Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Original Child Character(s), Yuna Hollander, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, David Hollander, JJ Boiziau

Additional Tags:

Trans Shane Hollander, Secret Baby, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Past Trans Mpreg | Trans Male Pregnancy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, eventually, Parent Shane Hollander, Parent Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Anxious Shane Hollander, Autistic Shane Hollander, Queer Families, Family Dynamics, Mental Health Issues, Grigori Rozanov’s A+ Parenting, Ilya Rozanov vs His Fear of Becoming His Father, Explicit Sexual Content, our boys are a little bit messy and that’s okay, Homophobia, Transphobia, Ableism, Protect trans kids, Irina Rozanova Haunts the Narrative, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Disabled child character, Family Flangst, I swear there’s a happy ending it just takes a minute to get there

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of fault lines

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-15 Updated: 2026-04-22 Words: 87,186 Chapters: 11/20

fault lines (tremble underneath my glass house)

Summary

Shane never got hurt during the game after Ilya’s father died and Ilya went through with breaking things off with Shane. Three months after their relationship fell apart, Shane found out that he was six months pregnant.

Five years later, Shane is balancing hockey and a major secret and Ilya moves to the Ottawa Centaurs after several unsuccessful seasons with Boston. Neither of them are ready for how much a chance encounter at a hockey rink is going to change everything.

#

The Hollanov secret baby fic that no one asked for but I am legally obligated to provide

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Notes

I would like to start this off by saying I know very little about hockey and hockey contracts or professional sports contracts in general so please take this stuff with a grain of salt. I'm just guessing at hockey stuff and can do more research later.

That out of the way. Some general housekeeping. I'm T. I'm Black, trans, and the resident mpreg guy in most fandoms I'm in. My stories tend to tackle lots of different topics. One of the topics that this will cover, besides references to raising a multiracial child that doesn't look like people "think" multiracial children "should." The other thing that this is going to cover is disability and ableism and a core part of that is about the viewpoint of disability in Russia. Ilya is going to have some perspectives on disability that most people in the North America and other countries would consider offensive. This is because of structural ableism in Russia that becoming a professional hockey player and existing in that culture doesn't lend itself well to deconstructing. Make no mistake; Ilya loves their child and it comes instantly but understanding that disability is neutral and that many disabled people can live full and successful lives is going to take Ilya some time to unpack. You'll have to be patient with him.

Shane is trans in this and that is not a huge deal. I know realistically it would be very hard to be an out trans man in a major men's sports league but in this case suspend your disbelief. Shane was already elite as a female athlete and transitioned young enough he only got a smattering of "female" puberty but got special approval to start T young which helped with muscle mass and bone density yada yada just suspend disbelief.

Also I’ve worked with kids for a decade and work with disabled kids and family on a very frequent basis. Family is complicated and complex but if you’re someone who finds themselves frustrated by the lack of realism is the portrayal of child characters and the reality of parenting, this fic has q realistic child character and parenting realism. Child characters are based off my years of experiences and family and parenting conflict is based off my work with parents and parenting.

Alright that aside. Minor content warning for Ilya using "special" as a euphemism for disabled.

January 2022 

Nicky Hollander was perfect. 

Shane didn’t deserve him but that didn’t stop Nicky from being absolutely content in Shane’s arms. Shane had just won a tense game against Boston. It was weird playing Boston without Rozanov, and his absence was definitely showing. 

After Shane had clenched the game winning goal, Mom had snuck down to one of the rooms reserved for athletes after the game and Shane got a few precious minutes to spend with Nicky before Shane had to do media. Shane’s moments with Nicky were limited as it was so every extra moment was something Shane held onto. 

Nicky lived with Mom and Dad in Ottawa. They’d driven up for the game and they would need to take Nicky back to Shane’s house, where they would put Nicky to bed long before Shane would be able to get home. 

Nicky was currently trying to push his fingers up Shane’s nose and Shane was huffing playfully to keep said fingers out even though it was actually starting to hurt. 

It was surprising, sometimes, how much Nicky looked like Shane. Shane would’ve expected, given that Nicky was only a quarter Asian that he would’ve looked more like Ilya or more like Dad, but Nicky looked Asian, and according to Mom and Dad, was starting to get comments on it from other kids at daycare. Nicky was barely five years old and already kids had decided he was other and Nicky went to school with other kids like him, so he wasn’t being othered because he was disabled. 

“Daddy won!” Nicky cheered, pulling Shane from his thoughts. Shane resisted the urge to shush his son. They had an excuse in case a reporter or another person overhead. (Nicky was a little confused since all his other friends at preschool had young parents and he’d decided that Shane was ‘Daddy’ and no one could tell him otherwise. All of this was technically true, minus the fact that to the press, Nicky was the son of Shane’s cousin on his mom’s side. Shane’s alleged cousin was having a hard time with life and he and his alleged partner had gotten into some trouble and couldn’t raise their baby. 

The subtext was prison, and the media had given up scrutinizing Shane’s family tree when it became clear that they weren’t going to identify which cousin had allegedly had a baby and then fallen from grace. The truth was, there was no cousin, but no one suspected that Shane Hollander, the first openly trans athlete in the NHL, the only trans athlete in the NHL, an athlete that had been out so long that the fact that he was trans had faded into press novelty because of how good Shane’s game was. It still came up, sure, but the fact that Shane refused to do press around it and had taken more than a few times early in his career for leaving media (or swearing) that journalists knew not to push.)

“I did win!” Shane grinned and responded to his son. “Did you see my goals?” 

“You scored 3!” Nicky yelled. No one ever said Shane’s son was quiet despite being a secret. “A hat trick! Pepe helped me throw my hat!” 

“He did? That was very nice of him!” Shane grinned. Nicky beamed and Shane stared at his precious freckled face. 

“It’s his bed time,” Mom interrupted. 

“Well, actually it’s after,” Dad corrected. 

They were right. It was late, but Shane liked when Nicky got to see him play and he usually could only do that at home. 

“And he’s had his braces on all day. He’s probably going to get blisters if we don’t get them off soon,” Mom added, like Shane needed any more motivation to get to the locker room so he could do media and then go to bed. 

Shane let Nicky give him one more kiss and then he pulled the toddler’s sunglasses from his pocket as well as the Montreal baseball cap that he always wore in public. It was a safety precaution more than anything. Even if Nicky wasn’t Shane’s son to the media, he was still a kid with presence in the life of one of the most famous hockey players in the world. Shane wanted to protect his privacy. There was that, and the fact that the sunglasses conveniently helped obscure the mix of features Nicky had. 

Nicky looked mostly like Shane, but that was in his eyes, sans their hazel color, his nose, his freckles, and the ridge of his forehead. His cheeks, jawbone, and smile belonged distinctly to his other father. 

The sunglasses to obscure Nicky’s facial features were just a cover, though. No one even suspected that Shane was Nicky’s biological father, and even if they did suspect that Shane had been knocked up when he’d been recovering from an upper body injury at the beginning of the 2017 season, there was not a single person in the hockey world who would think that Nicky’s other father was none other than Shane’s proclaimed biggest rival, Ilya Rozanov. 

* * * 

Dad and Nicky split their time between Ottawa and Montreal during the season. It was inconvenient for them but it meant that Shane got to see Nicky most days. Sometimes, Dad even brought Nicky to the rink. Only a handful of people on the team knew the truth: Shane’s coach, because Shane had to explain why he needed 6 months off, Hayden because of course he knew, an athletic trainer, and the team doctor. None of them knew that Rozanov was the father although Shane suspected Hayden knew and was just being polite by not bringing it up. After all, Nicky had hazel eyes and sandy hair and the only relationship Shane ever had was with someone named Lily from Boston. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. 

No one else in the hockey world was aware enough to suspect that Nicky was actually Shane’s, especially when Shane came back postpartum stronger than ever. He had taken two weeks off from training after birth, had gotten approval to start whatever training his body was comfortable with, and then at six weeks, he had put everything into coming back stronger, into erasing the softness that had settled since the pregnancy, into erasing the way his body had changed.

Hockey and parenting didn’t mix. Shane knew this from his teammates, his married, co-parenting teammates. Parenting and playing professional hockey when you had a partner was hard. Parenting without a partner wasn’t even a possibility.

Nicky needed more than Shane had been capable of giving so Shane had signed an Agreement Appointing Guardians of the Person of a Child and a slew of other documents that meant for all intents and purposes, Mom and Dad were also Nicky’s mom and dad but to Nicky, they were Halmi and Pepe. Shane was Daddy, even if it was a title he didn’t deserve.

Jackie babysat sometimes when Dad and Nicky were in Montreal to give Dad a break at the expense of adding another child to her pile of them. She swore that having five was no different than having four and she barely noticed. The Pike house was so chaotic that Shane did genuinely believe her when she said that. 

Jackie definitely knew that Rozanov was Nicky’s other father. Hayden didn’t have any secrets from his wife and Shane had been teased by Jackie about Lily from Boston until she’d abruptly stopped doing it when Shane had gotten extremely defensive about it. Jackie was the second person in the world to have guessed. 

Mom had guessed first, based on clues Shane had accidentally revealed while he was pregnant and the fact that Nicky had been born very very blonde. Shane never gave his parents the name of the father, and they never would’ve guessed that Shane was taking it in his cunt occasionally. Shane informing them he was pregnant had been a shock to their system.

And Nicky had been born with blonde hair and startlingly blue-green eyes to go along with his smattering of freckles and Mom had looked at Shane and she fucking knew. There had been no other option. She’d asked politely and Shane had shamefully spilled out the entire thing in a babble. Yes, his other father was Ilya Rozanov. Yes, it had been an ongoing relationship… of sorts. Yes he knew it was weird to be sleeping with his rival but in Shane’s defense Rozanov was the only one who got it. No, he didn’t want to tell Rozanov. And yes, Rozanov had been the one to break it off. 

Jackie had been much subtler in her guess. She’d asked, “is his other dad Lily from Boston?” Once Shane had confirmed she’d said: “Hayden mentioned that Lily comes up with Boston for most of your games.” She hadn’t pressed but it seemed pretty clear that she knew. 

Jackie was smiling when Shane arrived at her house to pick up Nicky. “We went to the rink,” she said. She didn’t even look that tired. 

“You took five kids to the rink?” Shane asked. He was impressed. 

“They love it,” Jackie’s easy grin widened. “Nicky’s getting good on a sled. You might have yourself a real hockey player soon.” Jackie beamed. 

“If he wants,” Shane was quick to respond.

“You sound like Hayden,” Jackie’s eye roll was playful. “All this, I don’t want to pressure the kids into hockey. Nicky likes being on the ice and he’s having fun. No one is making future career decisions. But it’s in his blood, Shane. Both sides of it, if I’m not mistaken.”

Shane’s cheeks heated at Jackie’s implication. He wouldn’t deny it because there was no point but Shane did say: “I think the Hollander blood is enough, but I want Nicky to know he can do anything.”

“And if that anything is hockey?” Jackie asked.

“I’m just saying-“ Shane began but then he heard the familiar rolling of wheels, not of a wheelchair, not today, which didn’t usually keep Nicky’s hips engaged enough to prevent atrophy of them but of a tricycle, which helped Nicky balance and still exercise his legs.  

“Daddy!” Nicky yelled.

“Nicky!” Shane yelled as his son rode toward him. Nicky patted Shane’s thigh hard when he arrived. Maybe the hockey player vibe was purely genetic.

“We got to skate today! It was fun!” Nicky yelled.

“Where’d you go?” Shane asked even though he knew. 

“To the ice with Auntie Jackie!” Nicky was beaming.

“Did you have fun?” Shane asked.

“So much fun! Can I go with you and Uncle Hayden?” Nicky asked. 

“Maybe,” Shane answered because he tried to limit the time he was publicly on the ice with Nicky. When they were there by themselves, it was fine, but if Nicky got Hayden involved, Press would want to film it and then it would be a thing. Shane was used to seeing his kid on a sled, but to the press, Nicky would be a novelty. People would dig into it more. And they’d turn it into a tragic shock story about the poor disabled Hollander on a sled even though Nicky had control at 4 that some pro sled hockey players might envy. It was instinctual, like he had been born to be on the ice.

Nicky loved the ice and Shane wanted to protect that for as long as possible. It helped that sled hockey had fewer parents who were jockeying for their kid to be the next professional hockey and putting them in 20 hours of practice a week just because they showed promise at 4. Most parents of kids who played sled hockey were just happy there was a way for their disabled kid to be involved in a sport.

