing with his fingers, completely unaware of the tension radiating off him. "It's probably nothing," he murmurs to her. "Just daddy being silly. It’ll be fine.” 

He's not exactly sure if he's trying to reassure her or himself.

The doctor enters, warm but professional. It’s one of the things Shane loved the most about her. 

Doctor Rebecca Durrell. She's one of the best.  "What can I help you with today little miss?!” She asks, smiling at Liliya widely. 

Shane takes a breath, clutching his daughter closer to his chest. Then he begins. He lists everything. Every last detail. All of his inner thoughts and fears releasing for the woman to hear.

The bruising. The bleeding. The pallor. All of it. The symptoms that have lived inside of his head on repeat for months now. 

She listens carefully, nodding occasionally, her expression thoughtful. "Has she had any significant injuries?" she asks. “Broken bones? Head injuries?”

"No," Shane says quickly. "Just normal toddler stuff."

"Any family history of bleeding disorders? Kidney issues?"

Shane hesitates. "....I don't know," he admits. Because he doesn't. Not fully. Not without- 

Ilya.

The doctor nods. "Alright," she says. "Based on what you're describing, there are a few possibilities."

Shane's stomach drops. "Such as?"

"Sometimes, issues with bruising and bleeding can be linked to platelet function or clotting factors," she explains. "It could also relate to kidney function in some cases, or certain types of anaemia." The words blur slightly.

Shane grips Liliya a little tighter. "What- er -What does that mean?" he asks, his voice tight.

"It means we need more information," she says gently. "The next step is blood work."

Shane nods automatically. "Okay."

"More specifically," she continues, "we'll look at her complete blood count, her haemoglobin levels, platelet count ; and we'll run clotting studies. That includes things like prothrombin time and activated partial thromboplastin time."

Shane stares at her. "....right." He understands some of it. Not enough. It’s all a little too much to take in. 

"We may also check kidney function markers," she adds. "Just to rule things out."

Shane swallows hard. "And if something's wrong?"

"We'll know more once we have the results," she says. That doesn't help. Not really.

The blood draw is the worst part. 

Liliya cries.

She cries in a way she never has before. The bleeding that comes from the small prick is enough to have the doctor humming. Shane feels like his chest is being ripped open.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs over and over, holding Liliya close as they take the next sample.

"It's okay," the nurse says gently. "It's quick." It doesn't feel quick. It feels endless. By the time it's done, Shane is shaking almost as much as Liliya is.

—

It’s the wait after that is unbearable. Days stretch. Every bruise feels worse. Every small thing feels bigger. It’s relentless. 

Shane barely sleeps.

When the call finally comes, his heart drops straight into his stomach. "Hi Shane honey, Can you come in?" Doctor Durrell asks. That's never good.

This time, the room feels colder. More clinical.

Liliya sits in his lap again, quieter today, her small hand clutching his shirt. The doctor sits across from them. Her expression is calm, but serious. "We have the results," she says.

Shane nods, his throat tight. "...okay."

She takes a breath. "Liliya's clotting studies came back abnormal," she explains. "Her activated partial thromboplastin time, APTT, is significantly prolonged."

Shane stares at her. "I don't—what does that mean?"

"It means her blood is taking longer than normal to clot," she says gently.

The words hit hard. "Why?”

The doctor pauses. "Based on her results, and further factor testing we ran, Liliya has a condition called haemophilia."

The word lands heavy. Unfamiliar. Terrifying.

"W-what is that?" Shane asks, barely above a whisper.

"It's a genetic blood disorder," she explains. "Specifically, it affects the body's ability to produce certain clotting factors, proteins that help stop bleeding. There are different types, some more severe than others.” 

Shane's grip tightens around Liliya. "S-so which one does, Lily have?”he asks.

"Factor VIII," she says. "That indicates haemophilia A."

Shane's head spins. "And what does that mean for her?"

"It means she's at higher risk for prolonged bleeding," the doctor says. "Even from minor injuries. It can also lead to internal bleeding, particularly in joints and muscles."

Shane feels sick. "Internal?" His voice cracks. "That can just... happen?"

"In cases that are discovered late on in childhood, yes," she says. "But we caught this early. That's important."

Early.

That's supposed to be a good thing. It doesn't feel like it. "Is it... treatable?" he asks.

"Yes," Doctor Durrell says. "There are treatments, replacement therapies being the main, where we administer the missing clotting factor. Many children with haemophilia live full, active lives with proper management."

Shane nods slowly. Trying to process. Trying not to panic. "Di-did I give this to her?" he asks suddenly. The question slips out before he can stop it.

The doctor pauses. "It's possible," she says carefully. "Haemophilia is typically inherited. It's often carried on the X chromosome."

Shane swallows hard. "So, what exactly does that mean? I-I’m sorry I just- I don’t understand all the medical terms.”

"It means one of her biological parents likely carries or has the gene," she explains. "To know for certain, both parents would need to be tested."

Both parents. The words echo. Shane's stomach drops. Because there's only one person he doesn't have. Only one person who doesn't know.

Only one person who needs to know. 

He looks down at Liliya. At her small, perfect face.

At the tiny bruises he hadn't wanted to see. And something in him settles. Not calm. Not peace.

But certainty.

"...okay," he says quietly.

The doctor nods, continuing to explain treatment plans, referrals to specialists, monitoring strategies. Shane hears it. But part of him is already somewhere else. Somewhere ahead.

The next steps. The next time he sees him.

Ilya.

Because now,  It's not just about him anymore.

It's about Liliya. And Shane knows, with absolute certainty; 

He has no choice.

No ‘next time they're on the same ice’ , there are no other options. He has to find a way of contacting him. 

He's going to make Ilya listen. He’s going to explain and he’s going to pray to god that Ilya forgives him. 

——————————————————————————

The call comes on a cold , grey morning. It’s been quiet . Uneventful. The kind of morning Ilya has learned to hate during recovery, too much time to think, not enough distraction to stop himself from spiralling. 

He's just finished a slow, careful set of rehab exercises, his leg aching in that deep, familiar way that never fully leaves anymore, when his phone buzzes on the table.

He almost ignores it. Almost.

But something, instinct, maybe ; makes him pick it up. A few minutes later, he wishes he hadn't.

"Ilya... they're trading you."

The words don't land properly at first. They just... float there. Meaningless. He leans back slightly in his chair, brow furrowing. "What?"

"To Ottawa."

Silence. Longer this time. He stares ahead, not really seeing anything.

Ottawa. Not Boston.

Not the team he's spent years fighting to prove himself on. Not the locker room he carved a place in. Not the city that became something close to home.

Ottawa.

"They're rebuilding," the voice continues. "They need pieces. It's a business decision."

A business decision.

Of course it is. It always is.

Ilya swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "W-When?"

"Soon. Before the next phase of the season starts. They want you integrated as soon as you're cleared."

Cleared.

As if that part isn't still uncertain. As if his leg doesn't still stiffen some mornings, doesn't still remind him that nothing is guaranteed. "Right," he says finally.

The call ends not long after. Ilya doesn't move for a while. Just sits there. Processing.

He had been so close. Before the injury, before everything, there had been talk. Quiet, but real.

Leadership.  Responsibility. Captain. Respect from his father and brother who have done nothing but belittle him his entire life. 

And now—

He lets out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand over his face. Now he's starting over. Again. New team. New city. New expectations. No Cliff. No familiar voices in the locker room. No rhythm he understands. Just strangers. And a team that hasn't even seen the playoffs in years.

For a moment, a dangerous, quiet moment- He wonders if it's even worth it.

All of it.

The pain. The rehab. The uncertainty. Coming back just to... what? Prove himself all over again?

He exhales sharply, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Unbelievable," he mutters.

Svetlana finds him like that an hour later.

Still sitting there. Still stuck. "I heard," she says gently, stepping into the room.

Ilya doesn't look up. "Of course you did.”

She ignores the tone, crossing her arms lightly. "Ottawa."

"Yeah." Silence stretches for a second.

“So, I suppose it’s confirmed. You’re going back."

That gets his attention. He looks up at her, frowning. "What?"

"You're going back to hockey," she says, like that's the only part that matters. "That's what this means."

Ilya lets out a quiet scoff. "On a team that can't even make playoffs."

"And?" she counters immediately.

"And I just lost everything I built in Boston."

"You didn't lose it," she says firmly. "You had it. That doesn't disappear just because you change jerseys."

He shakes his head. "Feels like it does."

Svetlana steps closer, her voice softening, but not weakening. "You love this," she says. "You fought through surgery, through rehab, through months of not knowing if your leg would even hold up again. All for this." She gestures toward him, toward the future waiting whether he likes it or not.

"You don't get to quit now."

Ilya looks away. Because she's right. And he hates that she's right. "I'm tired," he admits quietly.

"I know."

"Starting over,” he exhales. "I don't know if I have it in me again."

Svetlana studies him for a moment. Her solum face twitching into amusement. "Good thing you won't be alone."

Ilya frowns slightly. "What does that mean?"

She tilts her head, a small, knowing look creeping in. "Ottawa," she says casually, like it's nothing. Ilya waits. "And Montreal."

It takes a second. Then. Something clicks. His posture shifts, just slightly. "...What?"

Svetlana shrugs. "They're close. What, a couple hours between them? You'll play them all the time."

Montreal. The word lands differently than everything else has today. He straightens a little more.

"Regular season. Travel. Maybe playoffs if things go well," Svetlana continues. "You'll be in the same country again."

Same country. Same ice. Same league proximity.

Shane. The name doesn't need to be said out loud.

It's already there. Loud enough. Clear enough.

For a second, Ilya just stares at her. Then he looks away, but it's different now. Something has shifted.

That dull, heavy weight in his chest. It loosens just a fraction. "Three years," he mutters under his breath.

Svetlana raises an eyebrow. "What?"

He shakes his head, but there's something almost disbelieving in the small breath he lets out. "Nothing."

But it's not nothing.

It's everything.

Almost three whole years of what-ifs. Three whole years of missed chances, almost-conversations, unfinished sentences. And now, now  there might actually be a way back to it. A real one. Not rushed. Not stolen in seconds. Something solid. Something he can actually reach for.

For the first time in months— Ilya feels it. Not the pressure. Not the fear. Something else. Something lighter.

Hope.

It settles quietly in his chest, unfamiliar but welcome. "...Ottawa, huh?" he says, almost to himself.

Svetlana smiles slightly. "See? Not so bad."

Ilya doesn't answer right away. But he doesn't argue either. Because suddenly,  starting over doesn't feel like losing everything.

It feels like maybe— Just maybe— He's being given one more chance.

——————————————————————————

Shane read Hayden's message three times before it even began to feel real.

Traded to Ottawa.

The words didn't change. They didn't soften or rearrange themselves into something safer. They just sat there, heavy and undeniable, glowing from the screen like they had been waiting for this exact moment to detonate his carefully controlled life.

"Ilya. Holy shit, Ottawa," he muttered under his breath, like saying it out loud might make it make sense.

For years, Ilya had been distant in every possible way, geographically, emotionally, professionally. 

Different teams. Different cities. Different lives. Always just out of reach, even when headlines tried to stitch them together as rivals. It had been easier that way. Cleaner. Shane could pretend the separation was intentional, not something that had slipped through his fingers.

But Ottawa?

Ottawa was close.

Too close to ignore. Too close to pretend anymore.

A small voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.

"Dada?"

Shane blinked and looked down.

Liliya stood beside the couch, one hand clutching the fabric of his sweatpants, the other holding her stuffed rabbit by the ear. Her wide, pale eyes, his eyes. God, those eyes. They were fixed on him with quiet concern.

She tilted her head. "Dada… sad?"

His chest tightened instantly. "No, малыш," kiddo, he said softly, crouching down in front of her. "Not sad." He had been trying to speak to her in Russian whenever possible. But he only knew small words.

She studied him like she didn't quite believe that.

Liliya didn't speak much yet, not full sentences, not really. But she understood everything. 

Too much, sometimes. 

Her words came in fragments, little pieces of thought, but her expressions... those were unmistakable. She reached up, pressing her tiny palm against his cheek. "Okay?" she asked.

Shane exhaled shakily, covering her hand with his.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I think... maybe I am."

For the first time in years, he wasn't drowning in what he'd lost. He was staring at what he might still have. He hadn't expected hope to feel this terrifying.

It buzzed under his skin as he sat at the kitchen table later that night, long after Liliya had fallen asleep. Her monitor hummed softly beside him, the faint image of her curled up in her crib casting flickers of light across the room.

Shane stared at his phone. His mom had gotten him the number he needed. 

He'd already drafted the message to Coach Wiebe three times. Deleted it three times.

What do you even say?

' Hey, I know you've probably heard a lot about mine and Ilya's so called rivalry over the years, most of it wrong, but can you give me his number? By the way, he has a daughter he's never met.' 

Yeah. That would go over well.

He dragged a hand down his face. This wasn't about pride. It wasn't about whatever narrative the media had spun for the past, almost three years.

This was about Liliya.

About the way she laughed, loud and sudden, like it surprised even her. About the way she said "Da" when she was happy with something and "Nyet" when she was absolutely not. About the way she furrowed her brows in concentration, just like— His throat closed over.

Just like Ilya.

Shane looked back at the monitor. "She looks like him," he murmured quietly. "More and more every day." And that was the truth that had finally broken him open.

For the two years since her birth, he had convinced himself that distance was protection from fate. That keeping Ilya out of their lives was safer than risking rejection, conflict, or worse—indifference. 

A fear he had hidden away behind the video vlogs he made, trying to convince himself that Ilya would someday watch them. 

But Liliya wasn't just his. She never had been. And now Ilya was close enough to reach. Close enough to choose.

Shane picked up his phone again.

No more drafts messages. 

No more excuses.

He typed the message quickly this time, before he could lose his nerve. ' Coach Wiebe, this is Shane Hollander. I know this is unexpected, but I need to speak with Ilya. It's important. I understand if you're hesitant, given everything that's been said over the years, but I'm asking anyway. I know as his new coach you will have all of his contact details. If you could send them over I'd be eternally grateful. Please.' 

He stared at the words. Simple. Honest. No hiding.

His thumb hovered over the screen for only a second before he hit send. And just like that, there was no going back.

The reply didn't come immediately.

Of course it didn't.

Shane spent the next hour pacing the apartment, checking his phone every thirty seconds like it might magically speed things up. By the time it finally buzzed, his heart was already racing.

He froze before picking it up. Then—

'If this is some kind of practical joke on my new player , I won't entertain it Hollander.' 

Shane swallowed hard. Fair.

He typed back instantly. 'It's not'

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

Shane didn't breathe. Finally—

'You and Ilya... you weren't exactly on speaking terms that last I knew of. You've barely ever interacted off of the ice'

That was putting it lightly.

Shane leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. 'I know how it looked, he wrote. That's not the full story.'

Another pause in typing. Longer this time. 

'Why now? Why the sudden interest?'

Shane's gaze drifted, almost instinctively, to the monitor. Liliya had rolled onto her back in her sleep, one arm flung above her head, her curls spread across the pillow. Even through the grainy black-and-white screen, she was unmistakably his and unmistakably Ilya's.

His chest ached.

'Because he has a daughter, WE have a daughter. And I need him to know that.’ Shane typed. He didn't soften it. Didn't ease into it.

The truth landed exactly as it was. If it got out to the public so be it. Liliya's diagnosis had been hard to wrap his head around. He needed Ilya more than ever before. 

There was no immediate response this time.

A minute passed. Then five. Then ten.

Shane's stomach twisted tighter with each second.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe—His phone buzzed again.

A message. Then another. And another.

‘Contact card.

Phone number.

Email.

New Address.’

Shane stared at the screen, stunned. Just like that. He had it. He actually had it. For a long moment, he didn't move. Didn't think. Didn't breathe.

Then a shaky laugh broke out of him, half disbelief, half something dangerously close to relief.

"This is it," he whispered to himself. His eyes flicked back to the monitor.

Liliya shifted slightly, letting out a soft, sleepy sound. "Dada.." she mumbled, barely awake.

Shane's expression softened instantly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, even though she couldn't hear him. "I'm here baby."

He looked back down at the phone.

At Ilya's number. His thumb hovered over it. Years of silence sat between them. Years of misunderstanding. Of wasted tries. Of distance. Of things left unsaid. And yet, for  the first time, Shane didn't feel trapped by it.

He felt like he was standing at the edge of something that could change everything. Terrifying. Fragile. Real. 

"This is your chance," he murmured. Then, softer—

"Our chance." He inhaled deeply.

And he finally pressed call.

——————————————————————————

The phone rang longer than Shane expected.

Each second stretched, taut and fragile, like something ready to snap. He almost hung up—almost convinced himself this had been a mistake—when the line finally clicked.

A breath. Then a voice.

"...Hello?"

It was deeper than he remembered it sounding at the All stars game. Rougher, edged with fatigue—but unmistakable.

Shane's throat closed instantly. For a moment, he couldn't speak.

"Hello?" the voice repeated, sharper this time. "Who is this? I can see it's Canadian number? Is the team trying to mess with me? I am busy."

Shane forced air into his lungs. "...Ilya. Ilya Rozanov?.." 

Silence.

Not the empty kind—the kind that explodes.

On the other end of the line, everything stopped.

In a small, warm kitchen thousands of miles away, 

Ilya froze where he stood. The world narrowed to that one word. His name. He knew that voice.

He would know it anywhere. "...Hollander? Shane Hollander?" he said slowly, like testing something impossible.

Behind him, a spoon clattered against the stovetop and hit the floor. Svetlana stood motionless, her hand still half-extended where it had been stirring. Her expression had gone completely still—eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. She hadn't heard the reply. She hadn't needed to. She'd heard the name.

"Yes," Shane said, barely above a whisper. "Yeah... it's me."

Ilya dragged a hand down his face, pacing once across the kitchen before stopping again. Of all the people. Of all the times. Now?

"I—" He let out a short, disbelieving breath. "What... what is this?" It wasn't anger. Not yet. Just pure, unfiltered confusion. "Why are you calling me?"

Shane had rehearsed this. A hundred versions. A thousand. None of them survived the reality of Ilya actually answering. "I heard," he started, then faltered. "About the trade. Ottawa."

Smooth. Brilliant. Incredible start.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to keep going. "I just—I wanted to..." He exhaled sharply. "Welcome you. To Canada, I mean. Obviously we're still on separate teams but we're y'know— closer."

The words landed flat. Even he could hear it.

Ilya blinked, thrown completely off balance. "Welcome me," he repeated. "Shane Hollander, the most antisocial human I know; wishes to welcome me." 

Slowly. Carefully. Like the phrase itself didn't make sense. He glanced over his shoulder at Svetlana, who hadn't moved. The tension in the room had turned suffocating, thick with everything unspoken.

Then back to the phone. "Why," Ilya asked, quieter now, "why would you want to do that?"

This time, Shane didn't hesitate. The fear was still there—loud and relentless—but something steadier sat underneath it now. Something that hadn't been there before. Resolve. "Because I think it's time we finally talked. No interruption, no games." 

Simple. Direct. No deflection. No hiding.

Ilya felt it like a physical impact. For a second, he genuinely thought he'd misheard. "...What?"

His voice dropped, barely audible.

Shane didn't take it back. "I think it's time we really talked," he said. "Not through reporters. Not through headlines. Not... whatever the hell the last few years have been."

A pause.

Then, he spoke quietly "There are things you deserve to know. About that morning, about me, about what happened after. About why I've been so - distant."

The room tilted.

Ilya braced a hand against the counter, his pulse suddenly loud in his ears. For years, years—that silence on the subject of that morning they met had been the one constant. The one thing neither of them had ever broken. No matter how close they came, no matter how many times their paths nearly crossed again— Nothing.

And now Shane was standing on the other end of a phone line, just... opening the door. Just like that.

"You..." Ilya exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You're serious."

"I am."

No hesitation. No doubt. Just truth.

Svetlana watched him carefully, her expression tightening with something unreadable as she took a small step closer.

He didn't look at her. Couldn't. Everything had narrowed to this moment. To that voice. To that possibility.

"When?" Ilya asked.

Shane swallowed. "When do you land here in Canada?"

A beat.

"Well I fly back from Russia tomorrow night. Monday. I think it works out Tuesday afternoon your time." 

"I'll pick you up."

It came out instinctively. Immediate. Certain.

Ilya huffed out a quiet, almost incredulous breath.

"You realize what that's going to look like. I am fellow hockey player Hollander. We are sworn enemies to public." 

There it was. The reality of it.

The headlines. The cameras. The speculation. Shane let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"Yeah," he said. "They'll lose their minds."

A pause echoed — "Might take the heat off you a little, though. Give them something else to talk about."

Ilya considered that. The injury. The endless questions about why Boston had given up on him.

The scrutiny waiting for him the second he stepped off the plane.

This— this would be a different kind of storm.

One he understood a little better. One he could talk his way out of easily. Both of them play for Canadian teams now, they have become friendly, have gained a mutual respect.  "...Yeah," he eventually murmured. "It probably would."

Another silence. But this one wasn't sharp. It was... settling. Shifting. Becoming something else. "Okay," Ilya said finally. The word felt heavier than it should have. "I will text you flight details."

Shane's grip tightened on the phone. "Okay."

"Don't be late," Ilya added, a faint edge of something almost familiar despite them being practically strangers , slipping into his tone.

Shane huffed out a quiet breath. "Wouldn't dream of it Rozanov."

The call ended without anything dramatic. No final words. No closure. Just... a line going quiet.

For a long moment, Ilya didn't move. Then he slowly lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen like it might explain what had just happened.

Behind him, Svetlana finally spoke. "...What was that?" Her voice was controlled. Too controlled. 

Ilya exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I do not know," he admitted.

And for the first time in a long time— That wasn't entirely a bad thing. He looked down at the phone again. At the contact that hadn't been there an hour ago. Then toward the window, where the night stretched out endlessly beyond the glass.

"...Maybe," he said quietly, more to himself than to her, "this was always going to happen. The injury, the move. Starting to feel like it was all leading to him.." 

"Uh oh, careful now Ilyusha. You're starting to sound like a hopeless romantic." Svetlana teased, skilfully dodging the kitchen towel he threw her way.

—

Back in Montreal, Shane sat on the edge of the couch, his phone still clutched tightly in his hand.

He hadn't moved since the call ended. Hadn't trusted himself to. Because now it was real.

There was no distance left to hide behind. No silence to protect him. Just truth. Waiting.

His gaze drifted to the baby monitor.

Liliya had curled onto her side again, one small hand tucked under her cheek. Peaceful. Unaware.

Perfect. Shane's chest tightened painfully. "I did it," he whispered. But the relief didn't come. Not fully. Because the hardest part still lay ahead.

Soon , he wouldn't just be meeting Ilya at the airport. He would be telling him everything.

That their one time hadn't just been a mistake to him. Or a memory. Or something buried under years of avoidance. It had become her.

Their daughter. Their маленькая девочка.

And he had kept her a secret. For over two years. Unintentionally. But still, a secret nevertheless. 

Shane closed his eyes, exhaling shakily.

"He might never forgive me," he said aloud, the words heavy but steady. And that was the truth he had finally accepted.

But then he looked back at the screen. At Liliya. At the quiet rise and fall of her chest. At the unmistakable features she had inherited from a man who didn't even know she existed. "...It doesn't matter," Shane murmured.

Because this wasn't about forgiveness.

Not entirely.

It was about her. About the way she deserved to know where she came from. About the way Ilya deserved to know her. And about the question that had lingered, unspoken but ever-present, since the day he took her to receive those results a few weeks ago.  The one written in doctor's reports and late-night research and quiet fear.

Haemophilia. 

The word sat heavy in his mind.

Genetic. Inherited.

A thread that had to come from somewhere. From someone.

Shane swallowed hard.

"We'll figure it out," he whispered. "All of it." Then, softer— "It'll be worth it."

Even if it broke everything first.

——————————————————————————

The airport was louder than Shane remembered.

Or maybe it just felt that way because his pulse was drowning everything else out.

Arrivals flickered across the screen overhead. Voices layered into a constant hum. Suitcases rolled, doors opened, people reunited in bursts of laughter and relief— and Shane was stood still in the middle of it, scanning every face that came through the gates.

Then he saw him.

Ilya looked... different.

Not drastically. Not in a way the cameras would catch and dissect. But Shane saw it instantly—the slight stiffness in his movement, the guarded way he carried himself, the faint shadow of exhaustion under his eyes.

And still— It was him. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Ilya's gaze locked onto his.

Recognition hit. Sharp. Immediate. 

And just like that, the years between them collapsed into something dangerously small.

"Well," Ilya said as he got closer, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "You're not late."

Shane let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. "Give it five minutes," he shot back. "Traffic could still ruin my reputation."

Ilya huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Your reputation was already questionable."

"Oh, please," Shane scoffed. "At least I still have speed. Unlike some of us." 

Ilya stopped in front of him now, raising an eyebrow. "Speed?" he repeated. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Don't start," Shane warned, though there was a grin tugging at his lips. "You're the one who couldn't keep up."

Ilya gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "Right. That must be why you spent half the time we'd played one another chasing me."

It was ridiculous.

It was familiar.

It was easy.

And for a few brief moments, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were back outside of that arena. Barely eighteen, barely anything. 

"Come on," Shane said after a beat, nodding toward the exit. "Let's get you out of here before someone notices."

"It might be too late for that," Ilya muttered, though he followed. 

They kept their heads down anyway. Not that it would matter for long. People would see them in the car together, it was a given. 

The car ride started the same way. Light. Sharp.

Full of the kind of back-and-forth that had always existed between them—quick jabs, dry humor, the occasional glance that lingered just a second too long before either of them looked away.

But it couldn't stay there. Not with everything sitting underneath it.

Shane's hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. "I heard about your injury," he said after a while, quieter now. "I-I was listening to the radio when the news broke." 

Ilya didn't respond immediately. The shift in tone settled over the car like a weight. "...Yeah," he said finally.

Shane glanced at him briefly before looking back at the road. "I'm sorry," he added. "Really. That timing... it was—" He exhaled. "It was rough. You were at the top of your game."

Ilya leaned his head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. "It wasn't great," he admitted.

A pause. Then, almost absent— "But it's not the worst thing that's happened to me."

Shane frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

The question came out before he could stop it.

And the second it did, he regretted it. "Sorry—no, that's not—I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine." Ilya's voice cut through gently. Not defensive. Not sharp. Just... steady.

Shane glanced at him again. Ilya wasn't looking at him anymore. He was staring out the window now, the passing lights reflecting faintly in his eyes.

"My mother," he said after a moment. "She... killed herself when I was twelve."

The world seemed to tilt. Shane's grip on the wheel tightened. "Ilya, I—

"She was my favorite person," he continued, like he hadn't heard him. Or maybe like he had, and chose to keep going anyway. "Everything good I had... it was her." His jaw shifted slightly. "And after she was gone..." He exhaled slowly. "Things just never felt the same."

Silence filled the car again. But this time, it was heavy. Different. Shane swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. 

Two hours.

That's how far away she was. Their daughter. 

Two hours from this moment.

From him. From the man who had just admitted that losing the person he loved most had changed the way he saw the entire world.

Shane's throat burned as he thought to himself. If only you knew... If only you knew what was waiting for you— Who was waiting for you—

"I'm sorry," Shane said quietly. It felt insufficient.

It was insufficient. But it was all he had.

Ilya gave a small shrug. "Like I said," he murmured. "The injury doesn't really compare."

The rest of the drive passed in something quieter.

Not uncomfortable. Just... full. By the time they pulled up to the apartment building, the city had settled into the evening.

Shane parked, killing the engine. "We're here."

Ilya nodded, already reaching for the door.

"Good," he said lightly. "I was starting to think you were driving in circles."

Shane snorted. "Yeah, because I have nothing better to do."

The apartment was exactly what Shane expected. Temporary. Functional. Bare. A couch. A table. A fridge that hummed quietly in the corner.

Nothing else.

Ilya set his bags down just inside the door, looking around once. "Cozy," he muttered.

Shane leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Give it time. It'll soon feel like home." 

Ilya moved toward the fridge, opening it.

"Coach filled it," he said, glancing back briefly. "Told me to make a list." He reached in, pulling out two cans.

Shane blinked when he saw what they were.

"Ginger ale?" he said, amused. "Seriously?"

Ilya tossed one to him without looking. "You're welcome."

Shane caught it, eyebrows raised. "You requested this?"

Ilya shrugged, cracking his own open.

"Figured you'd come up with me," he said simply. "I see it's your favourite. I knew it's something you'd want."

Something in Shane's chest twisted. Small. Thoughtful. Unspoken.

They sat. Opposite ends of the couch at first. The space between them felt larger than it was. But not as large as it had been. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then—

"After that morning, just before game.." Ilya said.

No buildup.

No warning.

Just straight to it. Shane's breath caught.

"I woke up," Ilya continued, turning the unopened can slightly in his hands. "And you were gone. No word, no note. Just annoying alarm set."  His voice wasn't accusing.

Just... factual.

Shane stared at the floor. "Yeah." A pause. I thought—" He stopped, exhaling sharply. "I thought you wouldn't really care."

Ilya let out a quiet, almost humorless laugh.

"Usually," he said, "I wouldn't. That I cannot lie about. I was reckless teenager." 

Shane's chest tightened.

"Usually," Ilya repeated, softer now, "it wouldn't have mattered." He finally looked at him. And there it was. Everything they hadn't said. Everything they had avoided. "Something about you felt different."

The words landed harder than anything else had.

Shane's throat went dry. "I didn't know that," he admitted quietly. "If I had, I would have at least spoken to you at the game." 

"I figured."

Silence again. But it wasn't empty anymore. It was waiting.

Shane's grip tightened around the can in his hands.

This was it. The moment he had been building toward. The truth that would change everything.

"Ilya," he said, his voice unsteady despite everything he'd told himself. "There's... more. About that night. About what came after." 

Ilya didn't look away this time. "Da, yes," he said quietly. "I figured there was. Figured it is why you wanted to talk." 

Shane swallowed. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure Ilya could hear it. Two years. Two years of silence. Of choices. Of consequences. All leading here.

"There's something I have been trying to tell you," Shane said. "Someone I've been trying to— to introduce to you." A breath. Then another.

And then— "She's two."

The room went completely still.

The words didn't just land. They echoed.

"She's two."

Ilya didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.

"...What?" It came out barely audible.

Shane swallowed hard, already reaching for his phone with slightly shaking hands. "I—just... wait," he said quietly.

His fingers moved quickly, pulling up photos, hundreds of them, really, but he stopped at one. A recent one. Clear. Impossible to misinterpret.

Then he stood, closing the distance between them in two slow steps, and held the phone out.

Ilya didn't take it at first. He just stared at Shane like he was trying to decide if this was some kind of cruel joke. ".... Hollander," he said, a warning creeping into his voice. "What are you—"

"Just look."

That did it. Reluctantly, Ilya reached out and took the phone. And everything in his world... shifted.

A small girl stared back at him from the screen.

Curled up on a couch, clutching a stuffed rabbit, her Golden brown hair falling in soft waves around her freckled face. Her expression was caught mid-laugh—eyes bright, mouth open slightly, joy completely unfiltered.

Ilya's breath caught. Because he knew that face. Not vaguely. Not in a maybe, could-be kind of way.

No.

It was immediate. Instinctive. Recognition. "...No," he whispered. His thumb moved, almost without permission, swiping to the next photo.

And the next.

And the next.

Different moments. Different expressions. The same child. The same eyes. The same features.

His chest tightened painfully. "She—" His voice broke slightly. "She looks—"

"Like you," Shane finished quietly.

Ilya let out a shaky breath, staring down at the screen like it might disappear if he looked away. "D-da, She does."

Silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn't empty.

It was full—of shock, of realisation, of something dangerously close to being overwhelming.

Finally, slowly, Ilya lifted his gaze back to Shane.

"...You're serious."

"I wouldn't joke about this."

Ilya swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the phone. "How?" he asked, his voice rough now. "How is this—how is this possible?"

Shane exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't know," he admitted. "Not at first."

Ilya's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Shane sat back down, the weight of everything pressing down on him all at once. "I found out when I was six months along," he said.

That alone made Ilya blink in disbelief.

"Six—" He shook his head. "How do you not—"

"I didn't have many symptoms," Shane cut in, not defensively—just factually. "Not ones I recognized. I was training, traveling... everything felt normal until it didn't. I fainted."  He let out a quiet, humorless breath. "And then suddenly I'm being told I'm six months pregnant and my entire life is about to change."

Ilya stared at him. Actually stared. Like he was seeing him for the first time. "... Fuck."

"I was terrified," Shane continued, his voice quieter now but steady. "Not just about... her. But about everything. My career, my contracts, whether I'd even be able to come back after—" He shook his head slightly. "I didn't know what was going to happen. I didn't know if I'd lose everything I'd worked for."

A pause.

Then, softer— "But I didn't."

Ilya's expression shifted slightly. "How? How did you —"

"My team," Shane said simply. "They backed me. Gave me time. Helped me figure things out."

A faint, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his lips.

"And my parents... they were there for everything. They still are." His eyes flickered briefly, something warm and grounding passing through them. "I wasn't alone."

Ilya looked down at the phone again. At her.

At the daughter he hadn't known existed ten minutes ago. "....Clearly," he murmured.

Then something in his expression changed.

Sharpened. His gaze lifted again, locking onto Shane. "Why?" The word cut through everything.

Shane didn't pretend not to understand. "...Ilya—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

There it was. Not explosive. Not loud. But heavy.

"You had two years," Ilya continued, his voice tightening despite himself. "Two years to say something. Anything." He stood now, running a hand through his hair as he started pacing.

"We played against each other," he said. "Multiple times. You were right there." Each word hit harder than the last. "And you said nothing."

Shane took it. Didn't interrupt. Didn't deflect.

"I didn't think—" he started, then stopped, correcting himself. "I didn't think it was something I could say over a message."

Ilya let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. "So you say nothing at all?"

"I didn't know how to do it right."

"That's not an answer." Ilya turned back to him, frustration breaking through now. "You could have asked to meet," he said. "Before a game. After a game. Anywhere. You could have told me then."

His voice cracked slightly, just enough to betray what sat underneath the anger. "I wouldn't have missed two years."

That one landed. Hard.

Shane's chest tightened painfully, but he didn't argue. Didn't try to soften it. "You're right," he said quietly. And he realised he meant it. " I should have." The admission took some of the edge out of the room.

Not all of it. But enough.

Shane looked up at him, his expression open, unguarded in a way it had never been before.

"I was scared," he said simply. "Of how you'd react. Of what it would mean. Of... everything." His voice wavered slightly. "But that doesn't make it okay."

Ilya's jaw tightened. He didn't respond right away.

Didn't know how to. Because the anger was still there. But so was something else now. Something quieter. Something heavier.

Shane inhaled slowly. "Do you want to know more," he said.

Ilya's gaze snapped back to him. "What?"

Shane hesitated only for a second. Then— "Her name is Liliya. Liliya Mei Hollander." 

The shift was immediate. Subtle. But unmistakable.

Ilya blinked. "...Liliya," he repeated. The name settled in the air between them.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

His brow furrowed slightly, something clicking into place. "...That sounds like—"

"Yeah," Shane said softly. "I know."

Ilya looked down at the phone again. At her.

At Liliya. His shoulders dropped just slightly, some of the tension bleeding out of him. "You named her..." He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You named her something that sounds like mine."

"It wasn't planned like that," Shane admitted. "Not at first." A small pause. "But when I realized... I didn't want to change it."

Ilya didn't respond immediately. His thumb brushed lightly over the screen, like he was trying to process something he didn't quite have words for yet. "...Liliya," he said again, quieter this time.

And when he looked up— The anger wasn't gone.

Not completely. But it wasn't the only thing there anymore.

Shane didn't rush to fill the silence. He let Ilya sit with her name. With her face. With the weight of something that had changed both of their lives without his knowledge.

Then, quietly— "I never meant to keep her from you."

Ilya's eyes flicked up. Shane held his gaze, steady despite the emotion sitting just under the surface.

"Not really," he added. "Not in the way it looks."

A breath. "I always wanted you to know."

Ilya didn't interrupt this time.

"I just..." Shane exhaled, searching for the right words. "I kept waiting for the right moment. The right way to say it. Something that wouldn't blow everything up or—" He shook his head. "That moment never came. Or... I never let it."

His voice softened. "But you were always there. With us."

Ilya frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Shane went to reach for his phone again, almost instinctively. Needing to look at his baby's face. But he stopped.  "I talked about you," he said. "All the time." A small, almost self-conscious huff left him.

"Well—what I could. What I knew about you so to say." His thumb brushed over the screen, lingering on one of the photos. "I told her about her papa," he added, quieter now. "Right from the beginning."

Something in Ilya's chest shifted. Hard.

"And I tried with the language," Shane went on, almost apologetically. "Russian. I mean—I don't know much. But I picked up what I could."

A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "She says 'da' and 'nyet.' Sometimes in the wrong places, but... she tries."

Ilya let out a soft breath, something fragile flickering across his face. "....She speaks Russian?"

"A little," Shane admitted. "Mostly baby Russian."

That earned the smallest hint of a smile from Ilya.

Shane hesitated, then added— "I recorded everything."

That got his full attention. "...Everything?"

Shane nodded. "Pretty much." A pause. "I didn't know when you'd be there. So I... made sure you wouldn't miss it. All of her firsts, it’s all captured.” 

Ilya's heart kicked hard against his ribs. "C-Can I see them?" The question came out quicker than he intended. Softer, too. Almost careful.

Shane didn't hesitate. "Yeah," he said immediately. "Of course." He stood abruptly, already moving toward the door. "I've got my laptop in the car—I'll just—"

"I'll wait," Ilya said, the words coming out before he could think about them.

Shane nodded once and disappeared.

The apartment felt different without him. Too quiet. Too still.

Ilya looked down at the phone still in his hand. At her. His daughter. The word didn't feel real yet.

Didn't feel like something he was allowed to claim.

And yet— There she was. Proof.

The door opened again not even five minutes later. Shane came back slightly out of breath, laptop in hand, like he'd run the whole way.

"I didn't want to take too long," he said unnecessarily.

They settled on the couch again. Closer this time.

Not touching. But close enough that the space between them didn't feel like a wall anymore. Shane placed the laptop between them, hands hovering over the keyboard for just a second.

“I'll just start them from the beginning. They should all play one after the other.” 

The first video opened. Grainy. Soft. Real.

Liliya. Thirteen hours old the caption read.

She was wrapped loosely in a white black. Wearing a pastel yellow onesie scattered with tiny daisies, a white knitted cardigan layered over it. A matching hat sat snug on her head, a large daisy stitched onto the front like someone had wanted her first day in the world to feel gentle. It gave the Ilya the image of how her first hours had looked. Bright and safe. 

The camera shook slightly. Shane's voice filled the room—younger, thinner, exhausted beyond belief.

"Hi, baby girl," he murmured in the video. "You just got home." A soft rustle. A quiet, newborn sound. "You did so well in the car," he continued, voice breaking just slightly. "You're so strong and brave already." 

Present-day Shane didn't speak. Didn't even look at Ilya. The guilt weighing heavily against his chest. 

In the video, he adjusted the camera, bringing it closer to her face. "So," he said softly, "I was thinking, seems as we're gonna tell your papa about this day someday. May as well record it all for him huh?" 

Ilya's breath caught.

"He's gonna be really happy," Shane went on. "He just... doesn't know it yet." A small, tired smile.

"But he will." The camera zoomed in. Liliya's face filled the screen.

Tiny.

Perfect.

Alive.

Ilya didn't realize he was crying until his vision blurred. He didn't wipe it away. Couldn't. "S-she was..." His voice failed him. There weren't words for it. There just weren't. “Fuck Hollander”

The video ended quietly. The room stayed still.

After a moment, Ilya cleared his throat slightly. "How was it?" he asked, hesitant now. "The birth."

Shane winced. Actually winced, out loud. Like the memory hit him physically. "Honestly? It was..." He exhaled, shaking his head. "The worst pain I've ever felt." A small, breathless laugh escaped him.

"I was in labor for around ten hours. Pushed for over an hour and a half. I thought I was actually going to break apart at the seems during one point of it all." He leaned back slightly, eyes unfocused for a second. "But then she was placed on my chest and I couldn't help but think how worth it. It all was.  My— erm, my parents were there," he added. "The whole time. They made sure I was okay."

Ilya nodded slowly. "Well, I'm glad you weren't alone."

Shane looked at him then. Something quite passed between them.

“Even if I can’t buy help resent you for robbing me of this moment…” 

The words landed in the silence of the room. 

"Let me show you more," Shane said, wanting to move past Ilya’s words of hurt. And he did.

The next video,  A tiny baby bundled up in a carrier , the sound of skates cutting across ice echoing in the background. "This is daddy and papa's world," Shane's voice said softly behind the camera. "You'll see it better someday. Maybe even sit at both of our games. Cheering us on, how does that sound? I think papa would love that." 

Another—

A sudden, bright laugh. Unexpected. Pure.

Shane gasping behind the camera. "Oh my goodness Lily! Was that your first laugh? That was your first laugh, wasn't it?! Oh- come on baby do it again! Let me film it for papa okay? We've got to get this!"

Another—

Unsteady steps. Wobbling. Determined.

"Come on, Lily," Shane encouraged gently. "You've got it." She fell into his arms, giggling. "Oh I'm so proud of you! Not even one year old and already up on your feet! Perks of having the best damn hockey player out there as your papa huh? Steadiness!" 

More moments flicked by, then came the most important.

Her first birthday.

Messy cake. Frosting on her cheeks. The Pikes and Shane's family gathered around the backyard.

"Say 'papa,'" Shane coaxed softly. "You got it baby, you can say Nana , Dada, Baba.. Papa is easy!" 

"Pa...pa," she tried.

Ilya pressed a hand over his mouth. A broken sob falling from his lips. 

Video after video. Moment after moment.

A life.

His daughter's life.

Unfolding in front of him like something he had been there for.

But he hadn’t been there. He should have been there for it. It was always something he should have known.

When the last video ended, neither of them moved away. The moment too tender to break.

The laptop screen dimmed slightly. The room felt smaller somehow. Full.

"...Thank you," Ilya said finally. His voice was rough, but steady. "For recording all of that." A pause. "I mean it. You didn't have to." 

Shane nodded once, quietly. "I wanted you to have it. I thought it might help make this a little easier," 

Ilya swallowed. Then shook his head slightly, something heavier creeping back in. "I just..." He exhaled. "I don't understand." His gaze dropped to the laptop. "Why it had to be like this. Why we ended up so far apart when—" He gestured vaguely at the screen. "—this, our baby girl existed."

Shane didn't have an answer. Not a good one.

"And why it was so hard for you to tell me," Ilya added, quieter now. Then, after a beat— "What changed? Why make the call now? After all these years of avoiding doing it that way." 

Shane stilled. There it was. The question he'd been dreading.

"...Why now?" Ilya clarified once more. Anger dripping from every word despite the calmness of his tone. 

Shane's chest tightened. His eyes drifted, just for a second, to the side. Like he could see her even from here. Then back. To Ilya. "She's— well , She's sick."

The words landed differently than anything else had. Immediate. Sharp.

Ilya's entire body went rigid. "W-What?"

Shane swallowed hard. "Not like—" he started quickly. "Not sick all the time. Not... fragile in the way you're thinking." He forced himself to stay steady. "It's genetic." He paused. Then finally . "Liliya, she has something called haemophilia."

Silence.

Absolute.

Ilya stared at him. The word settling in slowly. He knew it. Of course he did. What it meant. What it could mean. He's watched enough medical dramas.

"It affects her blood," Shane continued quietly. "Clotting, things like that. If she gets hurt, it's... more complicated." His hands tightened together. "They caught it early. We're managing it. She's okay." A breath. "But we don't know where it came from."

Ilya's heart started pounding again. Harder this time.

"And I realised..." Shane's voice wavered, just slightly. "I can't do this without you. Not anymore. It was never what I wanted in the first place, I wanted you to be there. So I decided that no matter how scared I was of your reaction. You needed to know."  His eyes held Ilya's. “I needed you to know.” 

Raw.

Honest.

Terrified.

"She deserves to know you," he said. "And just as importantly, we need to know the root of all of this. If we know who it came from we can figure out what treatment will work best." 

Ilya didn't respond. Couldn't. Because everything had changed. Again.

And this time— There was no distance left to hide behind.

For a long time after the words of Liliya's diagnosis had settled between them, neither of them spoke.

It wasn't avoidance. It was... recalibration.

Everything Ilya thought he understood about this situation had just shifted once again.

Ilya was the first to move. Not away—just forward enough that his elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. "So —ah. How bad is it?"

His voice was controlled, but there was something underneath it now. Something sharper than before. Fear.

Shane noticed. He answered carefully. "It varies," he said. "There are different levels. She's... moderate."

Ilya nodded slowly, absorbing that. "What does that mean?" he asked. "For her. For... later."

Shane exhaled, leaning forward slightly as well.

"It means we have to be careful," he explained. "If she gets hurt, especially internal bleeding—it can be serious. But we know about it now, so we manage it." He paused, making sure he wasn't overwhelming him. "She has a medical team. Regular checkups. There are treatments—factor infusions, if she needs them."

Ilya's brow furrowed. "She's had those already?"

"A couple times," Shane admitted. "Mostly precautionary."

Ilya's jaw tightened. "And long term?" That one came quieter.

Shane hesitated just a fraction. "Long term... she can still have a life," he said. "A normal one, mostly. Just... adjusted. No high-contact sports. Extra precautions." A faint, almost sad smile flickered across his face. "She already tries to climb everything, so that's been... fun."

That pulled the smallest huff of breath from Ilya.

Not quite a laugh. But close. "...Does it hurt her?" he asked after a moment.

Shane's expression softened. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But we catch things early. We don't let it get that far if we can help it."

Ilya nodded again. Processing. Building a picture of a life he hadn't even known existed an hour ago. "And you don't know where it came from," he said.

It wasn't really a question.

Shane shook his head. "No." He explained further.  "It could be from either side. Or... further back. We just don't know yet."

Ilya leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling now. "So we figure it out," he murmured. There was something solid in that. Something decided.

Shane looked at him, a quiet flicker of relief passing through him. "Yeah," he said softly. "We do."

Another silence settled. But this one felt different. Less like something breaking. More like something... forming.

”I-i am trying to find reason to trust you.” Ilya admitted. 

Shane swallowed harshly. “Yeah, I get that.”

The Russian hummed. “Y-you tell me now , what? Just because she is sick, not because you wanted to, but because you want answers?” 

“N-no! God no Ilya.” Shane immediately protested. “I always wanted you to know, that’s why I did all of the videos, why I talk to her about you.” 

“You see why I am struggling, y-you turn up now just as this comes to -ah light as they say. How am I supposed to believe you?”

”I-Ilya I know it’ll be hard for you to forgive me, for you to even trust a word out of my mouth. But I swear to you, whatever you want to do next, I’ll respect it. I won’t even ask you to talk to me.” 

Finally, Ilya turned his head. "..I want to meet her."

There it was. Clear. Certain. No hesitation.

Shane's chest tightened, something warm and overwhelming rising up before he could stop it.

"Okay," he said immediately. "Yeah. Of course."

Ilya nodded once, but then his expression shifted slightly. "Just... not today."

Shane blinked. Then nodded just as quickly. "Yeah. That's—yeah, that's completely fair."

Ilya rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling.

"I need a few days," he admitted. "To... wrap my head around all of this." His gaze dropped briefly.

"And to let this—" he gestured vaguely between them "—settle."

A pause.

"I don't want to walk in there with... anything she might pick up on."

Shane didn't even hesitate. "I get that," he said. "Take whatever time you need." And he meant it.

Ilya studied him for a second. Then shook his head slightly, almost to himself. "I feel like I shouldn't be angry," he admitted. "Not at you, not when—"

He stopped, searching for the right words.

"When you gave me... this. Her."  His voice softened on the last word.

Shane's expression tightened. "You can be," he said quietly. "You should be."

Ilya looked at him.

"If it were the other way around," Shane continued, "I'd be furious." A small pause. "I should've tried harder to tell you. There was always a way—I just... didn't take it."

That sat between them.

Honest.

Uncomfortable.

Real.

Ilya let out a slow breath. Then, unexpectedly— “I'm sorry."

Shane blinked. "What? What are you sorry for?"

Ilya shrugged slightly, though his expression stayed serious. "I didn't exactly make it easy either," he said. "After that morning. I didn't reach out. Didn't... follow up." A faint, almost bitter huff. "So I can see why you'd think I wouldn't react well. Why it was hard to do it over an email or — or other methods. Though it does not change that you took away my choice, that I am so , very angry with you.” 

Shane didn't answer right away. Didn't know how to. Because he didn't feel like he deserved that.

Didn't feel like any of this balanced out that easily.

So he just... nodded. The moment lingered. Then slowly began to wind down.

"I should go," Shane said after a while, pushing himself to stand. "I've got to go and pick Lily up."

Ilya's head tilted slightly. "Where is she?"

"With Hayden," Shane replied, grabbing his keys.

That got a reaction.

Ilya's brows lifted, a flicker of amusement finally breaking through everything else. "...Pike knows about ah— me?"

Shane rolled his eyes instantly. "Unfortunately."

Ilya let out a quiet laugh. "I'm guessing he took that well."

"You have no idea," Shane muttered. "I think he nearly cried."

That earned a more genuine smile. "I can imagine."

A small pause. Then, lightly— "Guess we're going to have to get along now."

Shane shot him a look as he moved toward the door. "Don't push it."

Ilya huffed softly. They stopped there. Near the door. Not quite sure how to end something like this. In the end, it was just a nod.

A little awkward. A little uncertain. But... not distant.

"I'll text you," Ilya said.

"Yeah," Shane replied. "Okay." And then he was gone.

The apartment felt different again once the door shut. Quieter. But not as empty. Ilya stood there for a long moment. Then slowly looked around the space. At the couch. At the laptop. Shane probably left it on purpose, so Ilya could watch the videos whenever he needs. His eyes focused in on the little life that had just been dropped into his hands.

"...Liliya," he said softly to himself.

The name felt different now. Heavier. Real.

Across the way, Shane drove through the evening sunset with his heart somewhere between terrified and hopeful. Because in just a few days— 

Everything was going to change again.

——————————————————————————

The message sat unsent for almost twenty minutes.

Ilya had typed it out, deleted it, rewritten it—shorter this time, then longer, then shorter again.

Nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough for what this was. In the end, he just sent it as it was. 

'Hello Shane, I think I'm ready. What is the best way to do this?'

Shane's reply came faster than he expected. Like he'd been waiting.

'My parents are in Ottawa. I bring Lily there every Friday evening.' A few seconds went by.  Then—

'It's familiar for her. Less overwhelming.'

Another message followed.

'You could meet us there for around 3pm?'

Ilya read it twice. Three times. Finally settling on a simple reply of ; 

'Yes okay. That sounds good.'

He hit send. And only then— Only then—did he check the date. 

Friday 16th. 

"...Shit." The word left him under his breath as his eyes snapped back to the screen.

Tonight.

The realization didn't settle gently. It hit all at once. Hard. Immediate. Unavoidable. In less than six hours— He was going to meet his daughter.

The rest of the day became something else entirely.

Ilya trained harder than he had in weeks. Not because he needed to. Because he had to.

The ice was the only place where his thoughts didn't spiral completely out of control. Where muscle memory could take over and drown out the constant loop running through his head.

What if she cries?

What if she doesn't like me?

What if I do something wrong?

His edges were sharper than usual. Faster. More aggressive in every move he made. People noticed—but no one said anything.