(One of the other things Shane loved about sled hockey was that when Nicky was old enough to play, there would be girls on his team. Part of Shane’s investment into sled hockey had been getting girls into sleds and women onto local sled hockey teams and Team Canada. Team Canada had set records in recent years, and Lacey Elroy had played a record 19 minutes in the gold medal match in 2022 and she had shined.

Shane, a few months ago, had visited a practice for her team and had played against her in a quick pick up game. Lacey had dominated, per usual, and then she had kissed her wife after the game and Shane had felt a little pang of envy. She could be out and gay and a postpartum parent with a gay little family.

Lacey knew Nicky was Shane’s because Shane hadn’t been able to disguise his curiosity at the lives of disabled adults as anything other than parental concern for Nicky’s future. Lacey had done Shane the dignity of not guessing but rather just quietly assuming that Shane was Nicky’s dad and being totally correct in her assumption. 

Lacey hadn’t asked questions because she was cool and gay and knew what being a trans parent was like, or at least her wife did. The comments on the internet would forever ask who was her donor and she’d never explain that her wife was also her kid’s biological parent.

Still, Lacey was easily Nicky’s favorite Team Canada player. He couldn’t read just yet but he knew which jersey was Elroy’s.

Shane had gotten away with Nicky in the box at a sled hockey game if he made sure that there was limited press or he declined interviews. WMost of the time they didn’t follow sled hockey if Shane didn’t post. Those had been the best games. He had loved getting to go with Nicky and he had fallen in love with hockey in a way he hadn’t in years.)

“Let’s go home!” Nicky yelled. He really did not have a volume button. It was either quiet or yelling. “And we can play outside!” 

Shane was exhausted, but he was excited to play. Nicky was Shane’s entire fucking world. It was a shame the world didn’t know it.

* * * 

Ilya had only gone in because the rink was open for players, families, and invited guests to skate. Ilya was bored, and their contract did mandate at least an attempt at resting, so open skate was probably the only time he’d get any ice time. Most of the guys actually took their rest period pretty seriously, and Ilya would be more supportive of the breaks if his team didn’t consistently have one of the worst records in the NHL. 

Ilya had no idea why he’d requested a trade to Ottawa. He told himself it had nothing to do with a certain Montreal player whose heart he was pretty sure had broken five years ago. He told himself that he’d just wanted a change. He told himself it’d be easier to get Canadian citizenship than American citizenship given the U.S.’s current situation with Russia. He told himself it had nothing to do with making a mistake in the aftermath of his father’s death that led to the end of a relationship with the love of his life. 

He told the press it was because he was looking for a change and liked a challenge. 

Either way, Ilya had the entire off season to not think about the decision to move to Ottawa.  He had the entire season to practice to get his team to a place where the playoffs were a possibility. 

That started with keeping himself warm and not breaking contract by skating recklessly. 

Ilya didn’t know the Ottawa team very well despite spending the back half of the last season with them and being awarded the C on his chest this season. They were all either intimidated by him, a little starstruck or all together skeptical of why one of the best ranked hockey players in the NHL chose a team that hadn’t been to the playoffs since before Google was invented to be traded to. 

Since it was still the peak of family time and there were several toddlers on the ice, Ilya decided to sit on the bleachers and watch. Even if Ilya wasn’t planning on speeding around the rink, he had a hard time watching out for little ones in the rink. It was not his fault he was triple the size of most toddlers and that they ran in front of you at every opportunity.   

Ilya hadn’t been expecting the kid on the ice in a sled in a Team Canada jersey with the word Elroy and number 95 on the back. The child couldn’t have been older than 4, but they moved on the ice like they had been born on it. They must’ve been, if they were the kid of one of the players. They had on a kid’s Ottawa helmet, and they were playing with a kid that Ilya recognized as another Ottawa player’s kid. They looked like good friends so maybe this was an Ottawa kid Ilya hadn’t met before. 

Ilya watched for a while. He’d been curious about sled hockey. Ilya knew Hollander had recently gotten into the hockey on a sled for special people. (Ilya did not follow Shane Hollander’s charity decisions or his decisions at all, but who could’ve missed the fact that Hollander had famously skipped a press conference earlier in the year with no warning, incurring a generous fine, to watch Team Canada compete in the gold medal match in the Paralympics. When Shane was asked why he’d suddenly started supporting sled hockey, Hollander’s response had been simple: “Why wouldn’t I support Team Canada hockey?” He’d made no distinction from the sport he played and the other one for special people. Ilya had seen a few games, had watched the Gold Medal match with one of his Canadian teammates who had also been intrigued by Hollander’s absence at the press conference. It had been a good game. And even more surprising, in the Paralympics, they played with women. And more surprising than that, the women were good, better than some of the men, even.) 

Ilya wondered if this family knew about sled hockey because of Hollander or because they had a special child and wanted hockey for them.

Ilya sat in his skates for almost 15 minutes before the child on the sled skated to the exit. The child was grinning as a woman helped them out of the sled and then one of the players, Elkins, helped the woman carry the sled to the bleachers.  Ilya froze when he got a good look at the woman’s face. She was Hollander’s mother. 

Ilya tried to remember what he’d seen in the press, something about Hollander’s parents taking care of a cousin or something. But why was Hollander’s mom at a rink in Ottawa during family skate? Had someone invited her? Did she find it was safer to take the child, a boy, Ilya remembered, to free skate at the practice rink? Did the Ottawa coaches allow it because the child was special? Or, Ilya knew Elkins also had a special daughter so maybe they were here as Elkins’ special guest. 

Ilya couldn’t stop watching the two of them. Something about the boy was so familiar. Ilya was drawn to him. Ilya was surprised that the boy could walk a little but it looked difficult for him and he walked much like a toddler did despite being taller.  

Hollander’s mother took off the boy’s helmet.

Ilya was three rows away but he saw it instantly.

The child looked so much like Shane without a helmet that it knocked Ilya off balance. Same eyes, same eyebrows, same nose, same forehead ridge but there was also something so intimately familiar about the rest of the boy’s features that it knocked the breath from Ilya’s lungs. 

The math happened before Ilya’s conscious brain had time to catch up. 

Four years ago, Shane sneaking to his hotel room. Shane riding Ilya and doing that thing with… not important.

They hadn’t used a condom. Ilya’s team doctor had not so discreetly left pamphlets for PrEP in the training room enough times that Ilya had read one cover to cover and then put it back.

He had ordered it from an online company that delivered it in a discreet package from a random address a month before he and Shane had hooked up. They didn’t have any condoms because Ilya hadn’t been expecting a hookup since Shane was dating Rose at the time.  Ilya hadn’t thought they needed a condom or maybe they’d just been stupid because Ilya was so desperate to be inside of Shane.

Ilya knew how babies were made, yes. He knew where babies were made. And he’d been inside of Hollander so much that…

Ilya could not explain how he knew, just that he knew.

Ilya Rozanov was looking at his son.

Chapter End Notes

What’d yall think? Comments bring me immense joy and I love responding to them!

Edited and updated: 5/6/26

Chapter 2: cracks

Chapter Notes

Notes: A theme in this story is systemic ableism and that includes history ableism in Russia. Ilya holds some belief about disability that are outdated and harmful because he grew up in a Russia that wouldn’t even recognize that disability existed at the federal level until 1995. Human Right Watch has identified that as many as 1 in 3 disabled children in Russia are being raised in an institution. Other studies have found higher rates of solo woman parents when it comes to disabled kids and many of them have reported that they have experienced discrimination because they have a disabled child.

There are some amazing disability rights organization in Russia including one called Perspektiva that have done a lot of disability rights work to gain legal recognition and change perspectives in Russia.

Ilya was raised by a conservative father with less influence from his mother in a country where disabled children only started being allowed the right to go to school in 2013. Disability was probably not something discussed in his household, as evidenced by Ilya’s family ignoring his Dad’s Alzheimer’s. Yes he did move to the U.S. to play hockey but hockey players spend most of their time with other hockey players and that doesn’t usually lend itself to an environment of unlearning ableism.

It is important to note that Ilya’s perspective is not fixed and is evolving, even in this chapter. However, he does use some problematic language with regard to disabled people.

Content warnings: ableism, brief mention of Shane’s unhealthy relationship with food

Mom called Shane four times in a row. 

Shane had to step out of a fundraiser they were hosting in Montreal for the junior sledge hockey team to attend a tournament in Boston. The Montreal Sledgehammers had their own little rivalry with the Boston Blades, complete with their own set of star crossed thirteen year olds (Lovely Michel who played center for Sledgehammers and Hayes Tyler who was goalie for the Blades.) 

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked. Mom wouldn’t have called this much unless something was very wrong. Shane hoped it wasn’t that something was wrong with Nicky and he held his breath as he waited for his mom to explain. 

“So, Sammy,” that was what Mom called one of the defenders on the Centaurs, Elkins, who had a daughter with a rare genetic disorder who used a wheelchair “invited Nicky and I to come skate with them today.” His mom’s voice was shaking. 

“Is everything okay?” Shane asked. It probably wasn’t Nicky’s health, or mom would’ve led with that. 

“Nicky had fun,” Mom said quickly. “But I wasn't thinking about going to skate with the Centaurs. We’d done it so much before last summer and-“ 

No. No way. 

“It turns out Ilya Rozanov was there. He saw him, Shane.” Mom sounded resigned and Shane didn’t even have to ask if Rozanov knew. Shane knew that he knew. 

“I’m on my way,” Shane responded. Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Shane apologized to Lacey and noted he had to handle a family emergency and talk later. She looked concerned, and Shane told her that Nicky was fine, there was just something he needed to handle urgently in Ottawa. 

Shane wasn’t even sure how he got to his parent’s home. He must’ve done the speed limit or slightly above it because he hadn’t been pulled over, not that he would’ve noticed. 

Rozanov knew about Nicky and unlike the public and Shane’s teammates, it was obvious that Nicky was Rozanov’s, that Shane had no mysterious cousin that happened to have a baby that looked like Shane and Ilya. 

He got to his parent’s house, Nicky’s house, after 8pm, which meant Nicky was in bed. Shane checked on him anyway, watched the way his chest rose and fell. 

“Hockey always knocks him out, but he has fun,” Mom said. “It used to do that for you at that age.” 

“It still knocks me out,” Shane laughed. “I just fake energy until I can go to sleep.” It was the truth. Hockey was exhausting, but Shane didn’t have the luxury of a nap after a game. He had press and then usually hanging out with the team before Shane could slip away to bed. 

Mom smiled sadly. 

“Mom, I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Shane admitted. Because what the fuck had become his life in the last 4 hours? 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t think that-“ 

“It’s okay, Mom. You had no idea. It was a coincidence.” It was fucking horrible one but it wasn’t Mom’s fault and Shane couldn’t exactly expect to hide Nicky forever. 

“What are you going to do?” Mom asked. 

“Talk to him tonight,” Shane huffed. He needed to contain the fallout. “Call the lawyer in the morning.” 

“We can call the lawyer tonight,” Mom suggested. 

Shane shook his head. “They’ll give it an associate because they don’t realize how high profile. We’ll call in the morning. I’m going to figure out how to get in contact with Ilya.” 

Fuck. 

This had the capacity to blow up Shane’s entire life. It was definitely going to blow up Nicky’s. 

Fuck. 

* * *

“What is his name?” Rozanov asked. It was the first thing he’d said to Shane beyond “hello,” and asking if he wanted anything to drink.  

Ilya still had Shane’s number. Shane let it go to voicemail the first time and then answered it when Ilya called a second time. 

They were in Rozanov’s home in Ottawa. It was a two story mansion, and Ilya’s kitchen seemed nice, although it didn’t look like Ilya used it much. Shane had a glass of ice water in front of him. 

Shane couldn’t help the pang in his heart. Rozanov didn’t even know Nicky’s name because Shane had kept Nicky from him. “Nicholas,” Shane answered. “But we call him Nicky.” 

“Nicky,” Rozanov tried out the word. Despite everything, when Shane had finally picked a name for Nicky, Shane had picked a name that would sound natural on Ilya’s tongue. “Nicholas,” he tried that out too. 

“And his middle name is David, after my dad,” Shane added. “And then Hollander,” which probably wasn’t needed because what other last name would Nicky have? 

Rozanov nodded, then asked: “When was he born?” 

“September 17th, 2017,” Shane answered, wondering if Rozanov would put together the significance of Nicky’s birthday. 

Ilya did put it together. “First day of preseason 2017,” Rozanov said. “He must’ve wanted to watch.” 