They didn't know of his inner turmoil . Couldn't know. 

By the time he left the rink, his body ached.

But his mind? Still racing. He went home. Showered. Changed three times. Nothing felt right. Too casual. Too formal. Too much. Too little.

Eventually, he settled on something simple. Neutral. Safe. Like that would somehow make this easier. It didn't.

The drive felt shorter than it should have.

Or maybe longer. Time stopped making sense somewhere between the first red light and the third turn. Shane had texted him the address earlier that afternoon. Ilya entered it into his maps app with hands that weren't quite steady.

The route appeared instantly. Ten minutes.

Ten minutes between him and everything changing again. He almost laughed. Almost.

The neighborhood was quiet. Tree-lined. Clean. The kind of place that felt... stable. Safe. The kind of place a child grows up in. And then he saw it.

The house.

It wasn't just a house. It was a beautiful house. Warm lights glowing from inside. A wide front garden. Windows that made it feel open instead of closed off. A home.

And parked just outside— Shane's Land Rover. Ilya's breath caught. Because that meant— She was already inside.

His daughter.

The engine cut off, but he didn't move right away.

His hands stayed on the steering wheel, gripping tighter than necessary. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might actually hurt.

This is it. No more waiting. No more imagining. No more distance "...Okay," he murmured to himself.

It didn't help.

He forced himself to move. Opened the door. Stepped out. Closed it behind him. Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last.

Not because he didn't want to be there. But because he did. Too much. What if she didn't notice him? What if she hid? What if she didn't understand who he was? What if he didn't know how to be what she needed?

By the time he reached the door, his hands were shaking. Actually shaking. He stared at it for a second. Just a second. Then raised his hand and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately. Shane stood there. Like he'd been waiting on the other side the entire time. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

But this wasn't like before. This wasn't uncertainty.

This was something else entirely. Shane's eyes moved over him quickly—taking in the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands hadn't quite steadied yet. And something in his expression softened. "Hey," he said gently.

Ilya let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding "...Hello." 

A pause.

Then Shane stepped back slightly, opening the door wider. But Ilya didn't move. Not yet. Shane noticed. Of course he did. "It's okay," he said quietly.

Not pushing. Not rushing. Just... steady.

Ilya let out a small, shaky breath. "I don't—" He stopped, frustrated with himself. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

That honesty hung in the air between them.

Raw. Unfiltered. Shane stepped a little closer. Not enough to overwhelm. Just enough to ground.

"You don't have to know," he said softly. "Just come in."

Ilya looked past him. Into the house. Warm light. Soft voices somewhere deeper inside. The faint, unmistakable sound of something small moving—uncoordinated, light.

A child.

His chest tightened so sharply it almost knocked the breath out of him "... Is she really—?"

"Yeah," Shane said, his voice just as quiet. "She's here."

That was it. That was the moment. Ilya swallowed hard. Then nodded once. And stepped inside. 

Ilya lingered just inside the doorway, as though crossing any further might shatter something fragile and sacred. The air in the Hollander home was warm, alive in a way he hadn't allowed himself to imagine too vividly. He could hear everything—the quiet murmur of voices from the kitchen, the soft clatter of plastic toys being moved across the floor, and then... that sound.

Her laughter.

It wasn't loud, not overwhelming—just a bright, bubbling giggle that seemed to echo straight through his chest and settle somewhere deep, somewhere raw. His fingers twitched at his sides. For a moment, he couldn't move.

Beside him, Shane shifted closer, his presence steady and grounding. "They're ready," he said gently. "We talked to Liliya. She knows a friend of mine is coming over." A small smile tugged at his lips. "She's got all her favourite toys out. She's been... preparing."

Ilya swallowed hard, nodding once, though it felt like his throat might close entirely. "Spasibo... thank you," he managed, voice rougher than he intended. He hesitated, glancing toward the source of the adult voices. "Maybe... I meet your parents first, da?"

Shane didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Of course."

He guided him toward the kitchen with a light touch at his back, unhurried, giving Ilya space to breathe—though breathing felt like the hardest thing in the world right now.

They stepped into the kitchen, and immediately the quiet conversation stopped. Yuna noticed him first. Her expression softened instantly, something warm and knowing flickering across her face. She set her cup down and stepped forward, her smile gentle but genuine. "Oh, Ilya, honey it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, her voice calm, welcoming. "I'm Yuna."

He nodded quickly, almost awkwardly, taking her offered hand with a careful grip, as though afraid he might break something if he wasn't cautious. "It is... very good to meet you."

David followed, offering a firm but kind handshake. "David," he introduced himself. "We're really glad you're here." His tone carried no pressure, no expectation—just quiet sincerity. "It's... a big moment."

Ilya exhaled slowly, the weight of those words settling over him. "You have done... more than I can say," he said, looking between them. "For my daughter." His voice faltered slightly. "For her... to be safe, to be loved—"

Yuna's composure cracked just a little at that. Her eyes grew glossy, emotion rising quickly and without apology. "She's incredible," she said softly, almost as if she couldn't help herself. "Truly. The most amazing little girl." She smiled through it, shaking her head faintly. "I can't wait for you to get to know her."

That nearly undid him.

Before the moment could overwhelm him completely, Shane stepped back into his space, his hand finding Ilya's elbow—gentle, grounding, steady. "Hey," he murmured. "You ready?"

Ilya closed his eyes for half a second. Just long enough to gather himself, to hold together whatever pieces of his heart still felt intact.

Then he nodded. Once. "Yes."

Shane didn't say anything else. He just guided him quietly toward the living room.

The closer they got, the louder the small sounds became—the rustle of fabric, the soft thump of toys, the quiet, continuous stream of toddler chatter. Words that didn't quite form properly yet, but carried meaning all the same.

And then they stepped into the doorway. Ilya stopped. Everything else in the world seemed to fall away. There she was.

Small—so small it almost hurt to look at her. Sitting on the floor surrounded by a scatter of toys, completely absorbed in her own little universe. Her hair caught the light in soft strands, her tiny hands busy, her voice a constant stream of babble directed at a small stuffed animal she was holding close.

His chest tightened so sharply he thought, for a moment, that he might actually collapse under it.

She was... perfect.

Not in the abstract sense, not in some distant ideal—but real, tangible, breathing perfection. His daughter.

His.

He didn't realize he'd stopped breathing until his lungs burned.

Liliya suddenly paused mid-sentence to her toy, as though sensing something had shifted. Her head turned toward the doorway.

Her eyes lit up instantly. "Dada!" she squealed, the word bursting out of her like pure joy. She scrambled to her feet with all the uncoordinated determination of a toddler and rushed straight toward Shane, clutching her teddy bear tightly in her arms.

Shane laughed softly, dropping down to her level without hesitation. "Oh wow, what's this?" he cooed, his voice slipping into that familiar, playful tone he always used with her. "Who's this little guy, huh?"

Liliya giggled, holding the bear up proudly, babbling excitedly as she "explained" everything in her own language of half-words and sounds.

Ilya watched, frozen, drinking in every movement, every sound. Memorising it.

She noticed him eventually . It was subtle at first. Her gaze flicked over, curiosity catching her attention. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with open, unguarded interest.

Their eyes met.

And she smiled.

It was immediate. Bright. Trusting. She pointed at him, looking back at Shane. "Dada... fwiend?"

Shane glanced at Ilya, then back at her, his expression soft. "Yeah, sweetheart," he said gently. "He's my friend. Do you wanna say hi?"

Liliya nodded eagerly, as though this was the easiest decision she'd ever made. And then she ran toward him. Ilya didn't have time to prepare. Didn't have time to brace himself.

She reached him and wrapped her tiny arms around his legs in a clumsy, wholehearted hug.

The world stopped. Every wall he had built, every layer of control, every practiced restraint—it all shattered in an instant.

His breath hitched sharply, a broken sound escaping him before he could stop it. His hands hovered awkwardly for a moment, as if he didn't trust himself to touch her.

Then, slowly—so carefully it almost hurt—he lowered them. One hand rested against her back, light as air. The other followed, trembling.

She was warm. Real. Here.

His daughter was hugging him.

Emotion surged up so violently it blurred his vision, tears spilling before he could even think to stop them. His chest ached, his throat tight, his entire body shaking with the weight of something far too big to contain. "I..." His voice cracked completely. "O, moya milaya devochka." 

My sweet girl. 

He sank down slightly, just enough to be closer to her level, his hand tightening ever so gently against her small back as if anchoring himself to the moment. For days, he had imagined this.

But nothing—nothing—had come close to the reality of it.

And in that quiet living room, with a child's laughter still lingering in the air, Ilya finally broke—held together only by the tiny arms wrapped around him.

Shane stayed where he was, just inside the doorway, as though stepping any closer might intrude on something sacred.

He watched. For a long moment, that's all he did. He just simply watched.

It didn't feel real—after everything, after all the years, all the fear and uncertainty and impossible decisions... this. This was what it had all been leading to. Not the stress, not the sleepless nights, not the endless questions.

This.

Ilya knelt, frozen at first, overcome with raw emotion, while Liliya clung to him without hesitation, as if she had always known him, as if there had never been a gap to bridge. 

And then, slowly, she began to pull him—tiny hands gripping at his clothes with determined insistence, tugging him further into the room.

"Oh she's a goner," Shane murmured under his breath, a soft, disbelieving smile pulling at his lips.

Liliya didn't wait for Ilya to figure it out. She guided him in the only way she knew how—by dragging him with all the stubborn strength her little body could muster until he was standing properly in the middle of the living room. "Sit!" she babbled, patting at the sofa with authority.

Ilya obeyed instantly.

The moment he lowered himself, she climbed up onto him without invitation, settling on his knee as though it had always belonged to her. 

No hesitation, no uncertainty—just complete, unquestioning acceptance.

Shane felt something tighten in his chest.

Liliya launched straight into her mission, holding up one toy after another with proud excitement, her voice a stream of enthusiastic babble as she "explained" each one. A rabbit missing an ear. A brightly coloured dinosaur. The teddy bear she'd already introduced to Shane.

Each item was presented like treasure. And Ilya... Ilya treated them that way. He nodded along, murmuring soft responses, his accent thickening under emotion as he tried to keep up, tried to understand every sound she made as if it were the most important language in the world.

His hands were still slightly unsteady, one arm wrapped securely around her to keep her balanced, the other brushing lightly over each toy she offered. Every touch careful. Reverent.

He kept turning his face just slightly, trying to hide it, but there was no hiding the tears. They slipped free anyway. Silent, constant, catching in the faintest tremble of his lips.

Liliya didn't notice. Or if she did, she didn't question it. To her, this was simple: someone new, someone kind, someone who listened.

Shane remained where he was, leaning lightly against the wall now, arms loosely folded—not closed off, just holding himself together. He knew better than to step in. This wasn't his moment.

This belonged to Ilya.

Still, Ilya's eyes found him eventually. Just for a second. A glance over Liliya's head, raw, overwhelmed, completely undone. His lips moved silently.

Thank you.

The words didn't need sound. They were a long way from forgiveness, but the words meant that there was still a chance, a chance of healing and coming together.

Shane's expression softened instantly, something deep and quiet passing between them. He gave the smallest shake of his head, like he couldn't possibly accept all of that gratitude, but he didn't look away.

Because he understood. 

Understood exactly what Ilya meant. Liliya didn't exist without him. Not in this way. Not safe, not loved, not laughing in a warm living room surrounded by people who cared.

And yet, watching them now, it didn't feel like something he had created.

It felt like something he had protected long enough to become what it was always meant to be.

Time slipped by unnoticed. Minutes, maybe longer. The world outside that room didn't seem to matter at all—until Yuna's voice carried gently from the kitchen.

"Dinner's ready!"

It broke the spell, but only just.

Liliya perked up immediately, her attention shifting. "Din-din!" she chirped, wriggling slightly in Ilya's lap.

Ilya let out a quiet breath, something steadier now, though emotion still clung to every movement. He carefully moved to stand, instinctively keeping one hand near her as if afraid she might disappear if he let go. The moment his feet were under him, Liliya lifted her arms toward him expectantly.

No hesitation.

No reaching for Shane.

Just him.

Ilya froze for half a heartbeat, clearly startled by the trust in that simple gesture. Then he glanced over his shoulder, uncertainty flickering across his features. Shane met his gaze and gave a small, reassuring nod. "You've got her," he said softly.

That was all Ilya needed.

He bent down, gathering her into his arms with a care that bordered on awe, holding her close against his chest. She settled there instantly, one small hand gripping lightly at his shirt as if securing her place.

Together, the three of them moved toward the dining room. It was such a simple thing.

A man carrying a child. Another walking beside them. And yet, there was something about it. Something whole. Something quietly, overwhelmingly right.

At the table, Yuna and David both looked up.

Neither of them spoke at first. They didn't need to.

The sight of it—the way Liliya rested so comfortably in Ilya's arms, the way he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world—said everything. Yuna's hand found David's under the table, her eyes shining. David squeezed back, his throat tight.

Ilya approached the highchair with careful precision, lowering Liliya into it as though even the act of setting her down required his full attention. He adjusted her gently, making sure she was comfortable before reaching for the straps.

His fingers fumbled slightly. Not from lack of ability—but from the overwhelming awareness of what he was doing.

Clipping his daughter into her chair.

A normal, everyday act. Something he had never dared to believe he would have in his life time. Living in Russia, being surrounded by so much hate and spite. He never had the chance to dream of this. 

Liliya watched him the entire time, her gaze fixed on his face. The moment he straightened, she reached out, grabbing lightly at his sleeve. A silent demand.

Stay.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh from beside them. "Wow," he said, amused, shaking his head. "You didn't even get five minutes. She's already got you wrapped around her finger."

Ilya looked down at her, something like wonder softening every line of his face. Then he smiled—small, but full. Proud. "Yes," he said quietly. "I think... this is true."

And there was no trace of complaint in it. Only gratitude.

They took their seats, the table slowly filling with warmth—conversation flowing easily, laughter rising in gentle bursts, Liliya adding her own enthusiastic commentary to everything whether it made sense or not.

Ilya stayed close. Always within her reach.

Every now and then, she would glance at him just to check—and every time, he was still there.

Each time, her little face lit up all over again.

Across the table, Yuna watched it all with quiet emotion, her earlier words echoing in her mind.

'The most amazing little girl.'

And now, finally— She was watching that little girl meet her father. Not in absence. Not in forged memory.

But here.

In a home filled with love, with people who chose each other, with a future that no longer felt uncertain. A beginning, not an ending.

And as the evening carried on, soft, warm, alive with something new—there was an unspoken understanding shared between all of them.

This wasn't just a dinner. This was the start of something.

A family, finding its shape after a long journey of discovery. 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya work on their new normal and receive the results they’ve been dreading. There’s a few hiccups along the way ..

Chapter Notes

Heyyyyy! I’m finally done editing this chapter!! 6k words for you Beauties! Hope you enjoy :)))

The rhythm of their lives settled into something careful and almost delicate over the following six weeks. Shane made sure each and every second of the day was heavily thought out.  Every meeting required planning—timing around training sessions, media obligations, travel, recovery days. 

Shane's schedule alone could have swallowed entire weeks whole, and Ilya's wasn't much kinder. 

Still, they carved out space wherever they could, holding onto it like something rare.

They chose their locations wisely. Quiet parks on the outskirts of the city where familiar faces were few and far between. Small countryside cafés tucked far enough away that no one thought to look for professional athletes there. Private play centres booked out under different names. Even long drives with no destination, just to give Liliya the joy of being between them, humming to herself in the backseat while the world passed by unnoticed.

Precautions became second nature. Caps pulled low. Routes changed last minute. Conversations rehearsed. If anyone ever asked, Liliya was Shane's little sister. Just the thought of speaking those words out loud killed the both of them. But it was a necessity.  It wasn't perfect, and it never felt entirely comfortable—but it protected her. That was what mattered.

Even still, despite all of that, something beautiful grew. Shane was learning to give up control and Ilya was beginning to let go of his anger. 

By the third week in , the apartment no longer felt like Shane's. It felt like something in progress—half playroom, half battleground, half... something softer neither of them had quite figured out how to name yet. The living room floor was rarely visible anymore. It was covered in blocks, books with bent corners, a stuffed rabbit that seemed to migrate constantly, and a growing collection of things Ilya kept accidentally buying.

"She does not need three different sets of stacking cups," Shane said, stepping over a bright plastic ring.

"They are structurally different," Ilya replied from the floor.

Liliya sat between them, legs splayed, watching with intense focus as Ilya attempted to stack them in size order. He got it wrong for the third time in a row. Shane was starting to doubt whether or not he was doing it on purpose. 

Lily gasped like he'd committed a crime. "No, no, no— Ee-ya! B-big first!"

"I am starting from the smallest," he said.

"Big!" she insisted, grabbing the largest cup and  placing it down with authority. "Swee ? Founations."

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Does she mean Foundation?"

"Da, I told her this yesterday," Ilya muttered. "Using my words against me already. You are two! Is unacceptable." 

Liliya beamed, proud of herself. "I build. I build bestest!" 

"You do," Shane said, dropping down beside them. "You're the boss."

"I boss," she agreed immediately.

Ilya snorted quietly, but he adjusted, placing the next cup the way she wanted. "Like this?"

She leaned forward, examining it closely, then nodded. "Good job, Ee-ya." 

Shane laughed out loud this time. "She's praising you."

"I noticed."

But there was no irritation in it—just something quieter, something that had started showing up more and more.

They had begun to learn each other in pieces. They meaning not just Liliya—but each other, too.

"Snack time is not optional," Shane said one afternoon, handing Ilya a small container of cut fruit.

"But she just ate." Ilya spoke in exasperation. 

"She ate two crackers an hour ago." 

"That is eating."

"That is surviving," Shane shot back.

Liliya, sitting in her chair, banged her hands happily. "Snak! Snak!"

Ilya frowned at the container like it had personally offended him. "She will not eat all of this."

"Just shut up and watch her will you?" Shane huffed playfully, watching Ilya smirk. 

Liliya, did not eat all of it. She ate most of it, then offered the rest to Ilya with a sticky, triumphant grin. "Share."

He hesitated. But for some reason, Shane didn't.

"Take it," he said under his breath. "It's a thing."

Ilya accepted the slightly squished strawberry piece like it was part of a ritual he didn't fully understand. "Thank you," he said.

"Welcome," Liliya replied.

Later, while cleaning up, Ilya said, quieter, "You knew she would do that."

"Yes."

"...Why?"

Shane shrugged. "Because she likes you. You're a special person in her life Ilya. She shares with who she trusts. You're officially a parent. Welcome to the club."

Ilya stilled, swallowing around his tears as he reached out and squeezed Shane's hand. Just for  a second before returning to rinsing the container.

A fleeting moment. But one that mattered more than either one of them were ready to admit. 

—

Playtime got louder as Liliya got more comfortable.

And messier. And somehow, even more complicated. "No running," Ilya said, already halfway across the room as Liliya sprinted past him.

"I fast!" she declared, dodging him.

"You are going to fall."

"No fall!"

She fell.

Not hard—just enough to land on her hands and knees with a soft thump.

Both men moved at the same time. Their hearts hammering widely as they tried not to panic outwardly. 

"You're okay baby," Shane said automatically, crouching.

"Is okay," Ilya echoed, though he was already there, hands hovering like he wasn't sure where to place them.

Liliya blinked. Then, dramatically: "I fall."

"Yes, you did," Shane said gently. Checking her over for any signs of bleeding or swelling. "You're lucky you didn't hurt yourself." 

Ilya did a once over, locking eyes with Shane to confirm everything was okay before they both released a breath of relief. 

Lily looked between them. Then, deciding this was an opportunity, held out both arms. "Up."

They both reached. Then they both Paused. Looked at each other.

It was Ilya who pulled back first. "You—"

"No, you go," Shane said. A brief, silent negotiation. "It's okay." 

Liliya wiggled impatiently. "Up!"

Ilya lifted her, careful but steady, settling her against his chest. She leaned into him immediately, already recovered. "I fast," she repeated. "You are reckless," he muttered.

"She's two," Shane said.

"Same thing." Ilya didn't put her down right away. Couldn't bring himself to. His panic still lingering around the edges. 

Sometimes it was a little too easy to forget that Lily wasn't your average toddler. She had to take precautions other kids wouldn't. It was hard pill to swallow. 

—

One afternoon found them in a quiet woodland park, the air crisp, the ground scattered with early signs of spring. Liliya toddled ahead on unsteady legs, bundled in a small jacket, her laughter carrying easily through the trees.

Ilya stayed close, never more than a step behind.

"Careful," he murmured instinctively, though she was already navigating the uneven ground with determined confidence.

"She's okay Ilya, she's tougher than she looks," Shane said, watching with a small grin. His own worry hidden perfectly beneath the mask. 

"I know," Ilya replied, though his eyes never left her. "Does not stop me from worrying."

Liliya turned suddenly, spotting a cluster of fallen branches. She gasped dramatically, as if she had discovered treasure, and immediately began dragging one along the ground. It was far too big for her. The small drag she managed causing her to huff out a breath of defeat. 

Ilya crouched beside her. "You need help, solnyshko?"

She shook her head fiercely. "Mine!"

Shane snorted softly. "Yeah... good luck with that."

Ilya raised his hands in surrender, though the fondness in his expression gave him away completely. "Of course. Is yours. Silly Ilya."

She beamed at him. "Swilly, Ee-ya." 

That was becoming a pattern. Her repeating and recycling words in a way that fascinated both of her parents. She truly was her own little being now. Shane struggled to wrap his head around it. 

A few days later Ilya planned a surprise trip and took them to a quiet seaside town, the kind that stayed sleepy even on weekends. The sky stretched wide and pale above them, the sea rolling in slow, steady waves.

Liliya insisted on holding both their hands as they walked along the shore.

One hand in Shane's.

One in Ilya's.

She swung between them, feet occasionally lifting off the ground entirely as she giggled, the motion turning into a game.

"Higher!" she demanded.

"No, no, not too high," Ilya protested immediately, his grip tightening in reflex.

Shane laughed. "Relax, I've got her."

"I know you've got her," Ilya shot back, though there was no real heat behind it. "I am saying I am worried."

"Dada no worried," Liliya declared proudly, mispronouncing it just slightly as she looked to Shane with a wide smile. 

The word hit Ilya like a quiet echo.

Dada. Shane. 

Not for him. Not yet. He would be Papa.  When the time was right. When he could be sure she liked him for him, not because of what was expected. 

And that was exactly how he wanted it. It's what they had talked through, added to the plan. So, He swallowed back the feeling of overwhelming tears, replacing it with a smile as he steadied her when her feet hit the sand again.

Though now, even the quieter moments carried weight.

Afternoons spent at Shane's home, building towers out of mismatched blocks only for Liliya to knock them down with delighted chaos. Storytime where she insisted Ilya do the voices, despite his occasional struggle with certain words. Mealtimes where she grew increasingly insistent that he sit close—close enough to reach, close enough to check.

Trust built itself in small, steady pieces. She began seeking him out without prompting. Bringing him toys first to sharing her sticky strawberries. Climbing into his lap without hesitation. Leaning her head against his chest when she grew tired. 

Still, she didn't know. Not really.

She had heard about her "papa" in the stories Shane told at night—the gentle, faraway figure woven into bedtime narratives, someone kind and strong and full of love.

Ilya had listened to those stories once, quietly from the doorway. He hadn't stepped in.

Because this mattered.

He needed to know—needed to be certain—that what Liliya felt for him wasn't obligation, or expectation, or something shaped by words.

It had to be hers. Freely given. And it was.

More and more with each passing day.

By the time the sixth week finally came around, something had shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once—but enough that it could be felt in the ease between them. The way Liliya reached for him without thinking. The way Ilya no longer hesitated before picking her up. The way Shane could step back without worry, knowing she was safe in either set of arms.

All of it made their scheduled appointment with Doctor Burrell feel... heavier.

Necessary of course. But heavy.

The clinic was quiet, sterile in the way all medical spaces seemed to be. Soft lighting, neutral walls, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Liliya wasn't with them. This was something Shane and Ilya needed to face alone. 

They sat side by side, neither speaking much as they waited. The silence wasn't uncomfortable—just full. Purposeful.

A nurse eventually called them through, guiding them into a consultation room where Doctor Burrell greeted them with a professional but warm demeanour .

"I understand why you're here," she said, gesturing for them to sit. "We'll take this step by step."

The process began simply enough.

Blood samples.

Two vials each.

The needle slid into the crook of Ilya's arm first, the dark red filling the tube steadily. Shane followed, watching absently as his own sample was collected.

Routine.

Clinical.

But what those samples represented was anything but. Once completed, Doctor Burrell sat across from them, folding his hands together.

"You're looking to identify the origin of a haemophilia-related mutation," she began. "Specifically, whether the affected gene was inherited caternally or paternally."

Ilya nodded once. Shane leaned forward slightly, attentive.

Doctor Burrell continued.

"Haemophilia—most commonly Haemophilia A—is linked to mutations in the F8 gene, which is located on the X chromosome. Because of this, inheritance follows an X-linked recessive pattern."

She glanced between them to ensure they were following.

"In simple terms: individuals with one X chromosome—typically males—will express the condition if that single X carries the mutation. Individuals with two X chromosomes—typically females—may carry one affected gene without showing symptoms, though they can still pass it on. In this case you're both X Chromosomes. Meaning the likelihood is the gene did come from one of you. We just need to figure out how active that gene is." 

Shane exhaled slowly. "So... you're basically checking which side contributed the mutation?"

"Exactly," Doctor Burrell confirmed. "We'll perform genetic sequencing on both of your samples, focusing on the relevant gene regions. If a mutation is present in one of you that matches Liliya's, we can determine its origin."

Ilya's jaw tightened slightly. "And if neither of us has it?"

"Then it's likely a spontaneous mutation," the doctor replied. "That does happen, though less commonly." She leaned back slightly, her tone softening. "Now, most importantly I need you both to know —this isn't about fault. Genetics don't work that way. What this does is provide us the most needed information. If you plan to have more children in the future, we can use this knowledge for early screening."

Doctor Burrell continued on , more detailed now.

"Prenatal testing options include chorionic villus sampling around 10–12 weeks, or amniocentesis later in pregnancy. There's also the possibility of preimplantation genetic testing if you were ever considering IVF—allowing embryos to be screened before implantation. Is that something you're wanting to discuss more?"

Shane zoned back into the conversation slowly, absorbing it. Ilya remained still, processing every word.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. They hadn't exactly had chance to sit and talk about what they wanted for their future. Whether or not they even wanted a relationship beyond co parents. 

 The silence they have was not out of avoidance—but because there was so much uncertainty between them. The only thing they knew for sure was there was no blame waiting to surface. No resentment hiding beneath the surface. Whatever the result, it changed nothing about Liliya. Nothing about what they were building. 

Ilya finally glanced at Shane. A quiet look.

Steady.

Shane met it without hesitation. "Erm— not right now no. We're good," he said simply. 

And they were.

Doctor Burrell gave a small, understanding nod. "Results should be ready within a couple of weeks. We'll contact you as soon as we have them."

The appointment ended without dramatics. No lingering tension or awkwardness. Just two men walking out of a clinic side by side, carrying the knowledge that this result would shape their future—but not define it.

Outside, the air felt different. Cleaner. Lighter, somehow. Like the appointment had been a grey cloud hovering above their heads for weeks on end.

Shane pulled his jacket tighter as they headed toward the car. "She's probably tearing the house apart right now," he said, a hint of amusement creeping back in.

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh, the image instantly forming in his mind. "Yes," he agreed softly. "And blaming it on you."

Shane smirked. "Obviously." For a moment, they stood there. Not rushing. For once not needing to.

Because waiting for them, beyond the schedules, beyond the secrecy, beyond even the uncertainty—

Was a little girl who reached for both of them without question.

And whatever came next, they would meet it the same way they had met everything else since the moment Ilya arrived at Shane's parents house for dinner. 

Together.

——————————————————————————

The night that everything changed for the both of them again felt strangely quiet.

Ottawa buzzed outside of the small apartment. Anticipation building for the season opener, headlines already circling the matchup everyone wanted to see: Ottawa versus Montreal. 

New beginnings colliding with familiar history. Shane Hollander versus Ilya Rozanov. 

For Ilya, it meant stepping onto the ice in a different jersey, a different city, a different chapter.

For Shane , it meant stepping onto the ice with the man who was no longer a stranger he once shared a bed with , but the man he coparented with, the man who was slowly becoming one of his favourite people. 

For the both of them, it meant facing each other again in a way they never had before. The tension that built over the past three years had vanished completely. Replaced by a mutual respect and love for one another as parents to a child they'd created together.

Ilya had settled in at Ottawa better than he had expected. The locker room had welcomed him without friction, the rhythm of the team forming quickly. 

Troy Barrett had been one of the first to break through his usual reserve, loud and relentless in a way that made it impossible not to respond. 

And then there was Luca Haass—young, eager, still finding his footing—had attached himself to Ilya almost immediately, soaking up advice like a sponge.

Even Coach Wiebe had handled things with a quiet respect Ilya hadn't expected. No questions. No pressure. No mention of Shane or Liliya. Just hockey. Ilya was grateful for that.

But tonight for once,  hockey didn't matter to either of them. Tonight wasn't about their upcoming game. He and Shane had more important things to think and talk about. 

Shane's living room currently looked like something out of a childhood dream. Soft blankets layered across the floor. Pillows piled high into a makeshift den. Fairy lights draped carefully along the back of the sofa, casting a warm golden glow that made everything feel smaller, safer—like the outside world couldn't quite reach them here.

Liliya had been involved in every step of it. Or at least, she believed she had. "Mine!" she had declared proudly, placing cushions in entirely impractical places while Shane and Ilya exchanged amused glances and quietly fixed them when she wasn't looking.

Now she sat in the middle of it all, practically vibrating with excitement. "Moovie! Moovie!" she chirped, bouncing in place.

Shane grinned, settling onto the floor and patting the space beside him. "Alright, boss. What are we watching?"

"NEE-MO!" she shouted triumphantly.

Of course.

Ilya had never seen Finding Nemo before. That didn't matter. The moment the opening scene began, Liliya wasted no time scrambling into his side, tugging insistently at his sleeve. "Cuddle, Ee-ya!"she demanded.

His heart did something familiar and overwhelming all at once hearing her mispronounce his name.  "Yes," he said softly, already shifting to wrap the blanket around them both. "We cuddle."

She tucked herself against him like it was the most natural place in the world, one small hand gripping the fabric of his shirt as her attention snapped back to the screen. "Fish," she narrated immediately, pointing. "Big fish. Mama fish."

Ilya nodded seriously. "Ah. Important fish."

Shane snorted quietly from the other side, watching the two of them more than the film.

Liliya continued her commentary with unwavering dedication. "Uh-oh," she whispered dramatically as the scene darkened. "Scawy." Her fingers tightened slightly in Ilya's shirt. 

Without thinking, he adjusted his hold, one hand coming up to gently rub her back. "It is okay," he murmured. "I am here." She relaxed instantly.

Minutes later, her energy bounced back twice as strong. "NEMO!" she squealed, pointing so enthusiastically she nearly knocked the blanket off them both. "Baby!"

"Yes," Ilya agreed, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "Small one. Like you."

"No!" she protested, giggling. "I big!"

Shane laughed outright. "Oh yeah? Since when?"

"Swince ... now!" she declared, entirely satisfied with her answer.

The film played on, but for Ilya, it blurred at the edges. What stayed sharp was her weight against him. The warmth. The trust. The way she kept leaning closer without realising it, as if drawn there by instinct alone.

He memorised all of it. Every second.

By the time the credits began to roll, Liliya had grown softer, quieter. Not asleep—but close to it. Her movements slower, her voice reduced to gentle murmurs.

"Bedtime, bug," Shane said gently, pushing himself up.

"Nooooo," she protested weakly, though she made no real effort to move.

Ilya carefully shifted, helping guide her up without breaking the closeness too quickly. She clung to him for a moment longer before allowing Shane to take over. The routine was familiar. Comforting.

Shane tucked her in with practiced ease, smoothing the blanket over her, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. Ilya stayed near the doorway, not wanting to intrude—but unable to leave.

"Storwy?" Liliya asked sleepily.

"Of course," Shane said, settling beside her. It was always the same story.

Her favourite.

"The one about your papa?" he prompted. She nodded immediately, eyes already shining despite her exhaustion.

Shane began softly. "Once upon a time, there was a papa who loved his little girl very, very much..."

Ilya's chest tightened.

He had heard pieces of this before. Never all of it.

Tonight, every word landed differently.

"...but he had to go on a very long journey," Shane continued, his voice steady, warm. "A really, really long drive. Across cities and snow and time..."

Liliya listened intently, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of her blanket. "...and even though it took him a while, he never stopped trying to get back to her. Not once."

Ilya's vision blurred.

Shane glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes for just a second—something unspoken passing between them—before looking back down at her. "And do you know what?" he added, a quiet smile forming.

Liliya perked up slightly. "Wowt?"

Shane leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing the most important secret in the world.

"Guess what?"

Her eyes widened instantly. "Wowt Dada!?"

He pointed gently toward the doorway. "Papa finally arrived."

For a heartbeat, she didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Then her gaze followed his hand. And landed on Ilya.

He stood frozen, every emotion he had been holding back crashing to the surface all at once. His eyes were already full, tears spilling freely now, his hands trembling at his sides as if he didn't trust them to reach for her.

Liliya gasped. A small, sharp sound of pure realization. "Ee-ya, Ily's Papa?" she whispered.

Ilya couldn't speak. Couldn't even nod. He just looked at her like she was everything.

That was enough.

Bedtime rules didn't stand a chance. She threw the blanket off and scrambled out of bed in one determined movement, her small feet hitting the floor before Shane could even pretend to stop her.

"EE-YA , YOU PAPA!" She ran.

Ilya dropped to his knees just in time to catch her as she collided into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck with all the force her tiny body could manage. The impact knocked the breath out of him. Or maybe it was everything else.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close—closer than he had allowed himself to before, like he could finally stop holding back.

"I am here," he choked out, his voice breaking completely. "I am here, solnyshko... I am so sorry it took so long."

She didn't understand all the words. She didn't need to. "Ee -ya , Papa," she repeated, pressing her face into his shoulder, clinging to him like she had always known where she belonged. "Dada, papa!" 

Across the room, Shane didn't try to hide it.

The tears came freely, his hand covering his mouth as his chest rose and fell unevenly. He had imagined this moment a thousand different ways.

None of them had came close. Because this— This was real and raw. The guilt tumbled into his chest. The feeling swallowing him whole as the watched the pair.  Ilya held her like something sacred, his shoulders shaking, years of absence and longing pouring out of him in silent, broken sobs. Liliya stayed wrapped around him, small hands gripping tightly, grounding him in the present.

In truth.

In belonging.

Shane finally stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on Ilya's shoulder—not interrupting, just there.

A quiet anchor. A witness to something extraordinary. And in that small bedroom, with soft light and tearful laughter and a child who finally knew— A story ended.

And something far greater began for the three of them. 

——————————————————————————

Their new schedule started the same way their entire existence to one another had —messy, overlapping, full of compromises neither of them liked but both of them accepted. Because this wasn't just about logistics. It was about making up for lost time neither of them could ever get back. 

Ilya stared at the page like it might accuse him if he looked away. Two years. Two years of her life he hadn't been there for. It sat behind everything now—every plan, every visit, every mile he drove.

"Okay," Shane said, quieter now, watching him carefully. "Say it back to me."

Ilya nodded once, forcing himself to focus.

"Wednesdays, I drive to Montreal after training. I get the afternoon with—" he hesitated just slightly, "—Liliya."

Shane didn't miss it. Concern flickering in his eyes as he took notice of the Russians defeated tone. 

"And you've got training those days, da?" Ilya added.

"Yeah." 

"And home games..." Ilya's voice softened. "I stay here. The whole day. Night too." Shane nodded again. "And if we're both away, she's with Yuna and David."

That part, at least, was easy. Liliya adored them.

Ilya swallowed, looking back down at the paper.

"Is not enough."

Shane didn't interrupt this time.

"I already missed two years," Ilya went on, voice tightening. "Two years, Hollander. Two. You took them from me and I don't get those back." His hand dragged over his face. "And now I'm... scheduling her in between practices and flights like—like that makes up for it. Y-you will never under how that feels." 

"It's not about making up for it," Shane said gently.

"But it feels like it should be," Ilya snapped, then immediately looked away. "I should be there all the time. I should've been there from the start. You know this! You know I should have been there, but you allowed fear to decide otherwise!" 

"Ilya it wasn't like that!"

"But it was Hollander! It was and now I suffer, I suffer with memories I never got to make and time I will never get back! All because we were-"

"Because we were what?" Shane asked, eyes glassing over with unshed tears.  The truth of how she'd come into the world hung unspoken between them. One time . One choice. One mistake.

And everything messy that came after it.

Ilya's voice dropped, a defeated breath escaping his lips. "What if she doesn't... see me like that anymore? Like her papa."

Shane sighed as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Anger leaving him in a rush. "Have you seen her little face when you walk in?" he asked quietly.

Ilya didn't answer.

"She lights up," Shane continued. "Every time. Like she's been waiting all day just for you."

That pulled Ilya's gaze back up, uncertain.

"She doesn't care about those first two years," Shane said. "She cares about now. About who shows up."

Ilya's throat tightened. "But what if you're wrong. What if I'm not there enough?" he whispered.

Shane reached across the table and caught his hand. "You're there," he said simply. "You keep showing up. That's what matters." A small pause. Then, softer— "And for the record... you're her favourite."

Ilya huffed out a weak breath, something between disbelief and emotion. "That's not—"

"It is," Shane insisted, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm just the backup act."

Despite everything, that earned the smallest, fragile smile from Ilya. It didn't fix the guilt he felt growing at the thought of being away from her for so long. But it gave it somewhere to settle. 

—

The routine wasn't perfect. But it became theirs.

Wednesdays turned into something sacred.

The long drives didn't matter when the door opened and— "Papa!" Liliya— His Lily—came toddling out , her whole face bright, like there had never been a time he wasn't there.

Like she didn't remember those two missing years at all. And maybe she didn't. But he did. So he made every moment count.

He learned the way she laughed, the way she mispronounced words, the way she reached for him without hesitation now—like it was instinct, like it had always been him. Every single detail taken in and locked away in a special part of his brain. 

Game days filled in the rest. Overnights. Quiet mornings. The soft weight of her asleep against him. Piece by piece, something that had started as an accident... became a family.

And then the results came. A strike of lightening hitting the bubble of bliss they'd found themselves surviving in. 

The paper trembled slightly in Ilya's hands.

"It's genetic," he said, though it didn't sound like he believed the words.

Shane stayed still, watching him. "Okay..."

Ilya shook his head, sharper this time. "No. It's not just—" His voice cracked. "It's from me."

The room went very, very quiet. "I gave it to her."

Shane stepped forward. "Ilya—"

"I gave it to her," he repeated, louder now, panic building fast. "Everything she's going to have to deal with—every hospital visit, every risk—" His breathing hitched. "That is me." He started pacing, hands running through his hair, like he could outrun the thought. "I already miss two years," he said, voice unraveling. "And now this? This is what I bring into her life?"

"Ilya—"

"Why would you even want me here now you know this?" The words came out raw, unfiltered. "Why would you not hate me for this?"

That stopped Shane completely "W-what? Why would you ask me that?" 

Ilya finally looked at him, and there was something almost terrifying in his expression. "I'm the reason our malyshka is sick," he said, barely holding it together. "You should hate me." He choked , shuffling away from the other man. 

Shane closed the distance in an instant, grabbing his face, forcing him to stop moving. "Don't," he said, firm and sharp. "Don't you dare."

Ilya froze, breath uneven.

"This is not your fault."

"It is—"

"It's not," Shane cut in, unwavering. "You didn't choose this. You didn't do anything wrong. You've never had any symptoms tight? Never noticed anything was wrong with you or your close family? How the hell were you supposed to know?" 

"But it came from me—" Ilya tried. 

"And she came from you too," Shane shot back immediately. "Everything good about her? That's you as well. Ilya since the day she was born , every single part of her has reflected you!” 

Ilya's eyes burned. "That does not cancel it out," he whispered. 

"No," Shane said, softer now. "But it matters."

Ilya shook his head weakly. "You should hate me."

And something in Shane's expression shifted completely.

Not frustration. Not anger. Just... something deeply certain. "Oh, Ilya," he murmured. He pulled him in without hesitation. This time, Ilya didn't pull away. He collapsed into it, gripping onto Shane like he was the only thing keeping him upright. "I'm sorry," he kept saying, the words breaking apart. "I didn't know—I didn't mean—I would never—"

"I know," Shane said quietly, one hand steady at the back of his neck. "I know."

"I should've been better in life, I should've known—"

"You couldn't have."

"I—"

Shane pulled back just enough to look at him again. There was nothing uncertain there. Nothing wavering. "You don't get to decide that I hate you," he said, softer now. "Because I don't."

Ilya's breath caught.

"You gave me her," Shane added. "You gave me our Liliya. You gave me my life."  The use of her full name hit harder than anything else. “And you think that makes me hate you?" he asked quietly.

Ilya didn't have an answer. His thoughts were still spiralling, still trying to find somewhere to land—

And then Shane kissed him.

It wasn't planned. It wasn't something either of them had been building toward. It just... happened. A split-second decision, born out of too much emotion and nowhere else for it to go.

Ilya went completely still.

For a heartbeat, he didn't react at all—like his brain couldn't catch up with what was happening.

Because this wasn't part of the plan. They weren't that. They had never been that. They were... co-parents. A mistake that turned into something meaningful. People trying to do the right thing.

And yet— Shane's hand was still warm against his jaw, steady and grounding.

The kiss wasn't forceful. It wasn't demanding. It was... certain. Like an answer.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Ilya leaned into it.

His grip tightened in Shane's shirt, like he needed something solid to hold onto as everything shifted beneath him.

When they finally pulled apart, it wasn't abrupt.

It lingered. Foreheads resting together, breaths uneven, the space between them completely changed. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Because there wasn't an easy way to.

Shane exhaled softly. "I don't hate you. Not even a little bit. You got that?" 

Ilya's eyes closed briefly "Da...," he whispered, still trying to steady himself, still trying to understand what had just happened. But one thing, at least, settled clearly now— He believed him. “H-Hollander , you shouldn’t have done that.”

“D-done what?” 

“Kissed me.” 

Shane’s stomach sank. “Oh?”

“It is not good for us. It will complicate things. I-I still do not know how to forgive you. We cannot be more than- than–”

“Co parents .” 

Ilya nodded. “Da, this. We cannot be more than this right now. I need time. You need to accept that whilst I care about you , I do not trust you enough to love you. Not yet.”

The not yet hung heavily in the air between them.

“I-it’s okay.” Shane spoke, voice cracking slightly. “I get it, I do. I’m sorry I did that.” 

“Is okay…” 

The pair hovered awkwardly for a few seconds before Ilya finally pulled away. A cold chill swallowing Shane as the distance between them became notable once more. 

“I will go and check on Lily. I need to - ah , see her, hold her you know?” Ilya stated, his tone slightly off.

“Y-yeah of course.” Shane agreed, watching as the other man nodded curtly. Exiting the room without another word. 

The door clicked softly behind him. And just like that, the room felt too big. Too quiet. Too empty.

Shane stood there for a long moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, as if Ilya might come back and take it all back—say he didn’t mean it, say the kiss had changed his mind, say they could try. But the silence stayed. His knees gave out before he realized what was happening, and he sank onto the edge of the couch , elbows braced against his thighs, hands dragging down his face.

The first sob hit him out of nowhere. Sharp. Violent. He pressed his palm to his mouth, like he could contain it, but it only made it worse. Another followed, then another, until the grief he’d been holding back for years finally broke loose.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, though there was no one there to hear it. His shoulders shook as he bent forward, tears slipping through his fingers, falling unchecked. Every moment he’d allowed Ilya to miss. Every lie. Every justification that had felt so necessary at the time now seemed paper-thin, meaningless against the damage it had caused.

He thought of Liliya, her laugh, her tiny hand in his—and then of Ilya, standing on the outside of all of that, robbed of something he could never get back.

“I understand,” Shane whispered hoarsely, the words tasting like ash. “I get it. God Hollander get it together! You did this. He’s right.” 

That was the worst part of it all . Ilya wasn’t wrong.

Shane dragged in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his chest only deepened. The kiss replayed in his mind—how real it had felt, how right—and now it sat beside Ilya’s words, twisted into something painful and unreachable.

For a moment, hope had slipped through the cracks. Now it was gone again. Shane wiped at his face, though the tears didn’t stop. “I’ll fix it,” he murmured, not even sure what that meant anymore. “I’ll make it right. Somehow.” But the room offered no answers. Only the quiet echo of what he’d lost—and the understanding that love and care, no matter how strong, wasn’t always enough to undo the past.

Chapter End Notes

Don’t forget to comment and share your thoughts! As long as they’re positive that is ;)

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Summary

A lot of healing takes place after disaster.

Chapter Notes

Hola darlings! Soooo, I’ve decided to add another chapter! After discussing it with a few people I thought that Shane and Ilya deserved a nice cutesy ending! So keep your eyes peeled the last chapter is under editing as we speak and should be up within the next few days! :)))

The apartment didn't feel big enough to hold off all of the things Ilya felt he was harbouring. 

It still looked like Shane's place. That same pristine couch, same toy cluttered coffee table, same faint smell of coffee and laundry detergent—but now there were new things layered over it. Smaller things. Softer things. A stuffed rabbit lay abandoned near the hallway, next to it—Ilya's favourite hoodie that Lily had insisted on wearing whilst indoors. A pair of tiny shoes sat by the door, one tipped over like it had been kicked off mid-run, Ilya's and Shane's standing upright next to them. A blanket—pink, fraying at the edges—was draped over the arm of the couch , Ilya's flight pillow lying along with it like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.  Like they all belonged there. Together, as a family. 

But it wasn't like that. It couldn't be like that. Ilya had made that perfectly clear.  He stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing. Or rather, staring through everything. His reflection in the dark window looked like someone else, someone more tired, more worn down. Someone who had learned too much too quickly and didn't know what to do with it. Behind him, he could hear Shane moving around in the living room. Quiet. Careful. Always careful now. Too careful.

"Ilya."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Da?"

"I made you some tea."

"I don't want tea."

A pause. "Oh erm, Okay." The soft clink of a mug being set down anyway. Of course. Shane didn't push the cup into his hands anymore, didn't insist, but he still did things like that. Left offerings. Quiet gestures that said I'm here without saying anything at all. It should have helped. It didn't. If anything it made him feel worse for pushing the other man further and further away from him. 

On the counter in front of Ilya lay a stack of papers, medical reports, pamphlets, notes scribbled in Shane's handwriting. Some of it neat, some rushed. All of it about one thing. Liliya and Haemophilia.

The word made his stomach twist every time he looked at it. He picked up one of the pages, though he already knew what it said. Carrier. Genetic. Inherited. From him. A sharp breath caught in his throat.

"She's okay." Shane's voice again—but closer this time. Ilya hadn't even heard him walk into the room.  "She's asleep," Shane added, softer. "I just checked."

Ilya nodded stiffly, still not turning around. "She did not want to go and nap earlier. Wanted papa and Lily time, no sleep." 

"Yeah." There was a faint trace of something warmer in Shane's tone. "She never wants to nap when she knows her papa is here." 

That image flashed uninvited in Ilya's mind—Liliya stubborn and bright-eyed, refusing to settle, clinging to Shane's shirt and mumbling Papa like it was the only word that mattered.

His chest tightened.

"She calls me that so easily," Ilya said before he could stop himself. "Like I've always been here.. she doesn't know- I do. She doesn't. To her you are dada and I am papa. It's simple." 

The room stilled. Shane didn't answer right away. Because what was there to say?

"I was there," Shane said finally, voice low. Not defensive. Just... factual. "From the beginning."

Ilya flinched. There it was. Not thrown like a weapon. Not sharpened into an accusation. Just the truth. And somehow, that made it worse.

"I know," Ilya said quietly. "That was not my choice, was yours alone Hollander." 

You were there. You held her first. You heard her first cry. You named her. You knew her laugh before I ever did. His fingers tightened around the paper until it crinkled. "I didn't even know she existed," he added, the words hollow.

"I know. But that doesn't change how she feels about you Ilya. You're one of her favourite people, she loves you." 

"I missed everything."

"I know."

There was no anger in Shane's voice. No edge. No retaliation. Just understanding. And that—more than anything—made Ilya want to scream. "Stop saying that," he snapped, turning around sharply. "Stop acting like her love is enough- that it makes what you done better."

"I'm not—"

"You are," Ilya cut in, shaking his head. "You just stand there and take it like you deserve it, like if you're patient enough I'll—what—come around? Forgive you? Trust you?"

Shane's jaw tightened slightly. "I'm not expecting that."

"Then what are you expecting?"

"I don't know!" The words came out louder than intended, and Shane immediately exhaled, reining himself back in. "I don't know," he repeated, quieter. "I just... I don't want to make it worse."

"Then stop trying so hard."

That landed.

Shane blinked. "Trying is making it worse?"

"Yes." Ilya's voice broke slightly on the word, frustration bleeding through. "Because it doesn't feel real," he continued. "It feels like you're performing. Like everything you do is to prove something to me."

"I am trying to prove something," Shane admitted. "I'm trying to prove that you can trust me." 

"I do not want proof!" Ilya shot back. "I want to know that if Lily didn't have Haemophilia would I even be stood in this apartment right now? Would you have ever told me? I - try not to think otherwise. Fuck, would  you have even allow me in this apartment as anything other than her papa? Because I do not believe you would. I believe you feel things because of Lily not because they're true to you. I cannot help this!" 

Shane stared at him.

"Ilya..."

"You kept her from me for two years," Ilya said, his voice dropping now, quieter but sharper. "Two years of her life that I don't get back. And now I'm supposed to believe that I know who you are as a father? As a person?"

"You don't," Shane said.

The immediate agreement threw him off.

"You don't," Shane repeated. "Not yet. But, Ilya we deserve the chance to know each other right? We're allowed to want that." 

Something in Ilya's chest twisted painfully.

"I-if you agree then why are you acting like we're... like this is something we can just fix?" he demanded. "Like it is so easy to learn about one another and start over." 

"Because she deserves both of us," Shane said simply.

That shut him up. For a second all he could do was breathe and stare at the other man standing in front of him.

"We fix this for her," Shane added, more softly. "Not for me. Not for you. Not for us. For her."

Ilya looked away. That was the problem, wasn't it?

It was never just about them. It was about Liliya, who was sleeping down the hall in a toddler bed too small for everything she carried. A life already complicated before she could even understand why.

"She got it from me." The words slipped out, barely above a whisper.

Shane's expression shifted instantly. "Ilya—"

"I gave it to her," he continued, staring at the floor now. "The haemophilia. They said it's genetic. That means it's—" He swallowed. "It's my fault."

"It's not your fault." Shane spoke brokenly. 

"It is." Ilya cemented.  

"You didn't choose it." 

"That does not matter."

"It does to me." Ilya let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. "Of course it does. You weren't the one who—"

"I carried her," Shane cut in, not harshly but firmly. "I gave birth to her. And if there was something I could've done differently to protect her, I would have." Silence fell heavy between them. "But there wasn't," Shane continued, softer now. "And there wasn't anything you could've done either."

Ilya didn't answer. Because logic didn't touch this kind of guilt. Because knowing didn't make it hurt less. A small sound came from down the hall. Not crying, just movement. Sheets rustling. They both turned instinctively.

"She might be waking up," Shane murmured.