“Must’ve,” Shane responded, the corners of his lips quirked in an almost smile. Nicky had also wanted to take his sweet time and Shane had been in labor just under 24 hours. Most of that had been unmedicated, and Shane’s mind hadn’t been on preseason at all. 

Rozanov was quiet again but Shane could see that Rozanov was thinking and thinking hard, like he did when he was trying to figure out how to ask or say something in English without it landing badly. 

“What is wrong with him?” Ilya finally asked. Ilya avoided Shane’s gaze, like on some level he knew asking about Nicky that way was wrong. 

The question froze Shane. He took a deep breath, immediately defensive of Nicky. Nicky was perfect. “Nothing is wrong with him,” Shane answered. 

Rozanov furrowed his brows, like he didn’t understand what Shane meant. “He is four but he walks like a baby. That is not…” he paused like he was looking for a less offensive word but ultimately couldn’t find it, “normal.” 

It hit like a pin to the boards. “He has a disability,” Shane said calmly. “Nothing is wrong with him. Rozanov-” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose. 

When they’d first become friends, one of the first things Lacey had invited Shane to was a documentary produced by a friend of hers about disabled people in Russia and the Paralympics. Shane had learned a lot. He’d read articles too, about what happened to disabled babies in Russia. He knew what usually happened, even today. Many kids were put in orphanages by their parents, many of them were abandoned by their fathers, many of them were raised by single mothers who said they felt ashamed of their children’s disabilities. 

“I’m sorry,” Rozanov must’ve sensed that Shane was upset at his language.  “I did not mean to be mean. I meant that he is…. Different. Special.” It was like Rozanov was remembering bits from media training or probably from the training they all got before meeting Make a Wish kids to not ask why the kids were disabled or in a wheelchair. 

“He has something called cerebral palsy. It mostly affects his legs but he’s some issues with his hands too.” Shane explained. “He can walk a little bit but he usually uses a wheelchair or tricycle to get around.” 

Shane watched Rozanov turn this concept over. Hopefully things weren’t lost in translation. They were both quiet, and Shane scrambled to think of a way for his brain to fill the silence. 

“He is good at skating with his sled,” Rozanov pointed out after a minute or so. 

He sounded proud, but Shane couldn’t help but hear: it makes him more normal. Maybe Shane was projecting or defensive and Rozanov was just pointing out one of the few things that he knew about his son. 

“Yes, he’s good at it,” Shane admitted because Nicky was a natural at sledge hockey. It was a shame that Canada, and the rest of the world, was lacking in U10 teams. The youngest Nicky could join was 5 or 6 and even then it was hard to find teams to play. Shane had been working on a project with Lacey that would hopefully get more eyes on sledge hockey overall and bolster youth enrollment in both the United States and Canada.  

Rozanov was quiet. 

“When did you find out you were pregnant ?” Rozanov finally asked. 

“Not until 3 months before I had him,” Shane answered. Finding out about Nicky had been terrifying. One moment, he was explaining his symptoms to the trainer, the text he was in the treatment room bathroom ready to throw up because he was pregnant, very fucking pregnant. “I was six months pregnant and didn’t know. We, uh, got a new athletic trainer and she was a woman and a mom and she pulled me aside and very gently asked if there was a possibility I could be pregnant.” 

“Is that why he is… special?” Rozanov had probably decided that special was less offensive than not normal. (It was not.) “Because you didn’t know?” 

Were this any other hockey player, Shane would’ve laid them out for calling his son special. But this was Ilya Rozanov, Nicky’s other father. So instead of getting angry, Shane’s heart fucking shattered. It took Shane a moment to compose himself which Rozanov correctly interpreted to mean he’d said something wrong.  

“Is that not what you say? That he’s… special?” Rozanov asked. 

“He’s disabled, Ilya,” Shane said plainly. “That’s what you say.” He didn’t miss Ilya’s flinch.  

“So what happened to make him…?” Rozanov trailed off. 

“He had a stroke when he was in me,” Shane said. “We didn’t know it until he was six months old and I noticed he wasn’t moving his legs like Amber did at his age, that’s Hayden Pike’s daughter. We took him to the pediatrician and they referred him to a specialist who found out that he had a stroke when I was pregnant. That’s what caused his cerebral palsy. It was totally random.” 

And not because I played a Stanley Cup Final with him inside me, Shane mentally added but did not say. 

“Does he have pain?” Rozanov asked. 

“Sometimes,” Shane answered. “But, he got stem cell therapy which really helped him with pain and being able to control his legs and feet more.” 

“That is very good,” Rozanov said. “And his brain is normal?” 

Shane winced; he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like people saying Nicky wasn’t normal. 

“Sorry,” Rozanov avoided Shane’s eyes and opened and closed his mouth slowly like he was a fish. 

Shane gave Ilya a bone. “Nicky doesn’t have a, they call it an intellectual disability, when someone is developmentally delayed and it impacts the way they think and learn.” He sounded like Lacey, exactly like her, and her (actually because she was a professor) textbook explanation of intellectual disability. “He doesn’t have one.” 

“So he can still have a good life then?” Rozanov asked. 

Shane didn’t mean for his sigh to come out more like a huff and Shane leaned back slightly in the rigid chair in Rozanov’s kitchen. Rozanov was trying. He really was but holy shit. 

“I’m sorry,” Rozanov looked frustrated and Shane’s chest felt tight and hot.  “I just want him to have a good life.” 

“He does have a good life,” Shane responded, trying to keep his voice level. It only wavered slightly. “And he would have one regardless of his disability. He’s very happy. He likes playing hockey and watching team Canada and convincing my dad to give him unlimited ice cream.” 

“You must hate that-“ Rozanov interjected with a quick upturn of the corners of his lips. 

Shane preferred that Dad gave Nicky a little less ice cream, but in the grand scheme of things, Nicky could use the calories and Shane was working with his therapist on his issues with food. 

“He has a good life, Ilya, even though he’s disabled.” Shane hated the use of even though, but he knew that now was not the time to nitpick language, not when Ilya was already struggling to adjust to the fact that Nicky was disabled.  

Rozanov scowled and it reminded Shane of Nicky the rare few times Shane was able to say no to Nicky. “How do I know, Shane?” Ilya demanded. There was a hard edge to his voice, one that made Shane sink a little lower in his chair. You did not tell me for me to even know he existed, nevermind if he is happy.” 

Shane breathed slowly and deeply again. One. Two. Three. Four. “You told me you did not want to talk anymore.”

“To you, Shane. Not to my son I don’t know about.” Ilya’s voice was rising and his eyebrows were getting furrowed. Shane had seen Ilya like this a few times, usually after a ref made a bad call or after he took a particularly bad hit. “You lied to me,” Rozanov growled. “You lied. I have a son and you did not tell me. You lied to me for 4 years. For five years. I have a son-“

Shane took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. Four. 

“You stopped talking to me,” Shane seethed because he was not over it. He wasn’t over seven years of their life being ended with a text message that Ilya needed to focus on fucking hockey. Ilya did not love hockey. It was fun for him, sure, but it wasn’t like it was for Shane. Of all the excuses, Ilya told Shane he was going to focus on hockey.  “Your dad died and you shut down. You told me it was over that we needed to stop talking so you could focus on hockey. You wouldn’t respond to me. I reached out to talk and you wouldn’t respond.”

“I did not know you were pregnant. I would’ve responded if I knew. I would’ve figured it out,” Rozanov responded. “I would’ve moved sooner.” 

“So we could do what? Trade him back and forth the three months of the year we don’t have work?” Shane couldn’t keep the venom from his voice. 

Rozanov looked like he wanted to make a comment about playoffs before he remembered the subject at hand and how serious it was. “I don’t know. We would have figured it out!” 

“No we wouldn’t have.” Parenting and hockey were not realistic, not if both of you played. Sometimes not even if only one of you played.  “He lives with my parents for a reason. My dad spends parts of the season in Montreal so I can see Nicky when I’m home. I don’t even have custody of him because it’s logistically impossible and also, I think press would notice if we were sharing a fucking child.” Shane laid out exactly what “parenting” was for him. It was not being there for their kid. It was the fact that he chose hockey over Nicky even if he adored Nicky because he’d wanted to be selfish and his parents told him it was okay. 

Shane hated how much hockey took him away from Nicky and yet it was something he couldn’t bring himself to give up yet. 

“We could have figured it out,” Rozanov repeated. 

Rozanov kept saying that, like the fact that Shane had had a fucking baby wouldn’t be career suicide for Shane. Sure, Rozanov might’ve been able to weather the storm; Shane would’ve been forced into retirement. 

“There was no figuring it out, and it wasn’t like we were in a relationship. It was a situationship at best.” That was the truth. They fucked a few times a year. Shane had let Ilya creampie him. It wasn’t… it was nothing. 

Rozanov looked pained. It was the fucking truth. They were barely a situationship. It didn’t matter that Shane had been in love with Ilya and Rozanov had destroyed Shane’s heart with a text message. 

“He is my son,” Rozanov stated. His voice was level again and Shane felt a little more comfortable sitting up, but he didn’t really move. 

“Because we didn’t use a condom and you creampied me when we were secretly screwing each other in a hotel room,” Shane bit out. 

It hurt, reducing Ilya’s role in Nicky’s existence to an orgasm, like Shane didn’t see bits of Ilya in his son whenever he looked at Nicky, like Shane’s heart hadn’t broken daily for months on end because of how much Nicky was like Ilya sometimes. 

“You had no right! Still, even if we were not together.” Rozanov wouldn’t budge on this. 

Shane didn’t feel like he could say anything without something else coming out. 

Rozanov’s next question was quieter: “Can I meet him?” 

Shane’s response was instant and instinctual: “No.” There was no way Shane was going to let that happen. 

“He is my son,” Rozanov said. 

“I know,” Shane said calmly. He was aware. He was aware every fucking day, every fucking time he stepped on the ice, every time he saw Ilya anywhere and he was everywhere in Canada now. Every time he saw Nicky smile or laugh or when his parents sent him another video of a milestone he witnessed in a hotel room like most of his teammates did. Part of Shane did want Ilya to know Nicky because Nicky was the best part of Shane’s life. 

But the other part of him knew that Nicky was vulnerable and that he was at an age where he was soaking everything up. He was starting to realize the looks he got from people, sometimes children but usually adults were not always kind. He would pick up on the fact that Ilya’s beliefs on disability weren’t up to date. 

“You cannot keep him from me, Hollander!” Rozanov sounded angrier than he had been at any point in the conversation. He was leaning forward again, his eyes blazed, and he was almost spitting. 

“Yes I can, Rozanov.” It took a lot of calm on Shane’s part to keep his voice even. “I don’t even know if you’re ready to be around him yet. You won’t even call him disabled.” 

Rozanov flinched again, bolstering Shane’s point. 

“He’s… it is different in Russia. They put special- disabled,“ Rozanov looked like using the word hurt. His features were screwed tight and Shane couldn’t see beyond that, “children in institutions.” 

“Orphanages?” Shane asked. Because Lacey had been adopted from Russia after she’d been abandoned when she was six weeks old. 

Rozanov nodded. “Orphanages. They did not let the kids go to school. My dad told me, ‘stay away from there because the kids, they have curses.’” 

Holy shit. Shane winced because fucking fuck. Cursed? Did Ilya think that Nicky had been cursed? Did he think it was Shane’s fault? 

“I know it’s not a curse now,” ilya clarified, probably because of the look Shane knew was on his face. “I know it’s… he is my son. I love him no matter what.” 

I love him no matter what. Already, Ilya had decided he loved their child without even knowing him. 

Shane forced himself to make eye contact with Ilya even though Shane found eye contact to be excruciating. (Lacey was going to make Shane take the RAADS-R again and probably call him out for lying this time.) Ilya looked to be on the verge of tears and all of a sudden Shane felt like he was a rookie staring into a face off. Except, he wasn’t a rookie and the stakes were bigger than hockey. There were so many reasons to shut this door and slam it shut, talk to his family lawyer about how to prevent Ilya from getting so much as visitation, stop taking Nicky to close games and letting him skate at the Ottawa rink, and ignore every thought of Ilya Rozanov for the rest of his life, or at least until Nicky grew up and had questions. 

Nicky. 

One of those questions might be: If my other father knew, and he wanted to know me, why didn’t you let him? And Shane didn’t think the fact that it was inconvenient or that Ilya still harbored some negative views about disability would make for a good explanation. The former because Shane could handle inconvenience if it gave Nicky more people to love him and the latter because that view, while awful, was something that could be fixed. If Ilya loved Nicky and wanted to know him, he had to try. 

“You can meet him,” Shane said, not dropping eye contact. “But not now and not soon. I need time to think about things and you need to…” 

“Learn more about… disabled people.” 

“Yes, a lot more, and, I-“ Where did Shane even tell Ilya to start? He had gotten absurdly lucky when Nicky was first diagnosed. A week after the diagnosis, Lacey Elroy, a sledge hockey player for Team Canada, had cold emailed Shane, well technically Shane’s agent, and asked if he could donate a signed jersey for a fundraiser for sledge hockey. 

Farah had asked if Shane could sign a jersey to donate (it was free brownie points with the media and not at all time consuming and something Shane was happy to do) to a fundraiser for a U18 team for disabled people. Instead of signing a jersey, Shane showed up. Mom, Dad, and Nicky came too, and back then Nicky usually wore baby sunglasses and a bucket hat. They’d just debuted the cousin story to the press and it had taken off or rather not taken off. There had been a handful of articles where the comments mostly said variations of: who cares? and the occasional person saying how hard it must be to take care of a baby in your 50s. No one questioned it. 

The event had been small, mostly the sledge hockey players that lived in Montreal, who were playing an exhibition match, their parents, Lacey, her wife, and their daughter, and a handful of community members who supported the team. 

They’d all been shocked that Shane showed up, Lacey most of all. 

She’d immediately gotten Shane onto a sledge and Shane had fallen in love with hockey in a totally different way. He’d also made a friend in Lacey and had learned about disability once he started following the Paralympics. Sports would probably be Ilya’s entrance to understanding disability too. 

“Earth to Hollander,” Rozanov said slowly. 

Holy shit. How long had Shane been thinking? 

“I can learn about disabled people,” Ilya said sincerely. 

Ilya was getting better already. He hadn’t paused that time. 

“I need time to think. Ilya, please.” Shane needed some time to think and to process and to figure out how all of this was going to impact Nicky. 

Ilya looked surprised by the use of his first name but Shane was surprising himself by the way his name was constantly flickering between Rozanov and Ilya in Shane’s head. 

“Okay. I give you time. And I learn and read books about disabled people and about… Kingston’s wife made him read a book on plane about the child with a whole brain.” 

It took Shane a second to get what book Ilya was referencing. “The Whole Brain Child?” He laughed. “That’s a good book.” 

Hayden recommended it (because Jackie made Hayden read it). 

“I will read it and I will wait for you to let me meet him,” Ilya said. 

“I have to go. I need to-“ he wasn’t going home. Lacey was probably up. He really hoped she was up. 

“Okay,” Ilya said, looking down at the table. “I have a new number since I moved.” Ilya gave Shane his phone number. 

Shane could barely breathe as he texted Ilya for the first time in four years. 

Shane Hollander

It’s Shane Hollander. 

* * * 

Ilya poured himself a drink after Shane left. It was vodka, the kind that one of the other Eastern European guys on the Centaurs had given to him as a welcome present. Not as good as Russian, but good nonetheless. 

Ilya drank it too quickly and he knew he was going to get very very drunk. After the news Ilya had received today, Ilya deserved it. 

He sent a text to one of the players he was supposed to meet with for a run in the morning. He thought about lying but figured there was no reason to. They weren’t on season.  

Ilya Rozanov 

Can’t make it to our workout tomorrow. Will be very hungover. 

His teammate texted back thirty seconds later: 

Braxton Lambert 

Dude, same. Tuesday? 

Ilya wasn’t even sure he’d been functional on Tuesday, once all of this fully sunk in. He had a fucking son. Ilya had a fucking son. 

Maybe a run in a few days would do Ilya some good, give him a place to let out his energy before he exploded. 

Ilya Rozanov

Sure 

Then Ilya turned off his phone. 

Fuck. 

Fucking Hollander. 

Well, that was what had gotten Ilya into this situation. That, and a lack of condoms even though Ilya usually didn’t travel without them. He’d just been so eager when Shane had showed up at his hotel room and told Ilya that he’d broken up with Rose Landry. 

Fuck. 

Ilya had a son and he had no idea what to do with that fact. 

Ilya had a son and his son was… disabled. If Ilya were in Russia, he knew the language used would be less kind. There was something wrong with Ilya’s son. He couldn’t walk. Shane had said that Nicky had had a stroke before he was born. 

He kept replaying the look on Shane’s face when he’d said his Dad taught him that the kids that lived in the orphanages were there because they were cursed. Or how upset he looked when Ilya wouldn’t say that Nicky was disabled.

Nicky. Nicholas, Ilya liked his name. It was a good name, a strong name for a strong boy. Ilya did not know much about strokes and he didn’t know that babies could have them, but it seemed like Nicky was strong. He must’ve been a fighter. 

Ilya was terrified that his son wouldn’t have a good life, that he would be in pain and that no one would want to know or love Nicky. Ilya remembered that growing up during the summer when he would train during the summer and pass by the orphanage he never saw the kids outside. 

It was surprising, when he moved to Boston and saw so many people with disabilities. He remembered when they’d played in Washington and there was a night for fans who were hearing impaired. One of the other players on the team had a hearing impaired mom and knew how to use sign language. He signed to a few of the fans who wanted their jersey signed. 

Ilya learned that they had a university that was only for hearing impaired people in Washington DC and they had arranged the meet and greet. Ilya was pretty sure the schools for disabled people in Russia were not like that. They did not take the kids out much. 

It was different in North America and in some parts of Europe for disabled people. It was still hard to get used to the word, the way that Shane said it, like it wasn’t a bad thing. 

I want him to have a good life. Ilya hadn’t meant to hurt Shane when he said that but Shane looked heartbroken. Like Ilya had said something wrong, and maybe it had been wrong, but how was Ilya supposed to know that his son could have a good life? That he was having a good life? 

Shane said that Ilya couldn’t meet Nicky because he said harmful things. Ilya wasn’t trying to. He just did not know about disabled people. Ilya had no idea how to be a father and definitely no idea how to be one to a child like Nicky. 

Ilya was terrified but he wanted to meet his little boy. He wanted to know him. He wanted to be in his life. He wanted to be a good father. 

But what the hell did Ilya know about being anyone’s father? Ilya’s only example was his own dad, who was cruel and who made Ilya feel terrified most of his childhood. Some of his teammates were fathers and some of them were good at that the few weeks out of the year they were actually home. But Ilya rarely talked to them. He was rarely around kids. 

He’d wanted them, but the only time he’d ever let himself imagine having them was when he thought about family, about adoption, with Shane when they hadn’t even been a couple. That’s what Shane had said, that they had sex a few times a year but that didn’t make him Nicky’s dad. But technically it did. 

Ilya was a father. 

“Fuck,” he yelled. He threw his glass at the nearest wall. It shattered. 

Fuck. That glass was a gift he’d gotten from someone’s wife at a Christmas party.  It had Ilya’s initials engraved on it and probably cost more than Ilya would’ve paid for a fucking glass. 

“Fuck,” Ilya groaned. He’d have to clean it up before the cleaner came in the morning. 

Ilya wondered if he should call someone. But who? Who could be trusted with this monumental secret? It wasn’t like he could tell the teammates he was barely friends with. 

He never talked to his brother anymore. 

Ilya wanted his mom. 

She would know what to do and if she didn’t she would tell him it would be okay and they would figure it out and she would give him a smile, one that told him it would be okay. 

But she was dead and Ilya was… Ilya was a father. 

And he’d already fucked up so badly Shane didn’t even want Ilya to meet his son. But he would. Not soon. Ilya had to learn first. 

He had to learn more about disability, about what life would be life for Nicky. Ilya had to figure out how to be a father, a good one, not like his father. He was going to be better. 

Ilya touched the cross on his neck, tracing the curves of it to sooth himself. 

“Mama,” he said quietly. “I need your help.” 

* * * 

Lacey Elroy took one look when she opened the door to her house at Shane and asked: “Is it a ginger ale night or would you like something stronger?” 

“Vodka,” Shane answered because Lacey always had vodka. Lacey actually always had a well stocked liquor cabinet. 

“That bad?” Lacey asked. They headed to the kitchen, which had been fully fitted for Lacey’s wheelchair. Lacey opened her liquor freezer and grabbed the bottle of vodka. “Can you handle it straight  or do you need me to make it fruity for you?” 

“Both?” Shane asked. 

“Oh shit, Hollander,” she grabbed two shot glasses, poured two shots and then said: “Take one and explain.” 

Shane took the shot, which was warm and freezing at the same time. It was really fucking good and barely tasted like much of anything. 

Lacey took her time mixing Shane another strong drink. He’d probably have to crash on Lacey’s couch at this rate. He never drank and his tolerance had been destroyed years ago, and Lacey didn’t even believe in letting people drive tipsy. 

“So, what happened?” Lacey asked. 

“Nicky’s other dad found out about him,” Shane said calmly. 

Lacey blinked fast. “What? How?” 

It occurred to Shane that Lacey genuinely had no idea who Nicky’s other father was. For all Lacey knew, he was a stranger from a club. Lacey knew Shane was a dad but Shane had never had any reason to give her details beyond that. 

“Lacey, you can’t tell anyone-“ Shane opened. 

“I’d never. I love Nicky too much to tell anyone anything about this.” 

Shane believed that. Lacey adored Nicky, and Nicky adored her right back. 

“Lacey, look, this isn’t just any secret. This is.. the secret,” Shane explained, because he couldn’t stress enough how much the league and the general public couldn’t find out. “He’s another player so it’s really a big deal that you don’t tell anyone, not even Anna.” 

“I’m not going to tell anyone. My lips are sealed,” Lacey jokingly zipped her lips. “Even from my wife.” 

“Promise?” Shane knew she would never but he was absolutely terrified of how catastrophic this secret was. “Please, promise. Pinky promise.” 

Lacey held out her pinky. Shane took it. They promised. 

“Now why’d you pinky swear me to secrecy?” Lacey asked. “What, is Nicky’s other dad Ilya Rozanov or something?” She was smiling when she said it because she was clearly joking. 

Shane choked on his drink. It was just a guess but holy fuck. 

“Holy shit!” Lacey reacted. “I was just guessing. I don’t follow stand up hockey so I just gave the one name I knew was a player- holy shit!” 

“Shhh!” Shane shushed his friend. 

“Okay, do you need another shot? You can sleep on my couch,” Lacey offered. (Lacey helped with the wheelchair rugby clinic where an alarming number of adult players with tetraplegia had a story involving an intoxicated driver.)

Lacey was a good friend. 

She looked shocked. “Sorry, your son’s other father is your biggest rival?” Lacey asked. “How did he find out?” 

“You know Sammy Elkins?” Shane asked.

Lacey stared at Shane. Of course she knew Elkins. They both did; they were currently working on a project with him. 

 “He invited my mom to skate with them so Nicky could get ice time,” Shane continued. “Ilya ran into my mom and Nicky and he put the dots together.” 

“I thought he played for Boston,” Lacey sounded confused. 

“He was traded earlier this year,” Shane breathed. 

“That’s an unfortunate coincidence,” Lacey responded. 

“It really is.” Shane still couldn’t believe it. 

“Was he mad?” Lacey asked. 

“In all of our rivalry I don’t ever think I’ve seen so angry with me. He’s furious I didn’t tell him. But it’s not like we were together.” Shane was suddenly defensive of his choices. Shane knew it was fucked up he hadn’t told Ilya, but Shane had tried reaching out. He just hadn’t told Ilya that he was pregnant. 

Lacey’s eyes narrowed. 

“We were barely a situationship, just, letting off steam,” Shane waved a hand dismissively and hoped that the lie didn’t show on his face. 

“Sounds like you were letting off a little more than steam,” Lacey joked. 

Shane poked her across the counter and laughed. 

“I wasn’t going to tell someone I fucked a few times a year that I was pregnant,” Shane said. Except Shane had reached out. He might’ve told Ilya if Ilya had responded to Shane asking if they could talk. “And it’s not like I’m raising Nicky or that Ilya could actually have the time to be a dad. And honestly… I didn’t even want them to meet at this point. Ilya… he kept asking what was wrong with him.” 

Lacey got very quiet and thought for a moment. 

“He’s Russian, right?” Lacey asked. “Grew up in Russia, I mean?” 

Shane nodded. “Wow you were not kidding when you said you do not follow stand up hockey.” 

Lacey smiled. “I don’t have the time. But if he grew up in Russia would’ve grown up with a different view of disabled people. It’s very different in Russia than it is here. I’ve talked to some of the Paralympians from Russia and Belarus and Ukraine and it’s hard. I mean, I’ve been back to Russia a few times and even getting around is almost impossible. It is so much harder when you live there.” 