Ilya hesitated for half a second—then moved. This time, Shane didn't follow immediately. He stayed back. Gave space. Ilya noticed. Of course he did. He always felt Shane's distance, even when he's the one who's wanting it. 

He stepped into the bedroom quietly. The soft glow of a nightlight cast gentle shadows across the walls, illuminating the small bed tucked into the corner. Liliya was sitting up, hair messy, blanket half-fallen into her lap. Her eyes blinked sleepily toward the doorway and then lit up. "Papa."

The word hit him like a physical thing. Soft. Certain. Real. That's how she said it, as though he'd always been there. As if it wasn't a word she'd only introduced to her vocabulary a few weeks ago.

Ilya's chest tightened as he crossed the room, crouching beside her bed. "Hey," he murmured, brushing her hair back gently. "You okay?"

She nodded, then glanced past him toward the hallway. "Dada?"

Ilya hesitated. Just for a second. Then—"He's here baby."

That was all it took.

Shane appeared in the doorway a moment later, slower this time, like he was still learning how to enter these moments without breaking them. Without Ilya feeling as though he is smothering him.  "Hey, bug," he said softly.

Liliya reached for him immediately. "Dada." Of course she did.

Shane stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed, careful not to crowd Ilya, but close enough. Always close enough. "You're supposed to be sleeping," he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly over her arm.

"No," she said, with the absolute certainty only a two-year-old could have.

That almost made Ilya smile. Almost.

Shane huffed a quiet laugh. "No?"

She shook her head, then leaned slightly—small body tipping between them, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like there was no divide. No history. No hurt. Just them. Them and her , their very own family unit. Ilya steadied her instinctively, his hand brushing Shane's for half a second. They both froze. Then pulled back. The moment passed, but not entirely.

"Can we...?" Shane started, then stopped, glancing at Ilya instead of finishing the sentence. Asking. Not assuming "Can we at least try moving forward, for her?". Ilya looked at him. Really looked.At the exhaustion. The restraint. The way he was holding himself back in a space that used to be entirely his. And for the first time, it didn't feel like pressure. It felt like... effort.

Real effort.

"I don't trust you," Ilya said quietly.

Shane nodded. "I know."

"And I don't know when I will."

"I know."

"And you trying to fix everything so quickly —" Ilya exhaled shakily. "It makes it harder. Not easier."

Shane swallowed, then nodded again. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ilya echoed, skeptical.

"I'll stop pushing," Shane said. "I mean it." There was no defense in it. No argument. Just... acceptance.

Ilya studied him for a long moment. Then looked down at Liliya, who was now leaning against Shane's shoulder, half-asleep again, her small hand still clutching Ilya's sleeve. Caught between them. Trusting both of them. Without hesitation.

"We start there," Ilya said finally. "No more pushing to talk, patience. Da?" 

It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't trust.

But it was something.

Shane nodded once. "Yeah." Carefully, so carefully it almost hurt to watch, they adjusted around her. Not touching more than necessary. Not assuming anything. Just... existing in the same space.

For her. For now. That's all they needed to do, focus on the now. 

And for the first time since everything had come to light, the silence that settled between them didn't feel like something breaking apart. It felt like something fragile— still uncertain, still incomplete, but no longer falling.

There were still a lot of unanswered questions swirling around Shane's head. The what if's and they how's , but none of that mattered for the time being. He knew he had to give things time, Ilya may say that Shane can't fix this, but he knows he can. They have something special and he'll be damned if he doesn't try his hardest to save it. 

——————————————————————————

Away games meant time away from Lily. It meant both of them were left without not only her , but one another too. 

Ilya hated every second of it. 

Away games used to bring him excitement and adrenaline. Now alls they brought was the reminder that he had a child at home who needed him. A child he would not see for a few weeks after this as every game he's playing for a while is away from Ottawa. For Shane it felt the same, hockey was once his life. His only goal was to achieve NHL level. Now his only goal was to ensure Lily had the best live he could possibly give her. 

Seeing her off to go to Yuna and David's place after two whole days together had been hard. Harder than either of them had been expecting. But they knew she was in safe hands. They trusted in that. 

"We've got her honey." Yuna assured, watching Shane press firm kisses to the surface of Liliya's forehead.

"No , I know. I'm just finding it a little harder this time around, not sure why." Shane sighed, clutching her closer. 

"Is because we had such fun last night." Ilya stated, smiling widely at Lily. "Isn't that right, solnechnyy svet?"

"Dada, Papa night!" Lily exclaimed towards Yuna and David in excitement. "Watched Mwicky house!" 

"Oh? You did huh?" David asked, quirking an eyebrow towards her father's in question. 

"Mickey mouse, we watched Mickey Mouse clubhouse." Shane chuckled fondly. 

"Ah! That's exciting sweetie!" Yuna told her, reaching out to take her from Shane. "You ready to drive to Nana and Baba's house for a few days?!"

Liliya practically jumped into her hold. "Baba's Blankey!" She squealed, meaning David's camping blanket she loved to snuggle up in. 

David laughed at his granddaughters excitement. "Yes , Baba's blankey is waiting for you in the car." 

"Car, Nana!" Lily ordered, leaning towards the black Range Rover.

"Okay, okay! Say goodbye to Dada and Papa first huh? They're going to miss you." Yuna instructed, smiling softly as Liliya gasped and turned back towards Ilya first.

"Papa." 

Ilya blinked back his tears. "I see you soon devochka, be good for Nana and Baba." He reasoned, pressing kisses to her soft curls. Watching as Shane leaned in to do the same. Neither one of them were ready to let her go, but time was ticking and they had separate flights to catch. 

"Right, safe flights you two." David stated, opening the car door so Yuna could place Liliya into her seat. "Lots of rest before your games tomorrow and make sure you eat something proper." 

"We know Dad." Shane spoke in exasperation. "We literally raise a child, we know how to look after ourselves." 

"Hmm, just making sure. We will see you in a few days son! Ilya, we will see you in a few weeks okay? I'm sure it'll fly by." David grinned, patting them both on the back. "We'll look after her."

"I do not doubt it." Ilya assured, waving goodbye to both Yuna and David before leaning down to blow a kiss through the window towards Lily. His tiny girl giggling as she waved happily. 

"She couldn't care any less if she tried." Shane chuckled wetly, watching as his parents pulled away. "She loves them." 

"Their bond is nice, makes me feel good knowing she has at least one set of grandparents to rely on." 

The sadness that lingered within Ilya's tone didn't escape Shane, he could hear it. Clear as day. But they had a deal and he wasn't going to push the other man to speak when he clearly wasn't prepared to. "Right, well I guess I'll see you in a few weeks?" 

"Da, I have  a few games away now. New York, Florida and California." Ilya explained. 

"Look at you guys , I see the play offs in your future." 

"We can pray Hollander." 

Shane smiled gently. "Safe flight, I'll text you once I land." 

"Okay." Ilya agreed, grabbing his bags and suitcase. "See you later."

"See you." 

The both of them turned to their cars. Neither one caving in to the urge to catch one last look. The time would come for that. That time wasn't now. 

——————————————————————————

It happened in the span of a second. One misstep.

One small slip up . And a sound that Yuna would replay in her mind for the rest of her life.

Liliya had been running. She liked running now, fast, unsteady, full of laughter that echoed through the house like something alive and bright. The hallway at Yuna and David's place was long enough for it, lined with soft rugs and framed photos, a safe place for a toddler to burn through endless energy.

"Careful, baby," Yuna had called from the kitchen, smiling as she watched her dart past.

"Nana, watch!" Liliya giggled, turning mid-run. 

And that was when it happened. Her sock caught. Or maybe it slipped, Yuna would never be sure.

All she knew was that one moment Liliya was upright—and the next— A sickening crack as her small body went down hard against the edge of the wooden console table. There was a moment of silence, one that echoed loudly. Before suddenly,

A scream. Not the usual frustrated cry. Not the soft whimper of a toddler who tripped. This was sharp.

High. Wrong. Yuna was already moving before she even realized it, her heart lurching into her throat.

"Liliya!"

David was right behind her. His heart pounding in a way it never had before. True , genuine fear. They both reached her at the same time. Liliya was on the floor, sobbing, her small hands clutching her leg—no, not her leg— Her arm. Blood. Far too much blood. It was coming from a deep cut along her forearm where she must have hit the corner—too sharp, too precise, the skin split open more than a simple scrape ever should be.

And it wasn't stopping.

"Oh God," Yuna breathed, dropping to her knees. "Oh God, oh God— David!" 

"Pressure," David said immediately, his voice tight but controlled. "We need pressure on it now."

"I know—I know—" But her hands were shaking.

There was just too much blood. It was already soaking through Liliya's sleeve, dripping onto the hardwood floor in a way that made everything feel surreal, distant, unreal.

"Baba—" Liliya sobbed, reaching blindly.

"I'm here," David said, pulling off his overshirt and pressing it firmly against the wound. "I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you." But even as he said it, the fabric was already darkening. Too fast. Too much.

Yuna's mind snapped into place. Haemophilia. Fuck, in a moment of panic she had forgotten the most vital part of information.  Haemophilia meant the blood was not clotting. It wasn't stopping. "Call emergency services," she said, her voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "Now."

David didn't hesitate. He kept pressure with one hand and fumbled his phone with the other, already dialing. Yuna leaned over Liliya, brushing her damp hair back, trying to keep her still. "Hey, hey—look at Nana, baby. Look at me."

Liliya's face was pale. Too pale. Her cries were weakening. That terrified her more than anything.

"No, no, no—stay with me, sweetheart," Yuna murmured, her voice breaking. "You're okay. You're okay." But she wasn't. Not without help. Not without treatment.

"Hello—yes, I'm calling from 256 Brimstone Avenue." David said into the phone, his voice tight. "We have a two-year-old with haemophilia. She's got a deep laceration, significant bleeding—yes, it's not clotting—no, it's not stopping with pressure—"

Yuna grabbed another cloth, pressing it over David's makeshift bandage, trying to reinforce it. "We need to elevate it," she said, more to herself than anyone else. Carefully, they lifted Liliya's arm, but she cried out again, her body trembling. "I know, baby, I know—just a little bit, okay? Just a little—"

Blood still seeped through. Relentless. Unforgiving. The Sirens could be heard, distant at first. Then closer. They were coming too slow. Everything felt too slow.

"I'm calling Shane," Yuna said suddenly, already reaching for her phone. "H-he needs to know. H-he god he's going to be worried sick- and Ilya! Christ!"

"Dada! Wan' Papa and Dada!" Liliya hiccuped, breath hitching. 

"I know baby, shhh I'm calling them, I'm calling them." 

—

Florida felt like another planet. It was so different from the games at home. Bright lights. Noise. Movement, it was all the same , yet it felt so empty and pointless. As though Hockey was suddenly a game that didn't matter at all to Shane. It was simple just a game. He had more important things waiting for him back home. Win or lose, his prize would be sat waiting in the form of his two year old that held his heart in a way no one else would. 

Shane's phone rang just as he stepped out of the locker room, sweat still cooling on his skin, adrenaline not yet faded. He almost ignored it.

Almost. But something, something deep pulled at his gut as soon as he saw the caller ID. "Mom?" he answered, breath still uneven. "Hey, what's—"

"Shane." Her voice. It sounded wrong, off.  

Everything in him went cold. "Mom?! W-What's happened?"

"It's Liliya," Yuna said, and her voice broke. "She fell—she cut her arm—it's bad, Shane, it's not stopping, there's so much blood—"

The world tilted. "Shit! I-I'm on my way," he said immediately, already moving, Hayden throwing a look of concern his way at his next words. "Which hospital?"

"They're taking her to St. Mary's—we're in the ambulance now—"

"I'm coming," he repeated, his voice shaking now. "I'm coming. Coach I've gotta go! It's Lily!" 

He hung up before she could say anything else. 

Coach Theriault was immediately on high alert, rushing over to help Shane shovel his belongings into his bag as he stripped off his gear.  "I'm sure she's okay kid." 

"M-my mom sounded terrified- fuck I don't know what I'll do if something bad–"

"You can't think like that, not now. I will deal with the press , you just get yourself to that airport, plane tickets on us." 

Shane nodded, thanking him as he grabbed his bag and phone. Rushing out of the room before any of his teammates had the chance to ask questions. His hands were trembling so badly he almost dropped his phone on the way out. 

Ilya.

He needed to call Ilya.  He needed— fuck he needed him.  He dialed before he could think. This is what they should have been doing the entire two years, leaning on one another, learning how to parent together. Shane felt sick thinking about how much time he had waisted. Ilya would never forgive him if something were to happen to Lily- he couldn't bare to think of it. 

—

New York. It was a different arena. A different crowd of noise. Yet it was the exact same moment playing out in a new way.

Ilya was halfway through untying his skates when his phone buzzed. His heart immediately sinking as he saw the name flashing on screen. 

Shane.

His stomach dropped along with his heart. His ability to function failing miserably.  Though he answered without hesitation. "Shane?"

There was a second of silence. Then— "Ilya— fuck Ilya!" He had never heard Shane sound like that before. So broken, so terrified.  "Ilya, she's hurt."

Everything stopped. "W-What? Shane what do you mean?" 

"She fell—she cut her arm—my mom said it's bad, it's not stopping, they're taking her to the hospital—" His voice cracked completely. "It's not stopping. Ilya the-"

Haemophilia. The word haunted their every day life endlessly. 

Ilya's chest seized. "I'm on my way, I will get flight. Game hasn't started yet. They can play without me," he said immediately, already standing. "Which hospital?"

"St. Mary's—I'm flying out now, Ilya, I—" Shane choked on the words. "I'm so scared."

That did something to him. Hearing that.

Not just the words—but the fear behind them. Raw. Unfiltered. Real.

"She's going to be okay," Ilya said, even though his own voice was shaking. "They know what to do. We done research, yes? They'll give her factor replacement, they'll stop the bleeding—she's going to be okay."

"I should've been there," Shane said, his breathing uneven, almost gasping. "I should've been with her."

"We both should've," Ilya said. 

He was met with silence for a few seconds before a quieter broken sound cracked through the speaker— "I'm sorry."

Ilya froze.

"I'm so sorry," Shane repeated, his voice breaking apart. "For everything. For keeping her from you—for the two years of her life that you didn't get—I know I can't fix that, not properly anyway. And I know I can't ever understand how much that hurt you—"

"Shane—"

"But I need you to know—" his voice cracked again, a sob slipping through before he could stop it. "I need you to know I never, ever regretted her, regretted you. Not for a second. Not matter how messy things got. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. And you gave me her." 

Ilya closed his eyes, gripping his phone tighter.

"I love her so much," Shane whispered. "And I—" He broke off, breath hitching. "I care about you. I always have. Even when I messed everything up, even when I made the stupidest decisions I could've made—I still— I still cared, I still wanted you there. I wanted it to be you with me during my check ups , I wanted you to be with me when I went into labor, I wanted it to be you who cut her cord, you who held her first. I wanted it to be you who held my hand when I heard Doctor Burrell say– Fuck." He couldn't finish. But he didn't have to. Because Ilya could hear it.

In the fear. In the guilt. In the way his voice fell apart over their daughter. Over Ilya. 

"I can't lose her," Shane said, barely audible now. "Ilya, I can't—"

"You're not going to." Ilya's voice was steadier this time. Not because he wasn't afraid. But because Shane was. And someone had to hold that weight.

"She's going to be okay," Ilya repeated. "They'll give her clotting factor—Factor VIII, as soon as she gets there. They'll control the bleeding, clean the wound, probably stitch it once it's stable. She'll be monitored for internal bleeding too, just in case. They know what they're doing."

Shane's breathing hitched. "O-Okay. I- my coach booked me a flight, I'm at the airport." 

"I'm getting a ride to airport myself now. I-I wish I was with you Hollander I really do." 

"Me too."

Another pause. Different this time. Quieter. Connected. "Ilya," Shane said softly. Sniffling as he choked back his cries of worry. 

"Yeah?"

"...Thank you."

For answering. For staying. For not hanging up.

For being here. For proving all of my fears wrong. The words went unsaid. 

Ilya swallowed hard. "We'll get there soon, we will be with her soon."

"We will be with her." 

Together.

—

The hospital lights were way too bright. The smell was sterile and strong in a way that made you flinch as you entered the building. Too unforgiving in a way.  By the time Yuna and David arrived, Liliya was already pale, her cries reduced to weak whimpers as the paramedics worked quickly—gauze soaked through, replaced again and again, IV line started in her tiny hand.

"Her blood pressure is dropping," one of them said urgently. "We need to move."

"Factor concentrate ready?" another called.

"On it."

They rushed her through the doors. Everything moving fast yet for their brains it all felt much too slow. 

For Ilya it took two hours for him to land back in Ottawa. For Shane it took three and a half.  Two flights. Two sleepless, breathless journeys. Two hearts breaking in parallel.

They arrived almost at the same time. Ilya had gotten stuck in traffic, Shane's driver had luckily used his initiative and driven a shorter route. 

Shane saw Ilya first. The Russian stood across the waiting area. Yuna and David stood before him as they talked in hushed whispers. Ilya's eyes finally locked on his own and for a moment, neither of them moved. Eventually they did, after a sharp intake of breath, meeting in the middle, not even thinking about it.

"She's in theatres," Yuna said immediately, motherly instincts soothing her son as they approached. "They're giving her factor VIII, they've stabilized her somewhat but the cut was deep—they had to clean it properly, check for muscle damage—"

Shane nodded, but he barely heard her. Because Ilya was right there. And without thinking— He reached for him. Not carefully. Not hesitantly. Just... instinctively. And much to his relief, Ilya

didn't pull away. Not this time.  Shane's grip tightened, his composure finally cracking completely as he buried his face briefly against the other man's shoulder. "I was so scared," he whispered.

"I know." They were words that had been spoken between the two of them one too many times. Yet this time, Ilya meant it differently. Not as an accusation. Not as distance. But as understanding.

Because he had heard it. Loud and clear on that phone. In Shane's voice. In the way he held onto him now like letting go wasn't an option.

And for the first time— Ilya finally trusted him.

Not because Shane had said the right things. Not because he had tried. But because when it mattered most, Shane had called him. Straight away. He hadn't hesitated, despite the fact that he was running out of an arena full of people. He had remembered they were a team and he picked up that phone and he called. He poured his heart out in a way Ilya had never heard before.  The sound of his voice ached with nothing but pure fear and love for a little girl they had created together. Their Liliya, she was who mattered the most to Shane. And that- that was the one thing Ilya could trust Shane with.  

That he would always put Ilya and Lily first. No matter what happened, no matter who was watching. They came first. He had proven it.

The waiting became the worst part of the whole ordeal.  Not the phone calls . Not the travelling for miles. Not the noise of the emergency room. Not even the imagining—though that had nearly torn Ilya apart somewhere over the Atlantic.

It was this. The constant waiting around and the stillness.The sterile quiet of the hospital corridor just a few steps away from the chaos of the waiting room. Broken only by distant footsteps and the occasional murmur of voices behind closed doors. Time stretched in unnatural ways, every minute dragging, every second too loud. Shane sat beside him, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

Neither of them had really spoken. There was nothing left to say that hadn't already been said on that phone call and as they held one another just over an hour ago. And Ilya respected that. He knew Shane needed the quiet to cope with the jungle going on inside his brain. 

So they waited. Together. When the doctor finally approached, everything in Ilya's body went rigid.

"Liliya Hollanders parents?" The word hit differently now. Not sharp. Not contested. Just... true. Because that's what they were, they were both her parents, she had both of them now. 

"Yes," they answered at the same time.

The doctor nodded, glancing briefly at the chart in his hands. "I'm Dr. Patel. Before I explain what's going on I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that Liliya is stable."

The breath Ilya didn't realize he'd been holding left him all at once. Stable. The word held so much significance in that moment. 

"She experienced a pretty bad laceration to her forearm, not an uncommon injury in toddlers of her age." Dr. Patel continued, calm but thorough. "Given her haemophilia—specifically a deficiency in clotting Factor VIII—her body is unable to form a stable fibrin clot effectively. That's why the bleeding was so severe and persistent." Ilya nodded, forcing himself to focus.

"To manage that, we administered recombinant Factor VIII concentrate intravenously upon arrival," the doctor said. "This essentially replaces the missing clotting protein in her blood, allowing the normal coagulation cascade to proceed."

Shane swallowed hard beside him. "The bleeding has now been controlled," Dr. Patel went on. "We performed a full irrigation of the wound to reduce infection risk and assessed for deeper structural damage—muscle, tendons. Fortunately, there was no significant involvement beyond the soft tissue."

"Thank God," Shane whispered.

"She did require sutures," the doctor added. "And we've applied a pressure dressing to maintain hemostasis. We'll continue Factor VIII infusions over the next 24 to 48 hours to ensure stability and prevent re-bleeding."

"Is she—" Ilya's voice caught. "Is she going to be okay?"

Dr. Patel met his eyes. "Yes. She's going to be okay."

That did it. Ilya had to look away, his vision blurring for a moment.

"She'll also be monitored closely for any signs of internal bleeding," the doctor continued. "With haemophilia, even minor trauma can sometimes lead to bleeding into joints or muscles. So we'll be watching for swelling, pain, reduced movement—anything concerning."

Shane nodded quickly. "Okay. Okay."

"We'll also arrange follow-up with a hematology specialist," Dr. Patel added. "Long-term, she may need prophylactic Factor VIII therapy—regular infusions to prevent spontaneous bleeding episodes." Ilya absorbed every word. Every detail. Because this wasn't abstract or something they'd just read about anymore. This was her life.

"Can we see her?" Shane asked, his voice quieter now.

Dr. Patel gave a small, reassuring nod. "Yes. She's awake. You can come in."

The room was dimmer than the hallway. Softer.

Monitors hummed quietly in the background, steady and rhythmic. An IV line ran into Liliya's small hand, secured carefully with tape and gauze. Her arm—her tiny arm—was wrapped in thick bandaging, resting carefully on a pillow to keep it elevated. She looked so damn small. Too small for all of this.

Ilya stopped in the doorway. For a second, he couldn't move. Because she was there. And she was breathing. He was thanking his mama in heaven that she was okay.

"Liliya?" Shane said softly. "Lily, baby."  Her eyes flickered toward the sound. And then— Everything in her expression changed.

"Dada!" Her voice was weak, yet bright. So bright it  physically hurt Ilya's chest. 

Shane let out a broken sound and crossed the room in two steps, dropping carefully beside the bed. "Hey, hey my baby! Oh, there you are my sweet girl," he murmured, brushing her golden hair back with shaking hands. "You scared me so much."

"Papa?" she asked, looking past him. Ilya moved almost instantly at that. Fast , probably too fast. He was at her side before he even realized it, carefully, so carefully, leaning in as she reached for him.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice breaking completely as he gathered her into his arms as much as the wires and tubes would allow. "I'm here, Milaya. I've got you. Papa has you now." She curled into him instinctively, her small body warm, alive, real. And he couldn't let go. Wouldn't. Not now. It was all too raw and open.  "You are hurting?" he asked softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

She nodded a little, lip trembling. "Arm."

"I know," he murmured. "I know."

"Nana said you are very brave," Shane added, his voice thick as he hovered close, one hand resting gently on her back.

"I brave," Liliya repeated, nodding.

"You are brave," Shane said, a watery smile breaking through. "My brave baby girl." 

"I get cake," she added, suddenly more animated.

That startled a soft, broken laugh out of both of them.

"You get cake?" Ilya echoed.

She nodded eagerly. "Nurse say. Big cake."

"What kind?" Shane asked, playing along, even as his voice wavered.

"Choc'late," she said proudly, though it came out more like choc'lit.

"Of course it is," Shane murmured.

"And nurse—" she continued, frowning slightly in concentration. "Nurse... Mewie? Nurse Bweny?"

"Marie?" Shane tried to guess gently.

"Mewie," Liliya insisted.

Ilya huffed out a soft laugh against her hair.

"And Nurse Ben is actually Benji, I think, is that it Lily? Marie and Benji?" Shane added quietly.

"Mewie and Bweny," Liliya echoed, satisfied. They both chuckled softly. Small. Fragile. So real it felt hard to breathe. 

For a split moment, everything felt... normal. Like they weren't sat in a hospital room with their two year old daughter who was critically ill a few hours ago.  Shane's hand trembled slightly where it rested on the bed.  Ilya felt it. They were cuddled over Liliya so the movement was unmistakable. 

Without looking, he shifted just enough— And reached out. Their hands met. Not by accident.

Not with any form of uncertainty. Just... there.

Shane froze for half a second. Then held on.

Tight. Silent tears slipped down his face, but he didn't make a sound. Ilya didn't say anything either. He just... stayed. Holding their daughter.

Holding him. Making sure he was their solid foundation in the midst of disaster.

—

A knock came at their room door a while later.

"Come in," Shane said softly.

Yuna and David stepped inside.They both looked exhausted. Drained. Like the past few hours had taken years off them. The moment Yuna saw Liliya awake, her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, sweetheart..."

"I okay," Liliya said immediately, as if that settled everything.

That nearly broke her grandmother. Ilya could see Yuna struggle to hold back her sobs of relief. 

"We're so sorry," David said, his voice thick. The emotions of the situation finally catching up with them now that they can see Lily is okay. "We should've been watching closer—we should've—"

"It just- it happened so fast," Yuna added, tears spilling over now. "I just- I looked away for one second—"

"Hey," Shane said gently, shaking his head. "It's not your fault." But they didn't believe it. Not really. Ilya could understand why, it must have been traumatic for them to witness Lily in such a bad state. They'd always blame themselves, because they were the ones who were there. 

"Ilya," Yuna said softly, turning to him. "I'm so, so sorry. I-I called Shane, I didn't even think to call you after I just left him to do it. I-I knew you needed to know, I said your name out loud I remember that, so I guess I did think- I don't really know what happened. I'm just so sorry - I should have called myself I-"

Ilya looked at her. Really looked. At the guilt. The fear. The love. And something in him shifted.