“I know. I just… Lacey. You didn’t hear him. He…” Shane didn’t even want to repeat it and then something occurred to Shane. “I’m sorry. I know how annoyed I feel when one of my teammates tells me about their grandpa saying something racist about Asians. I’m sorry, I should…” 

“You’re not just dumping this on me with no solution. You’re asking a friend for advice. That’s different. So… what did he say?” Lacey was so sincere about it that Shane could breathe a little easier. Lacey had a point. This was a little different than someone’s grandpa making a random prejudiced statement about Asians. 

“That Nicky isn’t normal,” Shan said.

Lacey sucked in breath. 

“It gets worse.” Although it didn’t feel like it could get worse than that is not normal. 

“Oh, Shane,” Lacey said softly. Her lips turned down and she adjusted her gaze so that they were no longer making any contact with each other’s faces. 

“He said he grew up hearing that they were cursed. I know that it’s different and it’s harder for disabled people there and Canada isn’t perfect but-“ Shane couldn’t help his voice from breaking. The alcohol had loosened up some of Shane’s emotions but Shane still felt tense and wound up, like someone was suppressing coils inside of Shane and at any given moment, he would spring apart. 

“He grew up with some pretty awful beliefs about disabled people.” Lacey finished.

Shane felt bad that he was dumping it on Lacey specially, given the whole adopted from Russia because she’d been placed in an orphanage for being disabled. 

“I don’t really remember what it was like before I left,” Lacey said. “ I just remember the ladies at the orphanage saying I was very lucky that a mom in Canada wanted me and I was going to live in Canada. That it was good that she loved me even though I was…” Lacey trailed off. “It wasn’t a very nice term. I can’t really remember the English translation. My mom would know.” 

Lacey’s mom was a Russian history professor at the University of British Columbia. UBC’s adaptive sports program was how Lacey was playing sledge hockey in national tournaments at 16. She was sort of a wonder in the sledge hockey world both for being a woman and being as talented as she was. 

“I know that growing up in Russia and then moving to Boston and playing hockey wasn’t exactly conducive to learning what ableism is and I had to learn a lot myself when Nicky got diagnosed.” Shane admitted. He’d been terrified when Nicky had been diagnosed. He didn’t know what Nicky’s life would look like. 

“You were not great at first.” Lacey poked him again. 

“I wasn’t but… he asked me if Nicky’s brain was normal and when I said he didn’t have an intellectual disability, Ilya said that it was good because then he could have a good life.” 

Lacey winced. 

“I just, I imagined him saying any of that to Nicky and I-“ Shane had imagined it on the drive over and then had to pull over because it was blurring to see and he was crying too hard. 

“That’s really tough, Shane,” Lacey said sympathetically.  

“I’m going to let them meet, eventually. But Ilya needs to figure some things out. Where does he even start?” It was a rhetorical question. He wasn’t actually expecting Lacey to find a solution. 

“Same place you did. Sports.” 

“Yeah but I’m not going to bring him to a sledge hockey practice or anywhere else just to teach a lesson.” That definitely was out of the question. Ilya had a lot to learn about disabled people before Shane took him to an event where he was going to meet a lot of different types of disabled people. 

“I’ll call my mom and see if she has any books. I won’t mention why.  I can just say one of my friends from sledge hockey was adopted from Russia and wants to start reading about disability in Russia.” 

“Thank you,” Shane smiled in spite of himself. Lacey was a good friend. 

“Hey, we got you and Nicky. Whatever you need.” Lacey smiled. 

“Thank you.” 

“You know, this does explain why Nicky is already a good hockey player. Double dose of elite hockey player. You can never get signed to a U.S. team. If we lose him to Team USA we’d never beat ‘em.” Lacey smirked. 

“Never,” Shane swore. “And we don’t even know if he wants to go that far with hockey. He might just do it for fun.” 

“I feel like you’ve never seen him in a game with Mila. He loves to compete. But, yeah, early sports specialization is a killer. You know, with his hands he’d be eligible for wheelchair rugby. He’s a little young but we are putting on a clinic in a few weeks.” 

“I might have my mom bring him. Or the nanny before she heads off for the World Cup circuit.” Nicky’s nanny, Bella, was a godsend. She had cerebral palsy like Nicky and had a trike similar to Nicky’s. She also wasn’t a Hollander and that meant that people would think Nicky having the last name Hollander was just a coincidence. Not many people knew what Shane’s Mom looked like but most people knew Shane was Asian-Canadian and seeing an Asian woman with the last name Hollander would at least prompt a google. Bella would love to step in, especially for a disability sports camp. She was a  Paralympian herself in the wheelchair division of paratriathlon. She was constantly telling Shane that if he wanted to expand Nicky’s Paralympic knowledge Shane should introduce him to the art of being mediocre at 3 sports. 

“He’ll have fun.” 

“Speaking of Nicky, I’m going to crash on your couch. My mom and I are taking Nicky hiking in the morning and I’m carrying him.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you drive anyway,” Lacey said. “So let me get you some stuff for the guest room.”

Shane couldn’t sleep once Lacey left him alone in the guest room. He was a little drunk, not wasted, but definitely drunk enough that he shouldn’t drive. 

And he was so scared. He was about to blow up Nicky’s whole life. He was about to let the man who had shattered his heart back into his life. Nothing was going to be the same. 

And Shane was terrified. 

Chapter End Notes

Y'all I swear this has a happy ending. He just has a lot to unpack.

Chapter edited and updated 5/6/26

Chapter 3: fissures

Chapter Notes

Alright, we're back with another chapter. This one has a flashback, our boys processing, and some pain. Plus a cameo from our favorite 4 year old and another beloved 5 year old!

Content warnings: continued mention of disordered eating, continued discussion of ableism, mention of use of the r slur. Shane uses the t slur in reference to himself (as in imagining the league’s transphobia)

July 2017

The first thing Lynn Pomelo noticed about Shane Hollander was not the fact that he was meticulous about conditioning or that he was in the athletic trainer’s office every day to ask about injury prevention and protocol, it was the fact that he was weird about food. Not in the orthorexic or anorexic sense, (though later she’d refer him to a sports psychologist and nutritionist for this very reason), but because well, he kept insisting things smelled off to him and everyone else would say it was fine. 

The first day it was Shane asking Hayden Pike if his protein bar tasted off. Hayden Pike took a bite of it and said: “Is it supposed to taste like chocolate cardboard?” 

Shane had said, “Well, yes. It tastes rotten to me or something.” And Hayden had replied, “Then it tastes normal.” 

The next day it was an almond milk protein shake from Whole Foods. Shane asked Boiziau if anything smelled off about it. 

“I don’t think almost milk goes bad,” JJ said. 

“It’s almond milk,” Shane corrected. 

“Same thing,” JJ laughed. 

Shane offered Lynn the bottle. She sniffed it. It smelled disgusting, like sea moss or something was in it. She checked the ingredients and sure enough it was there. Beyond the sea moss, nothing about the drink smelled off. 

“Maybe it’s just your nose,” Lynn suggested. “Sea moss can take some getting used to.” 

“Maybe,” Shane said, but he didn’t look all that convinced. 

The next thing Lynn noticed was that Shane Hollander was very down to earth. The media portrayed him as boring, especially compared to the rival he’d entered the league with, but he was shockingly hilarious and he was kind. When Lynn mentioned, on her second day of work, that she was looking forward to attending a new piano class for her daughter, Shane made a point to ask how it was the next day (Lynn really liked the teacher and he was Black, which was a plus since they Lynn and her family hadn’t gotten very connected to the Black community since moving to Montreal a few months prior). He was friendly with the guys and often accompanied his friends to the athletic trainer after practice. 

Beyond the weird wincing at food and asking others to check, there were other little ticks. 

On Lynn’s seventh day with the Metros, Shane Hollander asked for tips on managing his breathing during outdoor exercise. He’d been having trouble breathing lately. More specifically, he said it felt like something was compressing his lungs from the inside.”

Lynn, who was starting to feel tinglings of a story she’d heard before, decided to press gently. 

“When did the trouble start?” She asked. 

“I don’t know, a month ago.” Shane shrugged. “It feels hard to draw a full breath. And my VO2 Max is weird.” 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“It’s been dipping lately, even when I wasn’t out of breath. And now it’s lower when I exercise than I’ve ever seen it,” Shane looked down at his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I'm not sick or anything. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Lynn was starting to think Shane wasn’t doing anything wrong but like any good athletic trainer, she had to go through differential diagnoses. 

“Anything else you’re noticing? Nausea? Heat exhaustion?” Lynn pressed. 

“I get queasy with certain foods, like when Hayden eats poutine, but you know, all that grease and cheese and gravy smell.” Shane gagged. “I don’t know how he eats that stuff. It’s so bad for you! I mean, the cholesterol alone…” He made a face. “I keep telling him that it can cause him to have a heart attack.” 

Lynn mentally put one point in the orthorexia category and made a mental note to write a note to herself about a suspected eating disorder. But the nausea wasn’t a symptom of orthorexia. 

“Anything else you’ve noticed lately? Are you feeling more tired? Not just from heat exhaustion. Any pain or anything?” 

“I’ve been feeling a little more tired than usual but that always happens during the off season. I have little pain ,” Shane added. 

“Where at?” Lynn asked. “And how does it feel?” 

“It’s like a jabbing pain when I stand up too fast or shift too hard. Right here,” he pointed at the spot directly above his groin. 

Oh shit. 

“Anything else you’ve noticed that’s been weird or off lately?” Lynn asked. 

Shane was starting to look nervous, like Lynn was going to suggest he had cancer. Lynn wasn’t sure that the athlete in front of her would like the alternative more. 

“My ankles have been swelling a little bit,” Shane said. “Nothing major, but my skates feel weird sometimes, just a little bit too tight.” 

Once upon a time, in one of Lynn’s athletic training classes, one of her classmates had said that women weren’t necessary in athletic training because they couldn’t lift athletes (newsflash, no one could lift a 300lb linebacker solo) and they didn’t actually bring anything to the table to make up for that fact. Well, Lynn did bring something to the table, on account of having been pregnant twice. 

She took a deep, steadying breath and then tried to proceed tactfully. “Shane, why don’t we talk in my office?” 

Office was an overstatement for the tiny slightly larger than a closet space that belonged to Lynn. 

Panic crossed Shane’s face. “Is there something wrong?” He asked. 

“Let’s talk,” Lynn said as she gestured Shane to her little closet. He sat across from her in the only piece of furniture that fit with her desk, a cozy saucer chair. 

“Shane, I want to start this by saying that I am not trying to offend you with this line of questing.” Lynn was gentle and delicate. Shane wasn’t her first trans man athlete, but most of the trans athletes she worked with played women’s sports. Nevertheless, Lynn knew her way around a conversation about a topic that could potentially bring up some dysphoria. “Normally, I’d refer you to the team doctor but I wanted to ask you privately before I give you a referral.” 

“What’s wrong with me?” Shane asked. 

Lynn took a deep breath. “Shane, sweetheart, is there any possibility you could be pregnant?” 

Shane didn’t run out of the office. He didn’t accuse her of being a transphobe for thinking he had vaginal sex. He didn’t demand to see her athletic training license or tell her she lose it for the mere suggestion that he was pregnant. Instead, Shane Hollander said, “But that was more than six months ago.” 

Shit. 

Lynn, who thankfully hadn’t switched out everything in her med bag because she worked for the local high school practice while she was waiting for her hockey to start, opened her bag. 

“I usually keep these for the high school girls I work with but here,” she offered Shane a pregnancy test. “You don’t have to take it here,” but Shane had already tucked it in his jacket and was rushing to the training room bathroom. 

Ten minutes later, based on the fact that Shane Hollander hadn’t come out of the bathroom boasting a negative, Lynn knew the result. 

* * *

Shane drove to his parents house with the pregnancy test in a ziploc bag in another ziploc bag in the passenger seat buckled up like it was its own passenger. The team doctor, whose last obstetrics rotation had been in med school, did an ultrasound to confirm and found a very much formed baby inside of Shane. 

The team doctor hadn’t been able to give Shane an exact estimate of the fetus’ age but Shane knew. It was a rare occasion for Ilya and Shane to have vaginal sex, and the last time they’d done it, the only time that had resulted in this pregnancy, had been almost 27 weeks ago. 

Shane was twenty seven weeks pregnant. 

Shane arrived on his parents’ doorstep with the pregnancy test in the ziploc bag in a ziploc bag in his hand. 

Dad wasn’t home but Mom was. Shane didn’t say anything. Instead, he handed his mom the ziploc bag inside of the ziploc bag with the test that read, very unhelpfully: pregnant. 

Mom looked shocked. 

That was certainly a way for Shane to come out as gay or at least queer. Well, first, Shane had to clarify that everything was consensual and above board because that was installer what Mom’s mind went to. Did another player, another person do this to Shane? And the answer was no. Shane had done this to himself. He’d literally done this to himself. Shane had gotten pregnant from riding Ilya. 

Mom hugged him, held him close, told him they’d figure out a solution. 

And then Mom started crying when Shane told her that he had to be at least six months along. And she’d gone very quiet when Shane mentioned the other father was another hockey player, one Shane wasn’t planning on naming. 

While abortion was legal in Canada, Shane didn’t have real options. Abortions this late were expensive (not a problem) and almost impossible to access unless it was for medical reasons and Shane couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the fetus inside of him could exist in an incubator if they were born tomorrow. That was how formed the fetus inside of him was. It looked like an actual baby. 

This wasn’t ideal. It was worse than not ideal. Shane couldn’t be a dad and play hockey. Shane was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to play hockey at all. Being trans was one thing but being pregnant and trans? The league would put Shane on a fucking stake. Look at the tranny we took a chance on. He’s gotten himself knocked up. 

Shane tried not to think about the league misgendering him.  Shane tried not to think about what the league would do if they found out Shane rode his rival and got knocked up. Shane tried not to think about his career being over. 

Mom came up with a plan. Talk to the team doctor (they had to.). Take six months off, if Shane thought he could get himself back into season shape by three months after having a fucking baby. (Shane would, if he didn’t have a c-section. It would be brutal, but there were blueprints, other athletes who had a baby and then were back on the court or the field. It helped that Shane was in a team sport.) 

Mom asked if Shane wanted to place the baby for adoption. Shane knew if he did he’d never get to actually vet the adoptive parents. He couldn’t risk meeting them and them sharing anything. He also didn’t want them to force hockey on the kid if they knew who Shane was. But that meant he wouldn’t get updates; he’d have to pick a parent from a book or however adoption worked and then not know what actually happened. 

Shane also knew that mom was adopted from Korea, that it made Shane Korean and Japanese because mom was biracial even though Mom had been raised by a Japanese father and white mom, that it was complicated for her, that she had questions, questions Shane wouldn’t be able to answer for a child until he was retired from the league. He didn’t think it was fair. But what other option was there? Shane wasn’t retiring. He couldn’t, not now, not because he hadn’t known he was fucking pregnant until he was already six months along. 

And the idea of not knowing if the baby he’d seen on the screen was okay terrified Shane. Even if he didn’t want to raise that baby, he didn’t know that he could trust them with strangers. 

Shane shrugged. “Will it be okay?” Shane asked. “If I put it up for adoption.” 

Mom had opened her mouth and closed it. “We could find them a very nice family, one that matches your values and your beliefs and the things you like to do.” 

But that didn’t answer if they’d be okay. People could lie, could say they liked hiking in the woods and taking their kids camping and to DisneyWorld and on cruises and they could actually be people who stayed inside and watched tv and made the adopted kids work like they were Cinderella. There was no guarantee with adoption. Mom knew that as well as anyone. 

“Do you want me to give you another suggestion?” Mom asked. 

Shane nodded slowly. He wasn’t even attached to the fetus inside of him, but some part of him was worried about it. 

Mom suggested that they come up with a story about a year after Shane goes back. Babies that age were big enough that it wouldn’t be overtly obvious how old they were. They’d explain that a family member couldn’t take care of a child so Shane’s parents took custody. If they timed his injury announcement correctly, an upper body injury (to the team it would be a stubborn labrum tear that required surgery) worked and was vague enough to not bring questions. 

Mom said she hadn’t shown much at all until the last two weeks of her pregnancy with Shane and she suspected it would be similar for Shane. The more they could get him out in public near the end of the pregnancy the more they squashed the very idea that Shane could’ve been pregnant around the time that the baby was born. It helped that Shane was probably around 26 weeks along and had played the back half of a season, including winning a goddamn Stanley Cup, something Shane was feeling particularly guilty about. He’d taken more than a few hits, cut calories, done everything he was pretty sure pregnant people weren’t supposed to do, but he could think about that later.

They had a plan. 

There was only one thing. 

“Shane,” Mom said softly. “Is there any possibility that the other father, this hockey player, that he’d want custody if he found out?” 

Shane breathed slowly. Ilya would probably want custody or at least to know the baby if he found out, but Ilya had called Shane a distraction from hockey, had said he needed space and needed to focus. How much more distracting would a baby be? And sharing was basically a guarantee they’d be caught by the league and quickly. It wasn’t that Shane didn’t want to tell Ilya, it was that there was no other possible way for this to work out. 

“We can’t tell him,” Shane said softly. “He can’t know. This would be… catastrophic.” It would destroy Shane’s career. It would honestly probably destroy both of theirs and then Ilya would probably end up back in Russia. 

“Okay,” Mom said. “Hey, Shane. It’ll be okay. We’re here for you.” 

“I know.” Shane was still terrified. 

* * * 

July 2022

The only time Shane ever felt out of his depth in hockey these days was when he was playing it on a sled. It was why it was the perfect distraction from the past four days. 

When Shane got to his parent’s house early the morning after talking to Ilya, he’d crawled into Nicky’s bed and cried while he waited for his son to wake up.  Shane had been terrified. 

A phone call with the lawyer in the morning had made Shane a little less terrified. Even if Ilya did pursue custody, they’d have to go through mediation first, and their lawyer would put together a compelling case as to why Nicky should stay in the custody of his grandparents like he had been since Shane signed the paperwork when Nicky was 4 weeks old and Shane started traveling with the team again. 

Ilya might be biologically Nicky’s father but he still was a stranger to Nicky, a Canadian resident but not a citizen, and a professional hockey player with a schedule that was the exact reason Nicky lived with Shane’s parents. He didn’t 

Shane hoped Ilya wouldn’t pursue custody and would let things proceed at the pace comfortable for Nicky (and for Shane).

The other thing that was sticking with Shane is what Ilya must’ve thought now that he’d had the benefit of a few days away from learning the most world changing fact of his life. 

Did Ilya think Shane was a bad father for basically being nonexistent during hockey season? Did he resent that Nicky was being raised by his grandparents and still being kept from Ilya? 

Shane was at peace with his decision most days. He hadn’t been ready for fatherhood before it had been thrust upon him because he hadn’t been aware of what was going on in his own body. Nicky was taken care of. He got consistency in the form of Mom and Dad. He had a nanny that moved through the world like he did. Shane was there as much as he could be. Nicky had a huge support system. 

He was happy and Shane got to keep hockey. Shane’s reasons for keeping hockey weren’t entirely selfish. Paying for Nicky to get certain treatments and therapy was extremely expensive. Shane could afford most of them but Nicky’s stem cell procedures in the United States could easily cost Shane half a million per session and stem cells gave Nicky so much improvement in the way his body functioned. It also gave Nicky access to other therapies he’d only be able to get once a month, like hippotherapy and hydrotherapy. It helped Nicky tremendously. 

Shane had more money than he could reasonably spend on things he needed, but he could invest millions into the future of sports for kids like Nicky, whether Nicky chose them or not. 

And hockey gave Shane a platform. 

1.9million followers on Instagram alone. 

Earlier in the year, at the Paralympics, a video of one of the Team GB sit skiers explaining the Equal Play sign to Shane and Lacey and then showing them how to make it for a photo had gotten over 80 million views and 5 million likes and caused Fair Play to go viral. It brought a lot of attention to helping disabled kids in the UK get involved in sports and physical education.

Not being there for Nicky all the time killed Shane. Sometimes the guilt ate him alive. He’d chosen hockey over parenting. He’d- 

Lacey skated up next to Shane. “Hey, Hollander,” she said. “Are you okay?” 

Shane tipped over in his sled, stared. It sent one of his sticks flying. Fuck. Shane got himself up by digging in the pick end of his stick and shifting his hips. 

“Careful now,” Lacey said. “I don’t think the Metros will appreciate it if their star ends up with stitches from practicing with me. Are you okay?” She repeated. 

Shane maneuvered to grab his other stick and didn’t answer. 

“Dumb question. You’re dealing with the thing.” She didn’t say what it was but Shane obviously knew. 

Once Shane retrieved his stick and flipped it so that it was spike side closer to the ice, he asked. “Do you want to do targets?”  

Shane just wanted to hit something. Lacey, who was considered the best para ice hockey sniper on Team Canada was always down for target practice. 

They spent the next 30 minutes taking turns hitting pucks into the back of the net. One thing Shane liked about sled hockey was that it improved his hockey IQ. He got better at predicting the pathway of the puck because he’d learned to understand it from a different angle. His stick handling had improved too after he spent one too many sessions using the wrong end of the stick to propel himself or hit the puck. 

Once they were done and Shane was sweaty they both headed to the exit of the rink. 

Shane was dizzy when he stood, which was fine. It was always disorienting to go from sitting and moving to standing and moving. Shane steadied himself as Lacey transferred into her chair. 

“Feel any better?” Lacey asked. 

Altogether, he’d been distracted for 30 minutes. He’d had fun with target practice and loved going for speed and accuracy. It had been a good distraction. 

“Sorry if I ruined your practice,” Shane said. 

“You needed the stress release more than I did,” Lacey said. “Besides, you can make it up on Friday. Oh and my mom said she’s going to send me the stuff in Russian tonight so you can send it to him.” 

“Thank you. I didn’t even think about how hard all of this stuff is for him to understand in a second language. French is so easy for me.” French was easy for Shane. He’d started learning French in daycare. He didn’t remember not being bilingual. He’d just always known two languages. 

“Easy for both of us,” Lacey said in French. She’d also grown up in Quebec and spoke French, Russian, and English. “Because we grew up with it. Learning it as an adult is harder. Better yet, learning it basically only when you’re being yelled at by a coach. English is no easy jump from Russian. My mom struggled and she’s the smartest person I know.”

Shane hadn’t considered that most of Ilya’s learning of English had been through hockey. Getting yelled at by coaches didn’t actually teach articles or infinitives. It mostly taught fucking cuss words. Athletic training might’ve helped with the medical side of things but how much had Ilya retained from that. 

“How are you handling everything else?” Lacey asked. 

“My mom’s been keeping me from spiraling too much,” Shane admitted. “We talked with the lawyer and custody wise, there’s not much Ilya can do except request visitation. My dad’s been keeping Nicky busy. I’m going to go for a run with a friend later this week.”

“So you’re just trying to outrun your problems, literally. Have you ever heard of a rest day?” Lacey asked. 

“Today is my rest day.” 

“Shane, you need a nap or something where your brain is calm and quiet.” 

Shane probably did. Too bad he couldn't turn his brain off. 

* * * 

Ilya googled cerebral palsy. 

It took forever to figure out how to spell the name of Nicky’s disability in English. The resulting websites were just as confusing as the spelling. There were so many unfamiliar medical terms. 

Spastic, muscle tone, dystonia, occupational therapy, hydrocephalus. All of the websites cerebral palsy wasn’t progressive so Nicky wouldn’t get worse, but that it didn’t have a cure so Nicky wouldn’t necessarily get better, unless he had more stem cells treatments, 

Ilya wrote down a list of questions he had. Some were things he could look up and others were things he would need to ask Shane. Ilya had Shane’s number now. There was no reason at this point to have Shane in his phone as anything other than Shane Hollander. If someone figured out any piece of this secret, they’d probably have the whole puzzle. 

Ilya’s list of questions was long and messily scrawled. He’d written them down because he’d wanted something concrete. He wanted to know if Nicky had epilepsy or autism or if the rest of his body was affected or just his legs, if his speech was affected, if his trunk was affected. Ilya wanted to know if Nicky went to special therapies. He wanted to know if Nicky went to school yet. He could go to school in Canada to a regular school with other kids. It wouldn’t be like it was in Russia when Ilya was younger, when the kids went to school inside of the orphanage and not with regular kids.

Ilya read more about cerebral palsy and with it came more questions. There was so much Ilya didn’t know. There was so much Ilya was missing, and not just about Nicky having a disability. 

Ilya tried to remember what Nicky looked like, brown hair, lighter than Shane’s but darker than Ilya’s, light eyes that were probably green or blue, Shane’s forehead, his nose, his eye shape, the way they crinkled when Shane smiled. Ilya hadn’t been close and he had decent vision but definitely wasn’t close enough to see if Nicky had inherited Shane’s freckles. 