Because this- this wasn't exactly something he was used to. This was... family. Real family.  "It was an accident," he said quietly. "You got her help. You called Shane, you did everything right in that moment. You knew Shane would contact me, you thought of me. That matters." 

Yuna's expression crumpled slightly.

"You were there for her," Ilya continued. "That also matters. In fact that matters more to me than a phone call. I know my daughter is safe with you." 

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then— She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Tight.

Warm. Overwhelming. "You're one of my boys," she whispered, her voice breaking against his shoulder. "You know that, right? You're stuck with me. You're half of my granddaughter, we have a special link now." 

Ilya froze. Because no one had ever said that to him before. Not like that. Not with that kind of certainty. His throat tightened painfully as he nodded, barely managing to return the embrace. Yeah," he whispered. And he meant it. Behind them, Shane watched, his eyes still glassy, hand still loosely intertwined with Ilya's where it rested on the bed. Liliya yawned softly between them, completely unaware of the weight of the moment.

Safe. Loved. Held. And for the first time since everything fell apart that night, they weren't just surviving it. They were starting, slowly and carefully— to become something whole.

——————————————————————————

Finally two days later, the hospital felt a little different. Less suffocating. Less like something holding them hostage. More like something they were finally allowed to leave behind.

Liliya sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs swinging gently, a sticker stuck proudly to the front of her shirt—slightly crooked, glitter catching the light every time she moved. "I go home," she announced for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes.

"Yes, you're going home bug." Shane said, smiling softly as he adjusted the strap of her small bag. "Finally."

"Home," she repeated, satisfied.

Ilya stood nearby, arms crossed—but not as tense anymore. Just present. Watching every movement, every detail, like committing it all to memory.

The doctor  had just finished going over the discharge instructions, careful, thorough, patient.

"She's responded very well to the Factor VIII treatment," he had explained. "The bleeding is fully controlled, and her hemoglobin levels are stable again. The sutures are holding nicely." Ilya had nodded, absorbing every word. "You'll need to keep the dressing clean and dry," he continued. "No excessive movement of that arm for a few days. And watch for any signs of re-bleeding—swelling, warmth, unusual bruising."

"We will," Shane said immediately.

"There's a follow-up appointment scheduled in a week," the doctor added. "Her paediatrician, Dr Burrell I believe? She will want to check the wound healing and reassess her clotting management plan."

"Okay," Ilya said quietly.

The man gave them both a reassuring look. "She did incredibly well. You should be proud."

"I brave," Liliya inserted, nodding.

The doctor smiled. "You were very brave." And just like that— They were finally free to go. After what had been the longest forty eight hours of their lives. 

The drive back to Montreal felt... surreal. Like stepping back into real life after something that had shifted everything. Shane loaded the car carefully, double-checking everything twice—bags, medication, discharge papers. By the time he closed the trunk, Ilya was already in the back seat. Right beside Liliya. Not even a question. Shane paused for a second, watching them through the open door. Ilya was adjusting her seatbelt gently, making sure it didn't press against her bandaged arm, his movements careful in a way that was both new and instinctive at the same time. Protective.

"I can sit in the front," Ilya said without looking up, like he expected an argument.

Shane shook his head immediately. "No. Stay there."

Ilya glanced up at him curiously. 

"I'd... feel better too," Shane admitted, softer now. "If you're back there with her."

Something in Ilya's expression shifted. A small flicker of mutual understanding . "Okay," he said.

It didn't take too long before they were settled in and pulling away from the car park and out on to the main road. 

The first stretch of the drive was quiet. Not tense.

Just relaxed and calm. The kind of quiet that comes after something big, when everyone is still catching their breath. It was Lily who broke the silence first, Shane was surprised she lasted as long as she did. 

"Papa?"

Ilya looked down immediately. "Yes?"

She held up her bandaged arm slightly. "It's big."

He huffed a soft laugh. "Da, is pretty big."

"I superhero?" she asked, very serious. Shane let out a quiet chuckle from the front seat.

Ilya smiled faintly. "Yep," he said. "You're a superhero."

She nodded, completely satisfied with that answer.

A few minutes later, she decided to turn her focus to Shane. Much to their amusement.  "Dada?"

"Yeah, bug?"

"I get cake now?"

Shane smiled, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. "When we get home, you can have all the cake you want baby girl."

"Big cake?"

"Maybe not big big," he teased gently. "But a good cake."

"Choc'lit."

"Of course."

Ilya shook his head slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips. She kept talking after that . Not full sentences—not always—but a constant stream of toddler babble, mixing words and sounds and half-formed thoughts. "Nana cry... Baba say shhh... nurse Mewie funny... I brave... Papa hold... Dada hug..." Each piece landed somewhere deep in both of them. Reminders. And the proof  that she remembered. She remembered every second of what had happened. Yet Ilya could hear it in her little voice as she relayed the events.  She felt safe. Despite all of it, they had managed to make her feel safe. Yuna, David, Shane... and him. They were a real unit working hard to make sure she never felt alone in this crazy world. 

They stopped once, halfway through the drive.

A small roadside stop. Shane carried her inside, careful of her arm, while Ilya hovered close, watching every step like he could prevent the world from touching her too hard. They helped her wash her hands carefully, avoiding the bandages, guiding her through it gently.

"No splash," Ilya reminded softly.

"No splash," she echoed, very serious.

She ate slowly—small bites, occasionally getting distracted mid-chew to point at something or ask a question that barely made sense. And they let her.

Because they could. Because she was here. Because she was okay. Because she was safe, with them. 

—

The rest of the drive passed easily. Two hours. Gone before it felt like they could even blink. Ilya was grateful for that, there was something terrifying about the thought of a car ride dragging with a toddler in tow.

When they finally pulled into Shane's apartment building, something in Ilya's chest felt like it loosened. Home, this was home. Or something close to it at least.  Inside, everything was the same as they left it—but it felt unusual now. Louder, somehow, with meaning.

"Bedtime," Shane said gently after they got her settled inside.

"No," Liliya protested immediately.

Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. "Da, come on malen'kiy zaychik, is bedtime."

"No bedtime," she insisted, even as she leaned into him.

"Yes Bedtime, come on bug." Shane repeated, softer.

They moved through the routine together. Naturally. Like they'd done it a hundred times. Like they were supposed to. Washing her face carefully, the same way they had at the stop off when she washed her hands. 

"Gentle," Ilya murmured, guiding her hand.

"Gentle," she echoed. Pride swelling in Ilya's chest as he watched her work with pure determination. 

Brushing her teeth was the same. 

"Careful you don't bump it," Shane reminded, gesturing to her arm. "No bump," she said repeating them over and over, concentrating hard.

She was slower than usual. More careful. But she did it. Because she wanted to be brave. Because she was. As far as they were concerned, she was the bravest little girl on the whole , entire world. 

By the time they had tucked her into bed, she was already half-asleep. "Papa stay?" she mumbled.

"I'm right here," Ilya whispered, brushing her hair back.

"Dada?"

"Right here too, bug," Shane said softly.

She nodded faintly. And within what felt like seconds — She was fast asleep. Peaceful. Safe. Wrapped up in her covers and snuggling with her stuffed rabbit, who she loved more than anyone. 

Shane's living room felt quieter after that. It had always been the loudest room in the apartment, full of noise and toddler chaos. Now it was just.. still. Peaceful and serine in a way Ilya had never seen it.  Ilya stood near the window for a long moment, staring out into the dark. Shane didn't interrupt. Didn't push. Just waited.

"I think I had a - ah what is the word?," Ilya began finally, his voice low. "A-a realising?"

Shane looked up.

"When I erm-," Ilya continued. "When I heard you... on the phone. When I saw you at the hospital- it all came to me." 

Shane's chest tightened slightly. "W-what are you talking about?" 

"I've never heard you like that before," Ilya admitted. "Not... that scared."

Shane let out a slow breath. "I thought we were going to lose her."

"I know. For a second I- I did too." 

Silence. 

"It awakened something, something I didn't think- I do not know how to explain." Ilya said in frustration. Shane didn't move. Didn't speak.

"I trust you."

The words hung there. Fragile. Powerful.

Shane blinked, like he wasn't sure he heard correctly. "Ilya—"

"I trust you," he repeated, more firmly this time. "Not because you've been trying so hard. Not because you said the right things. When we had that disagreement a few days ago I meant it. You trying so hard was only pushing me away. I- I needed you to just be you. To act as you always did."  He stepped closer. "Because when it matters to you, when you want it —you do not hide. You do not deflect. You do not try to fix it with meaningless things–" Another step. "You are just... there. Scared. Honest. The same old Shane Hollander I met at eighteen years old." 

Shane's throat tightened.

"And I think..." Ilya hesitated briefly, then continued. "I think that matters more to me than anything else. That you are the same as you've always been." 

Shane's voice was barely a whisper. "It does?"

"Yes." A pause settled between them. "I trust that you love her," Ilya said. "I trust that you always have."

Shane's eyes filled immediately.

"And I trust that you care about me," Ilya added, softer now. "Even when you messed everything up. I trust that you always wanted me there. I- I could hear it in your voice. How scared you were that I did not believe it." 

A shaky breath left Shane. "I-I've always cared, Ilya."

"I know." That was new type of I know. That certainty. It settled somewhere deep. "And I think..." Ilya continued, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. "I think that's enough for us to start with da?" 

Shane nodded quickly, emotion catching in his chest. "It is. It's more than enough."

For a moment, they just stood there. Close. Not touching. But not distant either. Ilya closed the gap this time. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't hesitant. It was Deliberate. His hand came up, resting lightly against Shane's jaw— And then he kissed him.

It was so soft, so real. Nothing like it had been before. Not when they met two years ago, not when Ilya pushed him away all those nights ago. No, this was real. This was something that came from a foundation built from scratch.  Not like before. Not uncertain or fleeting. This was a choice. A new beginning.

Shane froze for half a second—Then melted into it, his hands coming up instinctively, careful but certain. When they pulled back, neither of them moved far. Foreheads almost touching. Breathing the same air.

"She's still asleep," Shane murmured, voice unsteady. "Right?" 

"Da," Ilya said softly. Checking the monitor placed on the coffee table. "She's still asleep." 

"And—We're okay?," Shane added, almost like he was testing the words.

Ilya looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time,  It didn't feel like something fragile that might break at any second. It felt like something that was still healing, but still theirs.  "Yes," he said. "We're okay Hollander." 

He meant it.

Shane doesn't move far. His forehead rests lightly against Ilya's, their breaths still tangled together. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The quiet isn't empty, it's full, heavy with everything they haven't said yet. From down the hall, there's nothing. No movement. Lily is still asleep. They'd just confirmed that fact. It was soothing. 

Ilya lets out a slow breath, one hand still curled in the fabric of Shane's shirt, like he's afraid that if he lets go, this might disappear. "Three years," he murmurs, almost to himself. 

Shane huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Turns out that's a lot of time to screw things up."

Ilya pulls back just enough to look at him properly. There's no anger in his expression now, just something searching. Careful. "Tell me," he says. "Everything. About how you felt , not about Lily. I don't want... gaps anymore."

Shane nods, though it's hesitant. Vulnerable in a way he doesn't let himself be with anyone else.

"Okay. But you have to—" He stops, swallows. "You have to let me get through it without interrupting. Or I'll lose my nerve."

Ilya's thumb brushes lightly along his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere."

That's all Shane needs. He exhales slowly, steadying himself. "I tried to tell you," he begins. "God, I tried so many times. I'd pick up the phone and rehearse it. Kind of like a script, you know? I needed it to be exact. The right words, the right order, the right tone. And every time it didn't feel right, I just... stopped." He gives a small, self-conscious shrug. "My brain doesn't really do 'improvising' well. Especially not with things that big."

Ilya's expression softens immediately, understanding flickering there. Shane continues, quieter now. "I've always been like that. I just didn't have a name for it until a few years ago. Right before we met actually. Autism. Which—" he lets out a breath "—explains a lot, really. The way I fixate, the way I need things to make sense before I can act on them. The way I panic when they don't."

He glances up, unsure. "I wasn't ignoring you. Or avoiding you because I didn't care. It was the opposite. It mattered too much. And I kept thinking, if I say this wrong, I lose you completely."

Ilya doesn't speak right away. His hand shifts, fingers threading more firmly into Shane's, grounding him. "You thought I'd disappear if the words came out wrong and I did not understand," he says quietly. "Messages, they can be - ah- misunderstood yes?" 

Shane nods. "Yeah."

"I mean... I kind of get that," Ilya admits, voice rough. "B-but phone calls they cannot be misunderstood Shane. I would have listened." That lands. Hard.

Shane looks down, guilt flashing across his face. "I know."

Silence stretches again, but it's different this time. Not avoidance, just processing. "I hate that I made that choice for you," Shane says finally. "Keeping her from you. I told myself I was protecting something, protecting her, protecting... whatever version of us I still believed in. But really, I was just scared. My brain wasn't computing that very well. Not that it's an excuse, but I genuinely believe that's why it took us so long to get her." 

Ilya exhales, long and heavy, like he's been holding that weight for years. "You should have told me," he says. He wasn't saying it to upset Shane, he was saying it because it was just — true.

"I know." Another pause. Then, Shane spoke, softer: "I'm sorry. I don't think I'll ever be able to tell you just how sorry I am. But I also can't change how my brain works and that's- that's hard." 

Ilya studies him for a long moment. Then he leans forward, pressing a brief, steady kiss to Shane's forehead. "We'll deal with what should have happened over time," he says. "Right now... we just deal with what is."

Shane's shoulders loosen slightly at that. Not forgiven entirely—but not condemned either.

"Okay, well it's your turn," Shane murmurs. "You said... everything. That means you too." 

Ilya hesitates. It's subtle, but Shane notices immediately. "What?" he asks gently.

Ilya looks away for a second, jaw tightening before he forces himself to speak. "My father, he is sick."

Shane stills. "H-How sick? Sick as in cancer?" 

Ilya swallows. "Dementia ." The word hangs between them, heavy and irreversible.

"Oh," Shane breathes. "I-Ilya, I'm so sorry." 

"Yeah." Ilya lets out a hollow laugh. "He forgets things. Small stuff at first. Then bigger things. Some days he knows who I am. Some days..." He trails off, shaking his head.

Shane squeezes his hand instinctively. "I really am sorry," he says, and he means it in that quiet, steady way that doesn't try to fix anything—just sits with it. "Whether your relationship with him is good or not. It's still got to be hard on you." 

Ilya nods, grateful. "It's why I've been to Russia a little more. It's not home to me, I'm just trying my best to manage things." He hesitates again, something sharper creeping into his tone. "My brother's there too. Sort of helping."

"Sort of?" 

"I do not trust him," Ilya says flatly.

Shane frowns. "With your dad?"

"With anything," Ilya replies. "And definitely not with... this." His eyes flick toward the hallway. Toward Lily. Understanding clicks instantly.

"You think he'd—?"

"I don't know what he'd do," Ilya cuts in. "That's the problem. He's... unpredictable. Self-serving. If he thought knowing about her gave him leverage somehow..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Shane's grip tightens.

"Then he doesn't find out," Shane says quietly, firmly.

Ilya looks at him again, something like relief flickering through the tension. "Da," he agrees. "Not yet. She cannot stay secret from public forever. But he will not know until they do." 

Another silence settles, but this one feels different to the others of their past. Lighter, somehow. Like something important has been laid out between them instead of buried. Shane leans in again, more cautiously this time, resting his forehead against Ilya's shoulder. "We've missed a lot," he murmurs.

Ilya's arm wraps around him without hesitation.

"Hmm," he says softly. "We have." A beat. "But we're here now."

Shane nods against him. "Together?"

Ilya presses his cheek lightly to the top of Shane's head. "Together."

Chapter End Notes

Don’t forget to comment and leave your feelings out there! Love y’all 🫶🏼

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Chapter Summary

Ilya gets to experience something pretty special …

Chapter Notes

And just like that, it’s all come to an end! I had most of this story mapped and written out before I started posting, so I’ve absolutely love every second of this! It’s nice to see how well you’ve all taken my take on the whole Secret baby AU! I always knew my plan was for Ilya and Shane to move forwards. It was never about forgiveness, it was about accepting that sometimes the people we love can fuck up. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t space for a new start!

I cannot Thankyou all enough for the love! Enjoy this one! Peace out ✌🏻 - Cara :))

Six years later...

Morning light spills softly across the kitchen, catching on the edges of carefully arranged ribbon and pastel tissue paper. The whole room feels like it's holding a secret. Shane stands on a chair, socked feet, one hand braced carefully against the counter as he reaches just a little higher to adjust a string of tiny paper stars. He's slower than he used to be, careful now, more deliberate. One hand drifts absentmindedly to his stomach, barely there yet, but enough that he's aware of it. Constantly.

"Tilt it left," a small voice instructs from below.

Shane glances down, raising an eyebrow. "This from the same person who tried to hang it upside down five minutes ago?"

"I was testing a theory," Liliya replies very seriously.

He huffs a quiet laugh and nudges the stars slightly. "Like that?"

She steps back, squinting critically in a way that is unmistakably Ilya, same narrowed eyes, same intense focus, but everything else about her softens it. Shane's ears, the gentle shape of his eyes... and then there's the color. That striking, unmistakable shade she inherited entirely from Ilya.

"Better," she decides with a firm nod. "Papa will notice if it's wrong."

"Oh, he will, will he?" Shane steps down carefully, hand still resting protectively over his stomach for a second before he forgets himself again. "Since when is Papa the decoration expert?"

"Since always," Liliya says, like it's obvious. "He just pretends not to care."

Shane snorts. "That sounds about right."

The kitchen table is a masterpiece of eight-year-old enthusiasm and very careful adult supervision. There's a small box wrapped in pale blue paper, a card propped up beside it with handwriting that wobbles in places but is still impressively neat.

Liliya follows his gaze, rocking slightly on her heels. "I didn't smudge it this time," she says quickly. "And I waited for the ink to dry like you said."

"You did," Shane says warmly, crouching down in front of her. "You've been... ridiculously good at this, you know that?"

She beams, then tries to hide it, pressing her lips together in a way that fails completely.

"I'm good at secrets," she says.

Shane tilts his head. "You are. But this was a very big one."

Her expression shifts just a little at that—not worried, but thoughtful. Older than eight in a way that still catches him off guard sometimes. "I know," she says quietly. "But it's a happy secret. Those are easier to keep."

Something in Shane's chest tightens. He knows that better than anyone, she was his happy secret.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "They are."

She glances at him then, eyes flicking, quick, instinctive, toward where his hand had been resting earlier. "Does Papa really not know?" she asks.

Shane shakes his head. "Not yet."

Liliya grins, a little conspiratorial now. "He's going to be so surprised."

"He is," Shane agrees, smiling despite the nerves starting to creep back in. "Which is why we need everything to be perfect."

She nods immediately, all business again.

"I checked the box twice," she reports. "And the ribbon. And the card. And the other card."

"The other card?"

She points to a second, much smaller one tucked just behind the first. Shane hadn't noticed it.

"Backup," she explains. "In case he cries and drops the first one."

Shane blinks at her, then lets out a soft laugh. "You planned for that, huh?"

"He cried last time, I gave him a card. The Father's Day one!" she says simply.

That sobers him a little. Last time, Ilya had been grieving his own father.  There's a flicker of memory there, of  Ilya's shock, overwhelm, fear, love all tangled together in a way that had taken time to settle into something steady. Something strong. He pulled through it all, despite the lack of support from his brother. 

Shane reaches out, smoothing a stray piece of hair back from her face. "You've done really well," he says again, softer this time. "Keeping this from him for... what, two weeks now?"

"Seventeen days," Liliya corrects immediately.

"Of course it is."

"I almost told him once," she admits, lowering her voice like it's still a risk somehow.

Shane raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"When he was helping me with my math homework," she says. "He was being annoying."

"That tracks." His father snickers. 

"And I thought—if I tell him, he might stop talking."

Shane laughs, unable to help it. "That is not how that would have gone."

"I didn't," she adds quickly. "Tell him, I mean."

"I know you didn't." Shane nudges her gently. "You kept the secret."

She nods, pleased again. There's a pause, then she tilts her head, studying him. "Are you nervous , dad?" she asks.

Shane considers lying for about half a second.

"...a little," he admits.

"Why?"

He exhales slowly, glancing down at the table, at the carefully wrapped box, the tiny card, the life-changing words tucked inside something so small.

"Because this is big," he says. "Even when it's good, big things can feel... overwhelming."

Liliya processes that, her brow furrowing slightly.

"But Papa likes good things," she says. "He likes us."

The simplicity of how she thinks hits harder than anything else. Shane's expression softens completely. "Yeah," he says quietly. "He does."

She reaches out then, taking his hand with a gentleness that doesn't quite match her age, but fits her perfectly. "And we like him," she adds.

Shane squeezes her hand. "We do."

A beat passes, warm and steady. "Okay," Liliya says suddenly, snapping back into action. "We need to practice."

"Practice?"

"Yes," she says, already moving to stand behind the chair at the head of the table. "You sit there. I'll be Papa."

Shane raises both eyebrows but complies, settling into the chair. "Oh? Now this I have to see."

She straightens, trying to make herself look taller, more imposing. It's... not entirely successful, but the effort is impressive. "Hello," she says, dropping her voice into a lower register that's still unmistakably her. "I am Papa. I have come home."

Shane presses his lips together to keep from laughing. "Very convincing bug," he says.

"Thank you," she replies seriously. "Now you give me the box."

He reaches for it, playing along, holding it out.

She takes it, examining it with exaggerated suspicion. "What is this?" she demands.

"It's a gift," Shane says, just as serious.

"For me?"

"For you."

She nods, then pretends to open it, her movements careful and deliberate. There's a pause. Then her entire face changes—eyes widening, mouth parting slightly. "Oh," she whispers.

It's so real it makes Shane's chest ache.

"Am I doing it right?" she asks quickly, breaking character just for a second.

"Yeah," he says softly. "You are."

She slips back into the role, looking up at him, at where he would be. "moya lyubov... we're having a baby?" she says, voice small and full of wonder.

Shane swallows. "Yeah," he replies, just as quietly. "We are."

She breaks into a grin so bright it could rival the morning light. "Okay," she declares. "He's going to really, really cry."

"Definitely," Shane agrees.

"And then he'll hug you."

"Probably."

"And then he'll hug me."

Shane smiles at that. "Absolutely."

She nods, satisfied with the outcome. "Good," she says. "That's the plan."

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, the faint sound of a door opening echoes down the hall. Both of them freeze. Liliya's eyes go wide.

"That's him," she whispers.

Shane's heart immediately kicks up, nerves and excitement tangling together in his chest.

"Okay," he murmurs, standing quickly but carefully. "Positions."

She scrambles to her spot, practically vibrating with anticipation. Shane takes one last look at the table, at the box, at the life they've built and the new piece of it waiting just beneath the surface.

Then he rests a hand over his stomach again, just for a second, grounding himself. "Ready?" he whispers.

Liliya nods, grinning. "M' Ready."

The front door clicks shut. There's the familiar sound of keys dropping into the bowl, the quiet thud of shoes being kicked off, before— "Shane?" Ilya calls, his voice carrying easily down the hall. 

"Lily?"

Shane's pulse skyrockets . He hasn't been this nervous since the day he proposed. 

Across the room, Liliya straightens instantly, hands clasped tightly in front of her, practically vibrating where she stands. Her eyes lock onto his, wide and shining. This is it.

"Kitchen," Shane calls back, and he's proud of how steady his voice sounds.

They heard as Ilya's footsteps approached—unhurried, familiar, grounding in a way that still, even after all these years, makes something in Shane settle. Ilya appears in the doorway a second later, shrugging off the last bit of the outside world as he steps in. His gaze lands on them immediately, taking in the decorations, the table, the carefully arranged setup. His brow furrows slightly. "...okay," he says slowly. "What did I miss?"

Liliya clamps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from blurting it out.

Shane bites back a smile. "Nothing bad," he says. "Promise."

Ilya's eyes narrow just a fraction, suspicion mixing with curiosity now. "That doesn't make it less concerning."

"It's a surprise," Liliya blurts anyway, unable to hold it in.

"Lily—" Shane starts, but it's too late. Ilya looks between them, something softening immediately.

"A surprise?" he repeats.

Liliya nods vigorously, then darts forward, grabbing onto  his hand and tugging him toward the table. "You have to sit papa," she insists.

"Do I?"

"Yes."

Ilya lets himself be guided, amusement creeping in despite himself. "Alright. Bossy. I am sitting." He settles into the chair, glancing up at Shane as if silently asking for confirmation that this is all normal.

Shane just smiles—nervous now, heart pounding harder with every second.

Liliya positions herself right beside Ilya, one hand still clutching his sleeve like she might float away otherwise. "Okay," she says, taking a deep breath like they practiced. "You can open it."

Ilya looks down at the small wrapped box in front of him, then back up again. "...is not my birthday."

"Nope," Shane says.

"Did I forget something important?"

"Also no."

That earns a small huff of a laugh. "Alright," Ilya murmurs, reaching for the box. He's careful with it—always is when it comes to anything Lily hands him—sliding a finger beneath the ribbon, untying it instead of pulling. The paper comes away slowly, deliberately, until the small box is revealed beneath. The room feels impossibly quiet. Shane feels as though can hear his own heartbeat. Liliya leans closer, barely breathing. Ilya finally manages to open the box.

There's a second where nothing happens—where he's just looking, processing. Taking in the ultrasound image and pregnancy test laying neatly inside. His eyes flicking over to the card Lily has written. The words Baby Number Two, clear as day. Then he stills. Completely frozen.

Shane watches it happen in real time—the exact moment it clicks. The shift in his expression, the way his eyes widen just slightly, the way his breath catches like the air has been pulled from the room.

"...Shane, moya lyubov," he says, barely above a whisper.

Shane swallows, his own eyes already stinging.

"Yeah?"

Ilya looks up at him, and there's something raw there, something open and unguarded in a way that only ever seems to exist between the two of them. "Is this—"

Shane nods before he can finish. "Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah sweetheart , It is."

There's another beat. Then Ilya's face crumples.

Not subtly. Not controlled. It hits him all at once.

"Bozhe Moy—" His voice breaks completely as he lets out a sharp, shaking breath, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as tears spill over almost instantly. "Oh my God—"

Liliya's eyes go wide, but she's smiling—because she knew this would happen. "I told you he'd cry," she whispers loudly.

Shane lets out a wet, breathless laugh, already moving closer. "Ilya—" But he doesn't get any further before Ilya is on his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he crosses the space between them in two quick steps. His hands find Shane's face first, like he needs to make sure he's real. "We're having a baby?" he chokes out.

Shane nods, tears slipping free now. "We are. I've been for my twelve week scan and everything. They're perfect Ilya. I've had all of the tests. No signs of Haemophilia, no signs of any issues at all. We've made sure."  

That's all it takes. Ilya pulls him in, arms wrapping around him tightly—careful, but firm, like he never wants to let go again. And then he's sobbing. Not quiet tears—full, overwhelming, chest-deep sobs that shake through him. "I missed it," he manages between breaths, his voice breaking apart. "I missed everything with her, Shane, I— I wasn't there, I didn't get to—"

Shane's heart twists painfully, his own arms tightening around him. "Hey, hey—" he murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Ilya's head. "You're here now. We get to do all of the firsts together this time yeah? Me, you and Lily." 

"I know, but I—" Ilya pulls back just enough to look at him, his face wrecked, eyes red and shining. "Fuck - I really get to see this? I get to be there this time? From the start?"

"Yes," Shane says, voice soft but certain. "All of it. Every second."

Ilya lets out another broken sound, half-laugh, half-sob, shaking his head like he can't quite believe it. "All of it," he repeats.

"Yeah."

There's a small tug at Ilya's sleeve. They both look down. Liliya is standing there, looking up at them with wide, patient eyes. "You forgot me," she says.

Ilya lets out a watery laugh and immediately reaches for her, pulling her into the space between them. "Never," he says, voice still thick with emotion. "Never forget you." She fits there perfectly, like she always has—pressed between them, arms wrapping around both of them at once.

"Careful," she says very seriously after a second. "There's a baby now papa."

That makes Shane laugh again, softer this time.

"We're being careful," he assures her. Ilya huffs out a shaky breath, one hand instinctively moving to rest over Shane's where it hovers near his stomach.

"There's a baby," he echoes, like he's still trying the words on.

Liliya beams. "I helped surprise you."

"You did?" Ilya looks at her, eyebrows lifting.

"Yep! I kept the secret for seventeen days," she says proudly.

Ilya's eyes widen slightly. "Seventeen?"

"Mhm."

"That's... impressive."

"I know."

Shane watches them, something warm and full settling deep in his chest despite the tears still clinging to his lashes.

Ilya looks back at him then, his expression softening all over again. "You—" he starts, then stops, shaking his head in disbelief. "You outdid yourself."

Shane blinks. "What?"

"Your proposal," Ilya says, a watery smile breaking through. "I thought that was... the best surprise you could ever give me."

Shane lets out a wet laugh, leaning his forehead briefly against Ilya's. "Yeah? And now?"

"Now?" Ilya exhales, voice unsteady but full. "Now I don't think anything will ever top this."

Liliya tilts her head. "What's a proposal?"

"I'll explain later," both of them say at the same time.

She narrows her eyes slightly. "No is okay, I'm going to find out on my own!"

"Of course you are," Shane mutters fondly.

Ilya's arm tightens around both of them, pulling them closer—like he can physically hold this moment in place. "I'm proud of us," he says quietly.

Shane looks up at him. "What?"

"Our family," Ilya clarifies, his gaze flicking between the two of them—then, softer, down toward where his hand still rests. "Everything we built. Everything we... survived. Lily's treatments, her schedules, our careers. We done it all." 

Emotion catches in Shane's throat again.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah we did."

Liliya squeezes both of them tighter. "We're a good family."

"The best," Ilya says without hesitation.

Shane smiles, tears and all. Sandwiched between laughter and lingering sobs, wrapped up in each other in the middle of a sunlit kitchen, it feels—finally—like nothing is missing anymore. They're adding a whole new human to this beautiful mess they call their life and he couldn't be happier.

———————————————————————

Sixteen weeks ..

The room was dimly lit, softened by the glow of the ultrasound screen. Shane lay back against the cushioned table, the paper sheet beneath him crinkling faintly every time he shifted. One hand rested protectively over his stomach, the other tightly intertwined with Ilya's.

A bottle clicked open, and the sonographer squeezed a ribbon of clear gel onto Shane's abdomen. Shane inhaled sharply at the cold.

"Sorry honey, this is a bit chilly," she said with a small smile, already reaching for the transducer. As the probe made contact, she applied gentle but firm pressure, angling it slowly. The machine responded instantly—grainy static giving way to shifting shades of grey. The soft whir of processing filled the room as she adjusted depth and gain, fine-tuning the image. "Sixteen weeks, right?" she confirmed, eyes flicking briefly to the chart.

Shane nodded. "Yeah."

"Perfect. Baby should be nice and visible now."

She tilted the probe slightly, then paused. "There we go..."

The image steadied. A small, unmistakable form appeared—head clearly rounded, spine curving like a delicate string of pearls, tiny limbs moving in quick, almost startling bursts.

Ilya leaned forward without realizing it, his grip tightening around Shane's hand.

"That's your baby," the sonographer said softly, tracing along the screen. "You can see the skull here... and this line—this is the spine. Everything's developing right on track." She pressed a button, freezing the image momentarily, then zoomed in with careful precision. "I'm just going to take a few measurements," she explained. "Crown-rump length... biparietal diameter..."

Numbers flickered onto the screen as she measured the baby's head and body, each click deliberate. Shane watched, trying to follow, but his attention kept drifting back to Ilya, who looked completely overwhelmed, eyes locked on the screen as if nothing else existed.

"Now," the sonographer continued, her voice softening even more, "let's listen to the heartbeat."

She adjusted the settings, switching modes. The image shifted slightly, and then— A rapid flicker in the center of the tiny chest. She placed a marker, then activated the Doppler. thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump... The sound filled the room—fast, rhythmic, impossibly strong.

"About 150 beats per minute," she said. "Exactly where we'd expect at this stage."

Ilya's breath hitched.

His fingers tightened painfully around Shane's hand, but Shane didn't pull away. He turned his head instead, watching as Ilya's composure shattered in real time. A broken sob escaped him before he could stop it. "That... that is...?" Ilya managed, his voice trembling, accent thickening under the weight of it.

"The heartbeat," the sonographer confirmed gently. "Healthy and strong."

Ilya covered his mouth, shaking his head as tears spilled freely down his cheeks. He leaned closer to the screen, as if drawn in by the sound alone.

"Shane..." he whispered hoarsely. "This is real..."

Shane felt his chest tighten, emotion rising fast and sharp. He squeezed Ilya's hand. "It's real," Shane said softly.

The sonographer gave them a moment, her movements slowing, respectful. Then she shifted the probe again, angling lower. "I'm just going to check a few more things," she said. "Movement looks great... fluid levels are good... placenta's sitting anterior, which is completely normal."

She paused again, studying the image, then smiled.

"Would you like to know the sex?"

Shane's eyes flicked to Ilya. Ilya looked back at him, still visibly shaken, but nodded almost immediately. "Yes," he said, voice unsteady. "Please."

The probe tilted slightly, the image adjusting.

A brief pause. Before she turned to them.  "Well," she said warmly, "congratulations... it's a boy."

Ilya let out a breath that turned into a quiet, disbelieving laugh, his forehead dropping against Shane's hand as fresh tears fell. "A boy..." he whispered. "We have a boy..." He brought Shane's hand to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss against his knuckles. "Thank you," he choked softly. "Thank you... for this... for everything..."

Shane reached up with his free hand, threading his fingers gently through Ilya's hair. "We made him together," he said, voice thick with emotion.

But Ilya just shook his head slightly, overwhelmed, his other hand hovering near the screen as if he wished he could reach through it. Their baby's heartbeat echoed on.

It became one of Ilya's favourite sounds from that moment on. Alongside Lily's laugh and Shane's soft snickers. 

———————————————————————

Twenty one weeks...

A few weeks later, the apartment was quiet in that warm, lived-in way, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, casting soft golden light across the living room. Shane was stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other resting over the gentle curve of his growing bump. 

Ilya lay beside him, half-propped up on one elbow, his face close, very close, to Shane's stomach. Lily was curled up on the other side, her small hand resting carefully where Ilya had shown her.

"You have to speak clearly," Ilya was saying seriously, his tone soft but deliberate. "He must learn voices early, da?"

Lily nodded with complete sincerity. "I know," she whispered, then leaned closer. "Hi baby... it's me. I'm your big sister."

Ilya smiled faintly, then shifted even closer, his lips brushing lightly against Shane's shirt.

"moy rebenok,"  he murmured gently. "You listen to me, yes? This is your papa speaking... and your sister. We are waiting for you. We love you already... so much."

Shane watched them, something deep and quiet blooming in his chest. "You're both very intense about this," he teased softly.

"It's important," Lily insisted.

"Yes," Ilya agreed firmly. "He must understand he is surrounded by love."

Shane opened his mouth to respond—and froze.

"...wait."

Ilya's eyes snapped up. "What?"

Shane's hand pressed more firmly against his stomach, his expression shifting into something stunned. "I think—" A soft, unmistakable flutter. Then a tiny but definite push.

Ilya went completely still.

"Did you feel that?" Shane whispered.

Before he could answer, Lily gasped. "I felt it! Dad' He kicked me!"

Everything seemed to stop. Ilya's hand slowly moved over Shane's, as if afraid the moment might vanish if he rushed it. Then— Another kick. Stronger this time. Ilya sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes filling again, though this time the tears didn't fall right away. He just... stared. Completely undone. "He... he knows us," he whispered.

Shane laughed softly, emotional himself now. "Or he's telling you to stop talking so much."

Lily giggled, then leaned down again, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane's bump. "I can't wait to meet you," she said. "You're my baby brother."

Shane turned his head toward her, smiling warmly.

"You know," he said, "we're going to need a name for him soon."

Lily didn't hesitate. "I already picked one."

That made both of them blink.

"You did?" Shane asked.

She nodded proudly, sitting up a little straighter. "Teddy," she said. "His name is Teddy."

Ilya's brows lifted slightly, a soft smile forming. "Teddy..." he repeated, testing it.

Lily beamed. "Teddy David Hollander-Rozanov."

Silence. Then Shane let out a quiet, emotional laugh, his eyes shining. "... that's actually kinda perfect."

Ilya nodded slowly, his hand still resting over the place where their baby had just kicked. "Yes," he said softly. "Perfect." He leaned down once more, pressing his lips gently to Shane's bump. "Our little teddy bear," he murmured.

And as if in answer— a small, yet certain kick. Confirmation that their baby boy agreed. 

———————————————————————

Thirty six weeks...

The arena was alive, roaring, electric, pulsing with the kind of energy that made your chest vibrate with every cheer. 

Shane sat stiffly in his seat, one hand braced against the armrest, the other resting protectively over the curve of his stomach. The jersey stretched tight over him, the fabric rising and falling with each careful breath he tried to disguise as normal.

Beside him, their daughter leaned forward eagerly, eyes glued to the ice, chanting her papa's name along with the crowd. 

Yuna and David sat with them, both just as invested in the game as Lily was —at least at first.

Shane shifted silently again. It had started the night before. A dull ache in his lower back, persistent but manageable. He'd brushed it off—too much walking, bad posture, anything but what it might actually be. He wasn't due yet. Not really. Not properly. Another wave of discomfort pressed into him, deeper this time. He inhaled slowly, jaw tightening as he tried to ride it out without drawing attention.

Yuna noticed anyway. She always did. Her gaze slid from the ice to him, sharp and assessing. "Shane," she said quietly, leaning closer, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," he answered too quickly.

Her brow furrowed. "Don't do that. I can see you."

He exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly as the ache eased. "It's just... my back. It's been hurting since last night."

Yuna's expression changed instantly—concern sharpening into something more certain. "Since last night?" she repeated.

He nodded, still watching the game like it might somehow prove everything was fine.

"And now?" Shane hesitated. Another sensation was building—different this time. Not just his back. It was tighter, pulling forward, wrapping slowly around his middle like a band being drawn closed.

He swallowed. "It's... a bit worse."

Yuna didn't look at the ice anymore. "We should go home."

Shane's head snapped toward her. "What? No. No, we're not leaving. It's the first game of the play offs! They've been working so hard to get here.." 

"Shane—"

"It's too early," he insisted, shaking his head. "I'm thirty-six weeks. That's not—he's not coming yet."

Yuna's voice softened, but there was no hesitation in it. "Liliya was born at thirty-seven weeks."

"That's different," he shot back, too fast, too defensive. "That was—this is—no. I'm fine."

She studied him, clearly unconvinced. Another contraction, because that's what it was, even if he refused to call it that—tightened around him. Stronger now. It stole his breath for a moment, made his fingers curl into the armrest. He forced himself to stay still, to keep his face neutral.

David, sitting on Shane's other side, had gone very quiet. At some point, he'd started watching Shane instead of the game. And timing. Each shift. Each subtle flinch. Each controlled inhale. He didn't say anything at first. Just glanced down at his watch, then back at Shane, again and again, building a pattern Shane hadn't even realized was forming.

The game surged on around them. The sounds echoing of cheers, whistles, the scrape of blades on ice—but Shane's world was narrowing. The pain came again, unmistakable now, wrapping from his back to the front, squeezing hard enough to make him lean forward slightly.

"Shane," Yuna said gently, her hand covering his. "This isn't your usual back ache. I can tell."

"It'll pass," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

It didn't pass. It kept coming back. Stronger. Closer.

David finally leaned in. "How long has it been like this?" he asked quietly.

Shane frowned. "Like what?"

David held up his watch. "Every seven minutes. Consistent. And they're getting longer."

Shane blinked at him, confusion flickering, then something colder, more concerned. "What?"

"I've been timing them," David said calmly. "You're not just uncomfortable. You're in labor."

The words landed hard. Too hard. Shane shook his head immediately, panic sparking. "No. No, I'm not. That's—no, it's too soon." Another contraction hit, sharper than the last. It stole the rest of his argument, dragged a quiet, involuntary sound from him as he bent forward, hand gripping his stomach.

Yuna's grip tightened. "Shane."

He breathed through it, faster now, fear creeping in around the edges. When it eased, he looked between them, eyes wide. "I can't—" His voice wavered. "Not here. Not now. Ilya—he's playing. We can't just—"

"Hey," David said firmly, grounding him. "Look at me."

Shane did, barely.

"You are in labor," David continued, steady and certain. "And that's okay. We just need to get you somewhere safe."

Shane's composure cracked. "I'm not ready," he whispered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. His hand trembled where it rested on his stomach. "It's too early. What if something's wrong? What if—"

Yuna squeezed his hand, her voice soft but unwavering. "Nothing's wrong. Your body knows what it's doing. It's done it before remember? You may have been eighteen years old, but it can't be that much of a blur."  Another contraction began—he felt it building, dread rising with it. "No—no, not again—" "

It's okay," she murmured. "Breathe, Shane. Just breathe."

He tried. He really did. But this one was stronger, wrapping tight and unrelenting, forcing him to curl forward as fear fully took hold. "I'm scared," he admitted when it finally eased, his voice small, nothing like the stubborn certainty from earlier.

David glanced toward the ice, then back at Shane. Decision made. "We're leaving," he said.

This time, Shane didn't argue.

The whistle cut sharp across the ice, and before Ilya could fully track the play resetting, a voice called his name. "Bench. Now." He turned, confusion flashing across his face as he skated hard toward the boards. His chest was still heaving from the last shift, adrenaline high, mind locked into the game. He hadn't made a mistake—he knew he hadn't. Still, being pulled this abruptly— "What did I do?" he asked the second he reached the bench, breathless, pulling his helmet halfway off.

Coach Wiebe was already shaking his head.

"Nothing," he said quickly, firm enough to stop the spiral before it started. "You've done nothing wrong."

Ilya blinked, thrown. "Then why—?" The coach's expression softened just slightly, something more human breaking through the intensity. "Yuna came down," he said. "It's Shane."

Everything in Ilya stilled. "What about him?" The words came out sharper than he intended.

"He's in labor."

For half a second, Ilya just stared at him, like the words didn't quite connect. Then they did. And he was gone. He didn't even remember pulling off the rest of his gear—just the frantic motion of it, the sound of it hitting the floor, his skates clattering, the pounding of his heartbeat louder than the crowd outside. Someone said something behind him, but it didn't register. Nothing did except one thing: Shane.

He shoved through the corridor toward the changing rooms, breath coming fast, fear and urgency tangling in his chest. Please be okay.

Please be okay. Please don't let me miss this again.  He pushed the door open hard and stopped dead in his tracks. Shane was there. 

Leaning heavily against the wall, one hand braced in front of him, the other gripping his stomach as he breathed through another contraction. His face was pale, tight with effort, every ounce of stubborn composure from earlier stripped away and replaced with something rawer. Realer. David stood close by, watch still in hand, focused. Yuna was at Shane's side, steady and calm, one hand rubbing slow circles against his back.

And Liliya— She stood just off to the side, small and still, her wide eyes fixed on her carrier dad. Fear was written all over her face, her hands clutching the hem of her little jersey. Ilya's chest clenched. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't know how to move. His instincts split clean in two, one pulling him toward Shane, seeing the pain, the strain, the fear he knew was there beneath it all. The other dragging him toward Liliya, who looked like she didn't understand what was happening, only that something was wrong.

He felt it—sharp and overwhelming. Who needed him more? Shane let out a strained breath, head tipping back against his shoulders as the contraction peaked. A quiet, broken sound slipped past his lips, and that decided it. Ilya took a step forward—and hesitated again. Liliya made a small noise, barely audible, but enough to cut through him.

Yuna looked up then, meeting his eyes immediately, she saw it—the conflict, the fear, the uncertainty holding him in place. And she gave him a small, steady nod. Go to him.

Ilya swallowed hard and crossed the room in two quick strides. "Shane—"

Shane's eyes flickered open at the sound of his voice, relief hitting his features so fast it almost hurt to see. "Ilya—" His voice shook, breath catching as the contraction finally began to ease. "I didn't—I didn't want to—"

"Hey, no," Ilya cut in immediately, reaching for him, one hand coming up to cup the side of his face, grounding, steady. "Do not. Do not even start with that nonsense yes?."

Shane leaned into the touch without thinking, eyes squeezing shut for a second. "M-my parents said—" he tried again, breath uneven, "they said it's labor, but it's too early, and I just—"

"It's okay," Ilya said softly, even though his own heart was still racing. "We've got you. I've got you."

Behind him, he could feel Liliya still watching.

He glanced back briefly, meeting her eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart ," he said gently. "Everything's okay." She didn't look entirely convinced—but she nodded, just a little.

When he turned back, Shane was watching him again, fear still lingering in his expression.

Another contraction started to build—he could see it before Shane even said anything. The way his body tensed, the way his grip tightened. "Fuck Ilya—" he whispered.

"I know," Ilya said quickly, sliding his arm more securely around him. "I'm right here. Just breathe, yeah? Breathe with me."

Shane nodded, clinging to him as the pain rose again. Across the room, Yuna exchanged a quiet look with David. It was time for them to go.

The hallway outside the changing room blurred into motion. Everything moved too fast—and not fast enough. Ilya was handed his trainers somewhere within it all. His zip up hoodie flung his way as David rushed to grab what he could. 

Liliya clung to Shane the moment they tried to separate them, her small hands gripping tightly onto his jersey as another contraction tore through him. "No, I wanna stay!" she cried, her voice trembling. "I wanna stay with dad!"

Shane, pale and shaking, tried to steady his breathing long enough to look at her. "Hey, hey, bug —" His voice broke on the word, pain cutting through it. "You've got to go with Nana and Baba, okay? Just for a little bit—" Another contraction hit, stronger, stealing the rest of his sentence. He cried out, folding slightly, one hand clutching Ilya's sleeve.

Liliya's grip tightened. "No!"

Ilya crouched in front of her, hands gentle but firm on her shoulders. His own heart was racing, but he forced his voice to stay steady. "Listen to me," he said softly. "I'm going to take dad to the hospital now, yes? And as soon as your baby brother is here, I will call you. FaceTime. You'll see him right away."

Her lip trembled. "Promise?"

"I promise."

She searched his face like she was trying to measure the truth of it—then, slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

Yuna stepped in, easing her away despite the resistance, holding her close as she continued to look back.

"Go," Yuna urged quietly.

And Ilya did.

—

The drive felt endless, even though the hospital was only twenty minutes away.

Every red light was unbearable.

Every second stretched thin with tension.

Shane was barely holding it together in the passenger seat, twisted slightly, one hand gripping the door, the other digging into his stomach as the contractions came faster now—closer, harder, relentless.

"Ilya—" His voice broke into a sob. "It hurts— fuck I don't remember it hurting this much with Lily." 

"I know," Ilya said quickly, one hand tight on the wheel, the other reaching over whenever he could, brushing against Shane's arm, grounding him. "We're almost there. Just breathe with me."

"They're—" Shane gasped as another contraction slammed into him, "they're too close—"

"I know. I know."

"Make it stop," Shane cried, panic spilling over now. "Please, just make it stop—"

Ilya's chest tightened painfully. "I can't do that I'm sorry, but we're almost there, okay? You're doing so good, just hold on—"

Shane shook his head, tears spilling freely. "I can't, Ilya baby, I can't do this—"

"Yes, you can," Ilya said, more firmly now, even as fear clawed at him. "You already are."

The hospital came into view like a lifeline.

Ilya barely remembered parking.

One moment he was behind the wheel, the next he was out of the car, rushing around to Shane's side, yanking the door open.

Shane cried out as he tried to move, his body already starting to bear down.

"Ilya—!"

"I've got you," Ilya said quickly, panic sharp now as he looked around. "Wait—wait here—"

He sprinted inside, heart hammering, scanning frantically until he spotted a wheelchair. He dragged it back out, nearly colliding with a nurse on his way.

"Please—he's—he's in labor—he can't walk—"

The nurse didn't hesitate. "Okay hun, calm down take me to him yeah? Let's go."

Together, they helped Shane into the chair. The labouring man barely made it, collapsing into it with a sob as another contraction hit hard enough to make his whole body shake.

"They're two minutes apart," Ilya said quickly as they rushed inside. "Maybe less—"

"We've got him," the nurse assured, already moving fast through the corridors.

Shane's breathing was erratic now, panic rising with every wave of pain.

"Ilya—don't leave me—" he begged, grabbing onto him.

"I'm right here," Ilya said immediately, keeping pace beside the wheelchair, one hand gripping Shane's tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

—

Labor and delivery was a blur of movement. A midwife stepped in almost immediately. “I'm Heather," she said calmly, already assessing everything with sharp, practiced eyes. "This is Shane I hear? Let's get him into a room, give him a little privacy huh?."

They barely made it through the doorway before Shane was trying to get out of the wheelchair.

"I need—" he gasped, stumbling forward, "I need to—" He didn't finish the sentence. His body took over. He lunged toward the bed, bracing himself over the mattress, gripping it hard as a contraction crashed over him—and this time, he pushed.

"Ilya! Fuck, get them off—!" he cried desperately. "Get my pants off—!"

"I've got you," Ilya said, hands fumbling but quick, helping as best he could.

"Okay, okay," Heather's voice cut in, calm but firm as she stepped closer. "Try not to push just yet, alright? I know it's hard, but I need you to pant for me. Short breaths, like this—" She demonstrated quickly.

Shane shook his head, crying. "I can't! I’m sorry! M-my body's—"

"I know," she said gently. "You're doing really well. Just try to follow me. Calm your breathing down.” 

With Ilya's help, they managed to get him stripped down until he was left in nothing but his oversized Ottawa jersey, clinging to him awkwardly as his body trembled with effort.

Heather moved quickly, checking him.

Then paused.

"Well," she said, a note of impressed surprise in her voice. "No wonder you can't stop pushing honey! You’re fully dilated. Ten centimetres."

Shane let out a broken sound—half sob, half disbelief. "No! N-no, I just got here—"

"I know," she said softly. "But your baby is ready."

"I'm not," he cried immediately, shaking his head, panic surging hard. "I'm not ready! I can't! T-this is too fast—"

Ilya was right there, one hand on his face again, grounding him the only way he knew how.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he said, voice low but steady. "You're not alone. I'm right here. I've got you."

Shane clung to him, eyes wide and terrified. "Don't let anyone else—" His voice broke. "Ilya, please! I-I  can't—I don't want anyone else touching me—"

Ilya looked up at Heather quickly, something protective flashing in his expression. "He , ah —he's autistic," he explained. "He didn't have time to settle here, is all happening too quickly. Y-you are all unfamiliar, is sensory overload. I-is too much—"

Heather nodded immediately, her tone shifting without hesitation. "Okay. That’s okay! Thank you for telling me." She stepped back slightly, giving space while still preparing efficiently. "We'll keep this as calm and controlled as we can," she said. "You stay with him. I'll guide you both through it."

She moved to place pads beneath Shane's feet, setting things up while keeping her distance respectful.

Another contraction built—and this time, there was no holding it back. Shane cried out, body bearing down hard, him following along. His instinct took over completely.

"That's it," Heather encouraged gently. "Your body knows exactly what to do. You're doing beautifully."

"Ilya—!" Shane gasped, gripping his hand desperately as he pushed.

"I'm here," Ilya said, steadying him, even as his own fear and awe tangled together. "Just follow your body. You've got this Hollander."