Ilya was suddenly deeply curious and the fleeting picture of Nicky had been marred by a building anger in the moment. Because Shane had hid his son from him. Because Ilya had a son who was four years old and Ilya didn’t know. 

Later, Shane said it was because Ilya shut him out. And Ilya had. He hadn’t meant to. He’d just gotten back from Russia, from reports that activists and regular people were imprisoned simply for daring to show affection in public. If he was with Shane, if it ever got out, he would never be able to go home. He’d have to get American citizenship or Canadian citizenship or else take his chances in another country, another league. Ilya needed to focus on hockey, on being good, on figuring it out. He didn’t want to go home. He couldn’t go home. 

Ilya had fucked everything up. 

He had a son, a son whose face Ilya had both memorized and could hardly remember. 

He pulled out his phone 

Ilya Rozanov

Can you send me a picture of him? 

He typed out the sentence, deleted it, then typed it out again. It sounded too pushy, too demanding. It had been five days. Shane asked for time.

Instead Ilya texted: Hi 

The reply from Shane came 24 minutes later: Hi 

Ilya Rozanov

Did you see the schedule release? 

No, that sounded ridiculous and too much like small talk. Instead, Ilya said: 

Ilya Rozanov 

I’ve read about cerebral palsy from the internet. There’s a lot of confusing words. It is hard for me to understand in English. 

Shane didn’t reply for almost an hour. Ilya paced. He went outside to smoke and then remembered that he probably shouldn’t, in case Nicky had breathing issues. Ilya should probably try quitting for real and not just during the season. 

Then: 

Shane Hollander 

Sorry, I had to deal with something. One of my friend’s moms is a Russian history professor. She said she had some articles in Russian. She didn’t tell her mom anything, just that a parent she knew from a sledge hockey tournament is Russian and wanted to know more about disability in Russia. Do you have an email?

Ilya texted his email address to Shane. 

Five minutes later, a FWDed email from Ekaterina Volkova that had been sent to Shane by someone named Lacey Volkova Hart.

Besides Shane’s brief explanation (Lacey is my friend, Ekaterina is her mom; she’s from Russia, well, they both are, but Lacey moved to Canada when she was 5), the email was in Russian.

Laryusha, 

Here are the resources you requested for one of the parents you are working with. Please tell them I am always happy to answer questions if they have more. I’m so glad I was able to put something together to help. 

Ilya downloaded the folder to his private email address. The first folder was helpfully labeled. First part. 

Ilya clicked on it. 

A Letter to Russian Parents Living in the West Who Have Just Received a Diagnosis for Their Child

The title of the article seemed a little, how would Jackson have said it, on the nose which meant very obviously important to Ilya’s current situation. He was a Russian parent living in the West who had just learned about his son having a diagnosis. His son. The words still terrified Ilya to his core. 

The photo under the article was a picture of a tall blonde Russian woman and three children. The picture must’ve been taken in the early 2000s in Russia based on the backdrop of the Moscow skyline. One girl was in a bright pink wheelchair, a second girl was using a pair of forearm crutches, and the woman had her arm wrapped around a smaller boy who did not look in the camera and had two fingers in his mouth. 

The woman was smiling from ear to ear. 

Ilya started reading the article. 

My name is Ekaterina and I am a Russian Canadian woman who grew up in Russia and who adopted 3 children from Russian orphanages. If someone sent you this, it is because you are a Russian parent living in the west who has just been given a diagnosis of disability for your child. I know you are probably terrified. 

If you grew up anything like me in Russia, you know that you never saw special needs people out in public. Most of the children, up until 2000 and even still today lived in orphanages and institutions. They did not go to school. They often were not even allowed to go outside to play. 

You may remember a neighbor who was pregnant when you were a child who came home from the hospital without her baby but would, daily, take the long trek to the orphanage on the outskirts of town to visit that child. You may have even passed those orphanages on your walk to school. 

If you’re my age, you probably remember the 1980 Olympics held in Sochi, where the Soviet Union refused to host the Paralympics because the Soviet Union did not have disabled people only at the time the word used was invalid.  

When we hide things, the truth doesn’t come to light. 

The truth is that: disabled people can live full, happy, and successful lives.  I know that it is difficult to believe in the moment because of the stories you may have heard and because you haven’t met many disabled people. I’d like to, with their permission, introduce you to my three children. 

My oldest, Vlada, was adopted in 1993 when she was 4 years old, shortly after Russia opened its doors to foreign adoptions. I had to go through a US agency because Canada had not yet started a Russian adoption program. Vlada was born with cerebral palsy and was placed in an orphanage by her biological parents when she was about a year old. 

Vlada’s cerebral palsy affects all four of her limbs and she uses a wheelchair or forearm crutches to get around, depending on her needs. Initially, in Russia, I was told by the doctor from the orphanage that Vlada would never be able to walk or talk, that she would need lifelong care. I wasn’t scared off by this. In fact, I was prepared. It was part of what drew me to Vlada. 

I traveled to Russia twice to complete paperwork and a year after matching, she came home on Christmas Eve, 1993. She started school here in Canada and I was scared that she would not thrive since she had never had instruction in English or French. However, she did exceptionally well in school To my delight, she started talking two months after she moved to Canada. She gained weight and started growing. She learned to walk and run. I even convinced her to try wheelchair basketball, though she didn’t like it much. 

Today, she is a music teacher and vocal coach and she plays the violin. She is happily married and enjoys traveling the world with her husband. 

My second oldest, Lariseya was adopted in 1996 alongside my youngest, Fyodor. I had applied for another adoption from Russia through the same agency with the same request: another disabled child. I was matched with Lariseya. Because I was familiar with the process, I scheduled by first visit to Russia as soon as we were matched and traveled with Vlada and a nanny to visit Lariseya. 

Lariseya had spina bifida, which means that part of her spine did not form when she was in her biological mother’s womb. When I met her, she was bright, verbal, spoke plenty of Russian and had even started learning English, and very kind. She was 5 years old and when I first saw her, she was helping one of the nannies at the orphanage take care of a small boy. He looked like he wasn’t much older than some of my friend’s six months old. Lariseya was very attached to him. 

When I asked about him and if he was eligible for adoption, the agency said, “No, no you want Lacey. Him, his brain is like a two week old. He is no good.” 

My heart broke. Lariseya also didn’t seem keen on leaving the orphanage without the little boy I had learned she’d help take care of since he’d arrived. Apparently, she used to treat him like her baby doll. I called the adoption agency and asked for a second match. It was granted and Lariseya and Fyodor came home in November of 1994. 

Today, Lacey plays for Team Canada in the Paralympics in para ice hockey. She and her team won silver in 2018 and are going for gold in 2022. She is a professor, like me, and teaches undergraduate students in physical therapy and recreation and fitness how to be more inclusive when planning recreation. She coaches youth sledge hockey, and her team recently won a North American Classic tournament. She is happily married and she and her partner have a daughter. 

I know that Lariseya and Vlada both did not have mental difficulties, and that maybe you think that their lives are good because they both only had physical challenges, so I want to talk about Fyodor. 

Fyodor, like the orphanage director had said, struggled very much mentally. When he first arrived, it was a struggle. It was what I imagined taking care of a baby must’ve been like. He could not sit up or talk or eat food that wasn’t blended. He needed special medications to prevent him from having seizures. He was later diagnosed with an intellectual disability, which means that he was not considered to have the necessary skills to be safe by himself and he needed constant care. 

I was worried the most for him and the life that he would have, especially since he would need to live with me until I died. I was worried he would not have a good life, but I wanted to try. 

We went through speech and occupational therapy, tried all sorts of things. We found teachers that could work with him and that could also learn Russian since he seemed to respond to everything better in Russian. Fyodor improved significantly, and he even received a certificate of completion from his school when he graduated from secondary school. 

Fyodor attended a life skills program for two years that helped him learn how to stock and scan items and handle money. He has just celebrated working for 10 years at his favorite grocery store. At first he helped with stocking and helping customers find things, but working at the store inspired Fyodor to improve his English and he was recently promoted to cashier, although he still needs another employee’s assistance sometimes, he does very well and customers love him. He has plenty of friends and is very social. He still lives with me, but he has his own “apartment” in our house with his own front door and mailbox. He is very happy. 

I know that some Western parents might say that you shouldn’t be sad about your child being disabled, but sadness is normal. Our children have very different lives than most do. But they will also get to experience happy milestones that other people won’t. And your child will teach you a lot about the world, sometimes about how to stand strong and help others and other times about how to take life slowly and appreciate the small things.

It might seem scary right now, because you have never heard the real truth about the full lives that people with all types of disabilities can have, but it is very possible for your disabled child to have a very happy life, to have friends and family and joy.

It is sometimes harder, so sadness is okay, especially at first, but there is joy because this life is very beautiful too, and your children will teach you how to find the joy and beauty in things you have never seen before. 

Ilya wasn’t sure when the tears started, probably around the time that Ekaterina had talked about the nanny at the orphanage saying she wouldn’t want Fyodor because he wouldn’t have a good life. Or maybe before that, when Vlada had been able to get the help she needed to be able to talk, help she probably would not have gotten in Russia. 

Ilya was so fucking scared. Besides seeing them at games sometimes or on the streets of Boston or at meet and greets like the one when they played against Washington, Ilya hadn’t really met disabled adults. Vlada had the same disability as Nicky and Vlada was happy, married, making music and traveling the world. Lariseya was a para ice hockey player, presumably the Lacey that Ilya sometimes saw Shane with when he attended events. Fyodor was happy, even with his mental difficulties. He had friends and he liked working. 

Ilya sniffled. He wasn’t sure why this was hitting him so hard. He’d been so scared for Nicky, that he was hurting, that people would be mean, that he’d have a bad life, and it would be harder, sure. But Nicky could have a good life with his disability. 

Ilya cried himself to sleep.

* * * 

Hayden clocked that something was very wrong with Shane immediately. He had the decency to wait until they were finished with their 5 mile run before he asked Shane what was wrong. 

“Have you slept lately?” Hayden asked as they cooled down with a lap around the lake near Hayden’s house. 

“Yesterday, probably, I don’t know.” Shane shrugged. The days were pretty blurry. Shane was pretty sure he’d managed a couple of hours of restless sleep. 

“You’ve been totally MIA for the last few days. I haven’t seen you at optional practice or in the training room. Did something happen?” Hayden wasn’t the type to pry but he did notice things. 

Shan wanted to point out that optional practice was exactly that, but Shane was always at optional practice. His absence would’ve been noted by the other players and probably Shane’s coaches. “Rozanov found out about Nicky.” Shane ripped the bandaid off.

Hayden had the decency to pretend he had no idea why that was significant and said: “Oh wow. That must be so…” 

“C’mon Hayden, you know. You just didn’t ask.” Shane gave his best imitation at a smile. He’d been finding that hard to do lately.  Shane was pretty sure the reason for Hayden not bringing up Ilya was less about privacy and more about not wanting to confirm that Shane had slept with Ilya Rozanov.

“Yeah well, yeah,” Hayden smiled sheepishly. “Holy shit, dude. How are you taking that?”

“Honestly. I’m more worried that people can tell than anything. Not just Ilya. I’m scared someone is going to find out the truth.” That was Shane’s biggest fear, that opening up a relationship between Nicky and Ilya would lead to the world finding out about Nicky and Shane waking up to headlines about himself and his son. 

“But no one has ever questioned your parents history with Nicky,” Hayden pointed out. 

“I mean, if you can do math and know that I’m gay, it’s hard to ignore.” Doing the math was an overstatement. There were a few under details, like knowing Shane didn’t have an upper body injury and had actually been hiding a miraculously small full term bump when he “suited up” for practices while in his sling. And no one knew Shane was gay. Shane had kept that secret locked tightly under wraps. 

“No one else knows what you or I or Rozanov knows,” Hayden said. “Plus, you were at practice and training camp up in a sling until a week before you had him.” 

Hayden was right. There wasn’t even so much as speculation that Shane was Nicky’s dad. It was a strictly guarded secret. 

“Have you and Rozanov talked?” Hayden asked. 

“We talked once,” Shane said. “About Nicky.”

“Does he want custody of him?” Hayden asked. 

Shane shook his head. “He wants to meet him. I told him no.” 

Hayden looked surprised. “Not even just to meet him?” He asked. Shane could see him running through scenarios in his head. “What did he do?” 

This was going to be harder to explain to Hayden without making Ilya sound terrible than it was to Lacey. 