Shane shook, overwhelmed, terrified, but he didn't stop. Because he couldn't. And because, somewhere beneath the fear— his body really did know exactly what to do. It had done this before, whether his brain wanted to remember it or not. His muscles did and they were working towards their end goal. 

Ilya barely registered moving—only that one moment he was at Shane's side, and the next Heather was guiding him gently but firmly into position behind him.

"Okay," she said, calm and steady. "I need you to tell me what you see. You're going to be my eyes, alright?"

Ilya swallowed hard, nodding quickly as he positioned himself, one hand still anchored on Shane's hip, the other hovering, unsure but ready.

"I, fuck! O-okay, okay," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Another contraction built, and Shane cried out, his whole body tightening as he bore down again, fingers clawing into the mattress. “Ow! Ilya—!"

"I'm here," he said immediately, voice directed at his back. "I've got you my love, just keep going da?"

He forced himself to focus, to look, then his breath caught in his lungs. "I-I can see—" His voice faltered, then steadied. "I can see his head. Just- just a little."

Heather's tone warmed. "That's exactly what we want. He's nice and low."

"There's—" Ilya hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. "There's something over it. Like a cloudy bubble, is okay?"

"That's perfect," Heather assured him instantly. "That's the sac. His waters haven't  broken yet. They likely will in the next few pushes."

Shane let out a strained sob, shaking his head as another contraction surged through him. "I can't, please Ilya, it hurts—"

"I know," Ilya said, his voice softer now, steadier despite everything. "You're doing so well, just keep going, okay? He's right there, I can see him!"

Shane cried out again, pushing hard despite the tears streaming down his face, his entire body trembling with effort. His hands slipped slightly against the mattress, gripping tighter as the pressure built unbearably. "I can't stop. God I need to push so bad!" he choked.

"You don't have to," Heather said gently. "Just go with your body. That's it."

Another push. And then— A sudden, sharp shout tore from Shane's throat. "Holy shit!" There was a rush. A warm, unmistakable flood that soaked straight through Ilya's hands and arms. Shane gasped, startled, his body jerking slightly. "Oh God, I'm sorry!"

"Is okay," Ilya said immediately, not even thinking about it, his focus entirely on him. "Is okay, don't worry—"

Heather's voice came, calm and reassuring. "That's just your waters breaking. You're doing brilliantly."

Shane's breathing was ragged now, panic and pain tangling together as he tried to recover before the next contraction hit. "I can't, I can't do that again. Hurts so much.” 

"Yes, you can," Ilya said softly but firmly, one hand moving up to press between Shane's shoulders, grounding him. "You just did. And he's closer now. I can see more and more of his head.” 

"Next contraction," Heather guided, "I want you to push just like that again, Shane."

Shane shook his head even as his body betrayed him, another wave already building. "No, no, please—"

"It's okay," Ilya murmured. "I'm right here. Just follow it."

The contraction hit. Shane cried out, pushing again, harder this time. His body fully took over as the baby moved further down. "Ilya!” 

"I see him, love, I can see his head—" Ilya said quickly, awe slipping into his voice despite everything. "He's-he's right there. You’re doing it"

Heather nodded. "Good. That's good. His head is coming down quickly. Won’t be much longer honey."

Another push— And then Shane stopped. He gasped sharply, pulling back slightly, his body trembling as a different kind of pain hit—sharp, stretching, overwhelming. “It burns!" he cried, panic surging instantly. "Ilya, it burns, I can't! I can't do this! Ow! Fuck, Lily didn’t hurt this fucking much surely!” 

"That's the head crowning," Heather said calmly. "That burning feeling is normal. You're very close now."

"No, no, you don’t get it! I can't—" Shane shook his head frantically, trying to pull away from the sensation. "It hurts too much, he’s stuck!"

Ilya leaned forward immediately, one arm wrapping around him, anchoring him in place without forcing.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he said, voice low but urgent.

Shane turned his head slightly, eyes wide, full of fear.

"I can see him," Ilya said softly, grounding each word. "Our son is right there. He is not stuck, you're finishing it."

Shane's breath hitched.

"You don't have to do it all at once," Ilya continued. "Just little pushes, okay? I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

Heather nodded in approval. "That's perfect. Small pushes, Shane. Let your body stretch."

Shane whimpered, shaking, but he nodded weakly.

Another contraction started to build. "Ilya..” 

"I'm here," he said instantly. "Just breathe, then push when it comes."

Shane gripped the mattress again, bracing himself, tears still falling freely. The contraction hit. And this time—he didn't pull away.

"Okay... that's it... that's it..." Heather's voice softened, almost reverent now. "Nice and slow, Shane. Just like that."

Shane was trembling, every muscle in his body straining as he followed the instinct he could no longer fight. His hands clutched the mattress, knuckles white, breath coming in shaky pants as he gave another small, desperate push.

Behind him, Ilya stared—completely awestruck.

"I can see him," he breathed, voice thick with emotion. "Shane, his head! I-it's coming out." And it was. Slowly, impossibly, their baby's head began to emerge, stretching Shane further, the intensity written all over his face as he cried through it.

"You're doing it," Ilya said, his voice breaking despite his effort to stay steady. "You're actually doing it—"

Shane sobbed, shaking. "It’s hurting me."

"I'm right here," Ilya said quickly, one hand firm and grounding on his thigh. "You're bringing him into the world, do you hear me? You're doing that. Only you.” 

More of the baby's head appeared. Dark, thick hair clear as day now.  Ilya let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, tears stinging his own eyes now. "He's got your hair," he said, almost incredulous. "Shane, he's got your hair. It's dark. There’s so much of it—"

Shane choked on a sob, overwhelmed, exhausted, barely holding onto the moment. "He's—" His voice hitched. "He's going to be the opposite of Lily—"

The rest of the sentence shattered into a scream as the head finally slipped free in a rush of sharp, burning pain. “Ah—!" His body sagged slightly with the sudden shift, panting hard, tears streaming freely as the worst of that pressure eased. "Oh my God, holy shit" he gasped, breathless, voice wrecked. "That hurts like a bitch!"

Ilya couldn't help it, a breath of laughter broke through the intensity, raw and relieved, his hand immediately moving to rub gently at Shane's thigh.

"Yes. I’m sure it does.” he murmured softly, full of awe and affection. "You're still doing amazing."

Shane let out a shaky, half-laugh, half-sob, still panting as his body tried to recover.

Heather stepped in calmly, her tone guiding but warm. "Alright, Ilya. Your baby's going to turn now. The next couple of pushes should bring the rest of him out." Ilya nodded quickly, forcing himself to focus again despite everything he was feeling. "I need you ready to catch him," she continued. "And then pass him up through Shane's legs so he can hold him, okay?"

"Okay," Ilya said, voice quiet but steady. "Okay, I've got him." He adjusted slightly, hands hovering carefully as he watched. He watched as their son, impossibly small and real, began to shift. His tiny head turned. Ilya's thumb brushed gently against their baby's ear without thinking, his touch feather-light, reverent. "Hey..." he murmured softly, voice dropping, words slipping into a quiet mix of Russian and English. "Hi, little man... we're right here... I can't wait to meet you... just a little more, yeah?"

In front of  him, Shane let out another low moan as the next contraction started to build. "Ilya—"

"I know," he said instantly, grounding again. "One more. Maybe two. That's it."

"I can't—" Shane whispered, though there was less panic now, more exhaustion, more surrender to what his body was doing.

"Yes, you can," Ilya said gently. "He's right here. I've got him."

Heather nodded. "Alright, Shane, when it comes, you give us a nice solid push."

The contraction hit. Shane cried out, pushing hard, his whole body bearing down with everything he had left.

"That's it!" Ilya encouraged, voice rising with urgency. "Keep going!" Another push—raw, desperate, powerful. "Again, Shane!"

He screamed this time, the sound tearing out of him as he gave everything—And then— Relief. Sudden. Overwhelming. Complete.

Shane gasped, his body collapsing forward slightly as the pressure vanished all at once. Behind him, Ilya caught their son in his hands, warm, slippery, real. For a second, he just froze. Staring. Breath gone. "Shane—" His voice broke completely now. "He's here." Carefully, so carefully; he lifted the baby, hands trembling, and guided him forward just like Heather had instructed him. "Here, here. You take him.”

Shane barely managed to lift his head, exhausted beyond words, tears still falling as their son was placed into his arms and lifted against him. A small, fragile cry filled the room. And everything else disappeared. Shane's arms tightened almost instinctively the second their son was placed against him. "I've got him, I've got him—" he whispered, voice shaking as he adjusted his grip, terrified and protective all at once.

Carefully, slowly, he shifted, sliding down from where he'd been braced over the bed until he was on his knees atop the soiled pads, cradling the tiny, wriggling weight against his chest. His whole body trembled, adrenaline and exhaustion crashing over him in waves. The baby's cries grew louder now, stronger, sharper—filling the room.

Heather moved smoothly beside them, handing Ilya a towel. "Here you go dad, help dry him off a bit."

Ilya nodded quickly, still visibly overwhelmed, taking the towel with slightly unsteady hands. He crouched close, right there with them, gently wiping at their son's tiny body, careful, reverent, like he was afraid to do it wrong. “It's okay... it's okay..." he murmured softly, though he wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to the baby or to Shane.

Shane let out a breath that turned into a broken laugh, then into a sob, then back into laughter again. Pure, disbelieving relief pouring out of him.

"I-I can't believe that just happened," he choked, tears streaming freely down his face. "He just- he came so fast—"

Ilya huffed out a wet laugh of his own, shaking his head as he wiped quickly at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I know," he said softly. "He didn't even give us time to think about it."

Shane let out another shaky laugh, still crying, still holding their son like he might disappear if he loosened his grip for even a second.

Ilya leaned in, pressing gentle, lingering kisses to Shane's damp hair, his temple, wherever he could reach. “You did so good," he murmured against him. "So, so good..."

Shane barely heard him. Or maybe he did—but his attention had shifted completely. Down. To the tiny, crying life in his arms. "Hey... hey, it's okay..." he whispered softly, his voice instantly gentler, instinctive, soothing despite how wrecked he still sounded. "I've got you... I've got you..." The baby squirmed, letting out another small cry. Shane adjusted him slightly, one hand cradling his head, the other supporting his back as he brought him closer, almost curling around him protectively. "You're okay..." he murmured again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his damp, dark hair. "You're okay, sweetheart..."

Ilya watched, completely still now. Completely gone.

Shane's voice softened even further, something intimate and new settling into it as he looked down at their son. "Hi..." he whispered. A pause. Then, quietly—like it meant everything— “Teddy."

Ilya's breath caught.

Shane smiled through his tears, voice trembling but full of wonder. "Hi, Teddy... hi, baby..." He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Teddy David..."

The name settled into the room like something sacred. Their baby boy, Teddy—let out another small cry, his tiny face scrunching as he blinked into the world, his dark hair already damp and sticking up in soft, messy tufts.

Ilya stared at him, heart completely undone. “God..." he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "He's- Shane." He couldn't even finish the sentence.

Because there weren't any words.

Teddy was tiny. Perfect. Every inch of him was impossibly small and real and theirs. And as Ilya looked closer, really looked—He saw it. The resemblance. "He looks just like you," he said softly, almost in awe, his gaze flicking up to Shane. "Exactly like you..."

Shane huffed a quiet, teary laugh, shaking his head faintly. "Poor kid..." But there was no real self-deprecation in it, only disbelief, only love.

Ilya reached out carefully, one finger brushing lightly against Teddy's tiny hand. And just like that— He was gone. Completely, helplessly in love. Just like he had been six years ago on a quiet Friday evening entering a living room to meet a little girl who would forever own his heart. 

———————————————————————

Half an hour later and the room surrounding them had finally gone quiet. Not completely silent—but calm enough.  The kind of calm that only came after everything big and explosive. 

It had taken time. Longer than either of them expected. Shane had ended up with a third degree tear much to his disappointment. He’d been absolutely fine delivering Lily, survived with a few abrasions. But not this time. No , this time he needed stitching, cleaning, monitoring. It was a slow process of making sure Shane was okay, settled, breathing normally again. By the end of it, exhaustion had wrapped around him like a second skin.

Now, though— Now they were finally together again. 

All three of them. Shane lay half-propped against the pillows of the too-small hospital bed, his body heavy but relaxed in a way it hadn't been for hours. One hand rested loosely against Ilya's arm, the other holding his phone up.

Ilya sat beside him, slightly reclined, shirt pulled open just enough for Teddy to be tucked securely against his chest, skin to skin. The baby had settled there like he belonged, tiny limbs curled in, soft breaths warming Ilya's skin. Every now and then, Ilya would glance down, just to check. Just to make sure he was still real.

On the phone screen, Yuna's face appeared—and immediately shifted into shock. "Shane?" she said, blinking. "Already? We just got home honey, did you get an epidural?"

Shane let out a tired, breathy laugh. "Yeah... about that."

Yuna narrowed her eyes slightly. "Don't tell me- he’s not already here? Surely not"

"He came fast," Shane said, smiling despite how wrecked he still felt. "Really fast."

From somewhere off-screen, David's voice cut in. "How fast are we talking?"

Shane huffed softly, glancing at Ilya before answering. "Fast enough that he ended up delivering him whilst I stood leaning over the hospital bed in my jersey. Didn’t even have time for some gas and air. Little buddy practically pushed his own way out.” 

Yuna's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

David let out a low, impressed whistle. "Well—" he said as he stepped into frame, shaking his head with a grin, "I guess that's one way to do it."

Shane laughed quietly, wincing just slightly at the lingering soreness. "Wasn't exactly planned."

David's expression softened, pride and something deeper settling in. "I'm sorry we weren't there," he said honestly. "It was hard, not being there this time."

Shane shook his head gently. "It's okay. I had my supportive coach Ilya.”

David glanced toward Ilya through the screen, nodding once. "I'm glad he was. Well done Ilya, I’m sure catching him was a lot of pressure son.”’

Ilya gave a small, quiet smile, his hand instinctively coming up to rest protectively over Teddy's back.

Before he or Shane could even respond, there was movement on the other end.

Quick footsteps. A small, familiar voice speaking. 

"Daddy?"

Shane's entire expression changed instantly.

"Hey, hey bug.”

Liliya appeared on screen, rushing in so fast the image shook slightly before she grabbed the phone. The moment she saw him—She burst into tears.

Shane's heart cracked. "Hey, no, no, don't cry! Oh baby don’t cry," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm okay, I promise."

"You scared me!" she cried, her face scrunched, tears spilling freely. "You said you were okay and then you left and papa was gone too."

"I know," Shane said gently, swallowing hard. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to scare you." Lily sniffled, still crying. “It just... it happened really fast," he continued softly. "Having a baby hurts a lot, yeah. That’s all it was, but I'm okay now. I'm all okay."

Liliya watched him carefully, like she was checking for herself. "You're not hurt?" she asked, voice small.

Shane shook his head slightly. "No, sweetheart. I'm just tired."

She took a shaky breath, calming bit by bit as she listened to him. "...okay," she whispered. There was a small pause. Then, hesitantly she asked.  "Can I see him? My baby brother?” 

Shane's face broke into a soft, glowing smile. "Yeah," he said gently. "Of course you can." He shifted slightly, angling the phone carefully toward Ilya.

"Ready?" he murmured.

Ilya adjusted just enough, his hand still protectively cupping Teddy as the tiny baby came into view, curled against his chest, fast asleep now, his dark hair still soft and slightly damp.

"There he is," Shane said softly. "This is your baby brother."

"Teddy," Ilya added, his voice warming around the name. "Teddy David."

On the other end, there was a collective pause.

Yuna's hand flew to her mouth. David leaned in closer. Eyes beaming with pride as he choked out his thanks.  And Liliya— Liliya's entire face lit up.

"He's so little," she whispered, awe replacing the last of her tears.

Shane chuckled softly. "Yeah... he is."

"He's okay?" Yuna asked quickly. "He came a little early, even earlier than Lily.” 

"He's perfect," Shane said immediately, pride and relief threading through every word. "Healthy, breathing all on his own, no help needed."

Ilya nodded, his thumb gently brushing over Teddy's back.

"Five pounds, two ounces," Shane added. "Tiny... but perfect."

Liliya beamed. “He looks like you, Dad!" she said excitedly, pointing at the screen. "Just like you!"

Shane laughed softly. "Oh, does he now?”

She nodded vigorously. "Yeah! And I look like Papa!"

At that, the adults couldn't help it, they all laughed, warm and fond.

"One of each," David said with a grin.

"Perfect balance," Yuna added, her eyes still shining.

Shane leaned back into the pillows, utterly exhausted but glowing, his gaze drifting between the phone and the two people beside him. His family. All of them.

And for the first time since it all began. Everything felt still. Peaceful enough for him to let go. 

The call ended slowly, reluctantly. Liliya had waved at the screen for a solid minute before Yuna gently coaxed her away, promising they'd visit as soon as they were allowed. David gave one last proud nod. Surprisingly Yuna had lingered the longest, her expression soft, full, before the screen finally went dark.

The room fell quiet again.

Shane let his phone rest against his chest for a moment, staring at the ceiling as everything caught up to him all over again. The adrenaline was gone now. What was left behind was softer. Gentler.

Real.

Beside him, Ilya hadn't moved much. He was still half-reclined, one hand curved protectively around Teddy's impossibly small back, the other resting just beneath him. Their son slept soundly against his chest, tiny breaths steady, his whole body curled in close like he'd always belonged there.

Shane turned his head to look at them. And something in his chest cracked open. “...he's perfect," he whispered.

Ilya glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He is."

For a moment, Shane just watched. The way Ilya instinctively adjusted his hand when Teddy shifted. The way his thumb brushed gently over his back without even thinking. The quiet awe still written all over his face. That’s when the bone deep emotion hit. And it hit hard. 

"Ilya..." Shane's voice wavered, and he quickly swallowed, but it didn't stop the tears from rising. "I—"

Ilya's attention snapped fully to him. "Hey, shhh. W-what's wrong?"

Shane shook his head slightly, a shaky breath leaving him as he wiped at his eyes, frustrated with himself. “It's just..." He laughed weakly, but it broke halfway through. "Watching you with him..."

Ilya frowned softly, shifting a little closer without disturbing Teddy. "Yeah?"

Shane's gaze dropped to their son again, his expression tightening with something deeper. Older.

"I wish you'd had this with Lily," he admitted quietly.

The words hung there.

Heavy.

"I wish you'd been there," he continued, his voice cracking now despite trying to keep it steady. "For all of it. The first time I held her, the first night, all the... the little things." He let out a shaky breath. "You should've had that. She should’ve had that.” 

Ilya was very still.

Shane's tears slipped free now, unchecked. "And it—" he swallowed hard, guilt pressing in, "it hurts knowing you didn't because of me. Because I was scared. Because of the way my stupid brain works.”

The silence stretched just a moment.

Then Ilya moved. Carefully and gently, he shifted closer until his shoulder brushed Shane's, one hand reaching out to cup the side of his face, thumb wiping away a tear with quiet certainty. "Hey," he said softly.

Shane's eyes flickered up to his.

"That's in the past," Ilya continued, his voice steady, unwavering in a way that grounded everything. "You don't get to carry that forever."

Shane shook his head weakly. "But you missed it—"

"Da I did, but I didn't miss her," Ilya said gently, cutting through the guilt without harshness. "I have her. I have you, I have Teddy. I have you all in all the ways that matter."

Shane's breath hitched.

Ilya's expression softened further, something warm and deeply certain settling in his eyes. “You gave me the most incredible gift," he said quietly. "You gave me a family."

Shane blinked at him, tears still clinging to his lashes.

"I might not have been there at the very beginning," Ilya went on, "but you made sure I didn't miss out on everything ." A small, fond smile touched his lips. "Every first, every step, every word, you recorded it. You shared it with me. You let me be part of it, even before I knew how to be. That matters Hollander. Forgiveness is not something we need. Acceptance is. And I have accepted that we cannot change how much I missed out on back then, but we can move forwards and ensure I never miss anymore.” 

Shane let out a quiet, shaky breath.

"And Lily?" Ilya added softly. "She's mine in every way single way. From the way she looks, to her Russian attitude. She is me. That didn't start late. It started the moment she was born and we became a family. Because we were a family from that moment on, it was fate. I believe it.” 

The guilt in Shane's chest loosened—just a little.

Ilya glanced down at Teddy then, his hand instinctively smoothing over his tiny back. "And now..." he murmured, "we get to do this. Together. From the start."

Shane followed his gaze, looking down at their son, still curled and peaceful between them.

"Teddy's our chance to do it all again," Ilya said. "Properly, if you want to call it that."

Shane huffed a soft, teary laugh. "Properly..."

"But listen to me," Ilya added, gently tipping Shane's chin back up so he'd meet his eyes again. "It doesn't change anything. Not really."

Shane frowned slightly, searching his face.

"Our love for them?" Ilya said quietly. "It's the same. It doesn't matter when it started, or how. It's just... there." He exhaled softly, almost in awe of it himself.

"Endless," he said.

Shane's lips trembled faintly.

"And bigger than anything else," Ilya finished. "Always."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They didn't need to.

Shane leaned into him then, carefully, resting his head against Ilya's shoulder, mindful of the tiny life between them. Ilya shifted just enough to make space, pressing a soft kiss into Shane's hair.

Between them, Teddy stirred. A small sound. A tiny movement. Both of them looked down immediately.

Shane let out the softest laugh, brushing his fingers gently over Teddy's dark hair. "Hey, you..."

Ilya's hand covered his, their fingers overlapping lightly against their son. Three hands. One tiny body.

And in the quiet of that small hospital room— everything felt exactly as it should be.

———————————————————————

Walking into their apartment felt like a relief Ilya and Shane had never known before. It was quieter than the arena. Quieter than the hospital. It was settling. Helping soothe Shane’s anxiety and Ilya’s constantly fretting. It truly felt as though something had finally  settled into place.

They had barely opened the front door before the sound of quick footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"Are they here?!" Liliya appeared almost instantly, skidding slightly on the floor as she rushed toward them, eyes wide, practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm here! Dad! I'm ready! I-I  washed my hands—twice!" she announced, holding them up like proof.

Shane couldn't help but laugh softly, shifting his weight carefully as he stepped inside. "Twice, huh?"

"Three times, actually," Yuna called from somewhere behind her, amused.

"I wanted to be extra clean," Liliya insisted, bouncing slightly on her toes, her gaze already locked onto the small bundle in Ilya's arms. "Can I hold him? Please? I've been waiting forever! He was asleep when we came to the hospital and papa said I had to wait! I’ve waited!"

"It's been a day kiddo," David chuckled from the kitchen.

"Forever," she repeated firmly.

Ilya chuckled under his breath, glancing at Shane. "I think we're outnumbered."

Shane smiled, warmth spreading through him despite the lingering soreness in his body. "Yeah... I think we are."

They moved into the living room together, everything instinctively slowing, softening. Liliya had already climbed onto the couch, sitting very still now, carefully still. Her excitement barely contained but her determination to do it right was even stronger. "I'm ready," she whispered, like this was something sacred.

Shane's chest tightened. "Okay," he said gently, lowering himself beside her with a soft wince. "We're going to do this together, alright?"

She nodded quickly. Ilya stepped closer, cradling Teddy securely, his expression soft as he crouched slightly in front of them. "Alright,Solnyshko," he murmured to Liliya. "Hands like this—" He guided her gently, adjusting her arms so they were supported, steady.

"Good," Shane added softly, one arm coming around her shoulders, the other ready beneath Teddy just in case. "I've got you."

Liliya held her breath as Ilya slowly, carefully lowered Teddy into her arms. For a moment, no one moved.

Teddy shifted slightly, letting out a small, sleepy sound as he settled.

Liliya's eyes went impossibly wide. "Oh," she whispered. Her entire face lit up. "He's so tiny," she said, voice full of awe, like she still couldn't quite believe it. "And he's so warm!" She looked up at them suddenly, beaming so brightly it almost hurt to look at. "He's amazing," she declared. "I'm the luckiest big sister in the whole entire world."

Shane's throat tightened instantly. He reached out, brushing a hand gently over her hair. "Yeah?"

She nodded eagerly, still looking down at Teddy like he was the most important thing she'd ever seen. "Yeah."

Shane smiled, softer now, something deeper settling behind it. "I'm really proud of you, you know."

Liliya glanced up, surprised. "Why?"

"Because you've been incredible," he said honestly. "You've handled all of this so well. Being a big sister, it's a big job."

Her smile grew, shy but glowing. "I can do it."

"I know you can," he said gently.

Ilya shifted then, moving to sit beside them on the couch, one arm draping behind Shane as he leaned in closer to both of them, his hand resting lightly against Teddy's back where he lay in Liliya's arms. The three of them leaned together naturally.

Shane supporting Liliya. Ilya supporting all of them.

Teddy nestled safely in the middle. A quiet, fragile, perfect little circle. 

Liliya adjusted her hold just slightly, careful, deliberate, her tongue poking out a little in concentration. “Hi, Teddy," she whispered softly. "I'm your big sister."

Teddy made a tiny noise in response, his fingers twitching faintly.

Liliya gasped softly. "He heard me!"

Shane laughed under his breath, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

Ilya watched them both, something deep and steady settling in his chest, the kind of feeling that didn't need words. They had found their way here. Not perfectly. Not easily. But completely. Because love wasn't about getting everything right the first time.

It was about staying. It was about choosing each other, again and again. Even when it was hard.

Even when it hurts. Even when the beginning didn't look the way it was supposed to.

Shane rested his head lightly against Ilya's shoulder, his arm still wrapped around Liliya, his hand brushing softly over Teddy's back.

And there, in the quiet of their living room—with their daughter glowing, their son safe in her arms, and everything they had built wrapped around them, 

they finally felt it.

Whole.

Held, not just in each other,  but in everything they had fought through to become. Shane couldn’t help the silent tears that fell down his cheeks as he took in the sight of his tiny family. Looking over at Ilya, he knew no words were needed. A soft chuckle escaping his lips as he thought to himself. 

Yeah, it’s held in the quiet between us.