“He wasn’t trying to be mean. In Russia,” Shane began. 

Hayden looked uneasy.  “If he called you something, I’ll kick his ass, you don’t even have to-” 

“He didn’t call me anything,” Shane said and then realized he hadn’t clarified quickly enough. 

“What did he say about Nicky?” Hayden looked ready to fight. 

Shane loved that Hayden was immediately ready to fight for Nicky, but be was suddenly defensive. “He wasn’t trying to be ableist or anything. He just, he doesn’t know. It’s different in Russia.” 

“What did he say?” Hayden’s nostrils flared. 

“Hayden, calm down,” Shane requested. 

It took Hayden a bit to temper himself and he kept making faces before he shoved his hands in his shorts’ pocket and looked sufficiently cowed. 

“In Russia, especially when Rozanov was growing up, they put disabled kids in institutions and they didn’t go to school.” Shane didn’t add more information, like the fact that Ilya’s dad taught him that disabled kids were cursed because that felt personal and private and not Shane’s to disclose. 

“Wow,” Hayden said. “But he was in the U.S. for what, ten years?” 

“What did it take for Drapeau to stop calling people the r word?” Shane asked. 

Hayden smirked at the memory they were both thinking of. No one ever wanted to see someone on their team get hurt but Elkins, the Centaur’s player with the daughter in a wheelchair, heard him use that slur, and had started an actual fistfight that resulted in both of them getting ejected. Elkins didn’t deserve it and he even got fined for the fight. 

Drapeau hadn’t used it since though, so that turned out to be a more effective deterrent than HR.  The altercation between Drapeau and Elkins had been a welcome distraction from the fact that of the six times a year that Ilya and Shane usually saw each other, Shane’s heart felt like it was in a blender. Sometimes it worked to his advantage. Lately though, he was playing like crap. 

This whole situation wasn’t going to help this season. Shane had to get it sorted out before training camp and then preseason and then the regular season where he’d be on the road more days than not. 

Shit. 

Shane almost wanted to fake an injury again. Or to do something drastic but letting Ilya into Nicky’s life was already playing with fire. Any hint of suspicion, any compromise in performance, anything out of place, and everything could come crashing down. 

They’d finished their cooldown loop and headed inside to Hayden’s house. 

“Daddy!” Nicky yelled when they opened the door. He was using his wheelchair today because he had hippotherapy later in the day and preferred using the strength in his legs for that. 

“Hey, how was playing with your cousins?” Shane asked. 

“Amber and me made a slip’n’slide inside so I can use my chair!” Nicky beamed. 

That did not sound like a thing that was supposed to happen indoors. 

Jackie turned the corner and nearly slipped as she did so. 

“Good! You two are home!” Jackie’s smile was too cheerful. “I hope you had fun on your run.”

“It was great, babe,” Hayden said. 

“Wonderful! Now, Amber and Nicky have taken it upon themselves to create the world’s most inclusive indoor slip and slide using a Costco sized container of dish soap to create a runway and effectively flooding our hallway. Just washed a fresh load of towels. It’s nap time for me!” 

Shane groaned. Eh. How bad could a hallway full of dish soap really be? 

* * *

Ilya read the A Letter to Russian Parents Living in the West Who Have Just Received a Diagnosis for Their Child three times before he moved onto the second resource, which was Ekaterina explaining her personal history and experience of disability growing up alongside actual resources from disabled people in Russia and people that had investigated orphanages in Russia. This article was longer than her first one and had included sources from Russian media and books.

Ekaterina was born in the Soviet Union in 1962. She’d had an older brother who had a disability. It was never diagnosed because there weren’t resources or infrastructure where she lived but he could not do very much for himself.Her mother was encouraged to place her brother in an orphanage but she refused. 

Ekaterina went on to explain the conditions of orphanages in Russia at the time and Ilya wished he had actually read the content warning he’d skipped at the beginning. She had warned that it would be distressing.

The orphanages were rife with abuse. Ekaterina shared stories of disabled people who had aged out of orphanages and older disabled kids who were adopted. The kids had been neglected, emotionally and physically, restrained. Some of them had even endured sexual assault. 

And things weren’t better if they aged out into an institution. Some kids were able to live in an apartment on their own but others had to live in an institution where they faced the same abuse. 

He was reading about an account in a particularly depressing institution when Ilya stood up, walked outside, and grabbed the pack of cigarettes he kept in his car. So much for quitting for good. 

He sat on his porch, which was a little chilly for July but nothing Ilya couldn’t handle.  Smoking always managed to calm his nerves. But not today. 

Today Ilya was thinking about kids like Nicky in orphanages in Russia. They had gotten better, not as bad as they must’ve been when Ekaterina was young, but they weren’t a good place for a child to be, any child. 

Most of the kids there had homes and parents who needed help to take care of them, but parents that loved them. Ekaterina talked about how people would not employ her mother because they believed she was cursed, that their family survived because Ekaterina was pitied by their neighbors. 

His eyes had gotten too blurry to read when Ekaterina talked about moving to Canada for college after her brother died because they wouldn’t give her mom medication and her mom died after. Ekaterina didn’t say how. Ilya was pretty sure he knew. 

Ilya tried to imagine what he would’ve done in Ekaterina’s mother’s shoes, if there was no one to help with his child, if the government kept pressuring me to give them to an orphanage, would he have been terrified enough to listen? 

Maybe. With his family, probably. His father would’ve encouraged him to, if not taken the baby to the orphanage himself. Ilya wasn’t sure what his mother would’ve done. She would’ve told him to listen to his heart. But she wasn’t here and neither was Ilya’s father. 

Would Ilya have sent Nicky away if he hadn’t actually known what happened in those orphanages? 

Ilya swallowed hard and took a long drag from his cigarette. If he wasn’t careful, he’d smoke the whole pack just to distract from the feeling in his brain. 

Mama died from depression, because she could not get help, could not get medicine, did not have what she needed to survive. 

Kids in those orphanages died the same way. Ilya knew that.

Ilya’s cigarette burned him. “Fuck!” He complained as he dropped it and stamped it out.  

He had no idea what he was fucking doing. Maybe he should text Shane and say that he didn’t want to meet Nicky, that he wasn’t ready, that he wouldn’t be a good father to a boy like Nicky, that he was going to fuck something up because he didn’t know how to do it right. 

Ilya pulled out his phone. He already had a text message.  

Shane Hollander 

[1 image]

Ilya clicked on it immediately. 

It was Nicky, sitting in a sled on the lake by Shane’s cottage. It was in winter. Nicky wasn’t in full gear but he was wearing a helmet with a cage and a neck guard and he was grinning. With a better photo of them, Ilya could clearly see that Nicky’s face was covered in Shane’s signature freckles.  

He was absolutely adorable. 

Ilya was totally in love. 

He put his phone back in his pocket and lit another cigarette. As he smoked, he started reading again about disability in Russia. 

Chapter End Notes

I love comments y'all. They keep me pushing! :)

Edited and updated: 5/6/26

Chapter 4: freeze

Chapter Notes

Hey yall! I finally got this one out and this one is what is really going to launch the storm the boys are about to go through

Content warnings: continued discussion on ableism and discussion of the trauma of relinquishing custody of a child

December 2016 

“You got it?” Rozanov asked. He was smirking lazy, and Shane couldn’t keep looking at Rozanov’s intense eyes. Shane also couldn’t stop looking at Rozanov’s intense eyes. 

Because Shane was fucking angry. He was  so fucking angry. He’d tried dating a girl, figured that he could handle the chirps that would come his way, or at least once of their defenders would. 

Shane was fucking angry because he’d been dating one of the hottest women in Hollywood and all he could think about how much he wished he could be on a date with Rozanov. 

He was eating out one of the hottest women on the planet and all he could think about was the weight of Rozanov’s cock in his mouth or the thick press of Rozanov in his ass, or the fact that recently, only a few months before Shane had tried his luck at dating a movie star, he’d finally had Rozanov inside of his cunt. It had been incredible. Not just the feeling, but the fact that no one but Rozanov had come even close to being trusted enough to have Shane there. Rozanov knew what he was doing too and he’d made Shane come without Shane having to touch his dick. 

Shane was straddled over Rozanov, who was laying on the hotel room bed propped up by pillows. Ilya was holding his erect cock and Shane was trying to get said cock into his hole. The tip of Rozanov’s cock was warm and already a little wet from precum. 

They didn’t have condoms because Ilya hadn’t been planning on having sex. He hadn’t been planning on having sex because Shane had been in a relationship. And fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“You sure you can handle it?” Rozanov teased when he noticed Shane’s pause. “Your thighs don’t burn from skating too hard? You could barely keep up with m-“ 

Shane sank down onto Rozanov’s cock, relishing in the feeling of it. It shut Rozanov’s stupid, smug mouth right up too. He felt so warm and Shane was so fucking full and it was so good to do this without the barrier of the condom. So wrong and yet so fucking right. Shane felt like he could feel every ridge of Rozanov’s cock. 

Rozanov groaned, long and throaty as his cock and Shane looked down and watched Ilya’s cock disappear inside of him. Fuck. Fuck. Holy. Fuck. 

“You okay?” Rozanov asked when he was completely inside of Shane. He looked blissed out mc with lidded eyes and that same goddamn lazy smirk that Shane couldn’t help but want to nibble at. 

Shane nodded as he got used to Rozanov’s size and how good it felt to be full of him. He wanted to stay here until the outside world dissolved away, until everything in his life felt fucking manageable. Not literally here, because that would get uncomfortable eventually but with Rozanov. It was the only time Shane’s world ever felt quiet. 

The thought terrified him and Rozanov was starting to very gently roll his hips, offering help with eyes that asked if it was okay, so Shane focused on that. He didn’t want to think about forever. He wanted to think about right here, right now, about Rozanov’s bare cock inside of his cunt. 

Shane moved himself slowly to meet Rozanov’s thrust.  Shane whined because it felt so good, so fucking good. 

Shane took his time, partly because he was new at riding, partly because he didn’t want the satisfied grunts from Rozanov to end. He didn’t want any of this to end. 

Fuck. He was so fucking done for. This had to end, no matter how badly Shane wanted it to keep going. But he could keep going, right here, right now. 

Rozanov’s dick was hitting Shane exactly in the right spot, so much so that he didn’t even have to touch his own dick to get off. 

“Fuck,” Rozanov groaned. “Fuck, Shane. Fuck.” 

“Ilya,” Shane breathed against Ilya’s neck. “Fuck. Ilya. Ilya.” 

“Shane,” Ilya groaned. 

This had to end… this had to end… this had to…

Shane came. 

Ilya  held Shane’s hips and pumped, prolonging the edges of Shane’s orgasm until Rozanov’s own hips stuttered. 

They stayed like that, panting. Shane didn’t want to move, mainly because there wasn’t a way to do so without ruining the sheets. 

“Is okay. I tip them well.” Ilya said softly.  “You want to shower, yes?” 

Shane nodded. “I’ll clean it up, okay? And then join you. Easy, go slow.” 

Shane whined as he pulled himself off of Ilya’s dick. He was still sensitive. Cum leaked out around Ilya’s dick and it was obscenely erotic. 

Shit, he’d let Ilya come in him. 

They should’ve used a condom. 

Fuck. 

Shane was on birth control and he hadn’t had a period in nearly 7 years. He would be fine. 

He shuffled to the bathroom, trying not to leak come all over the floor. He felt better when he got to the tile. At least he could clean it up. 

It all hit once the warm water did. Shit. 

Shane was in love with Ilya Fucking Rozanov.  

Shane was so fucked. 

* * * 

Shane texted Ilya on the first day of training camp because he wasn’t going to be able to focus otherwise. 

Shane Hollander 

Can we meet on Thursday to talk? 

 And then because Shane knew he would panic if he received a text like this. 

About you meeting him.

Shane added soon and then deleted it because he wasn’t sure was soon enough was. Was soon before the season started? Was it after it started? Was it after it ended? Shane knew the last two were unreasonable. Shane had a date in mind. In 6 days. 

Lacey had already agreed to let Shane use the gym that she and her wife ran. It would be a good neutral place to let Ilya and Nicky meet for the first time. 

Shane hadn’t heard from Ilya since he’d sent the list of resources from Ekaterina. The resources were really good. Lacey had, without a great deal of complaining even though she constantly joked that she was terrible at Russian, translated her mother’s two Russian articles into English for Shane. Both of them had made Shane cry. 

Both of them helped Shane understand Ilya a little better and both of them explained that Ilya’s questions and language had come from fear and from not knowing what Nicky’s future would hold and also from a lifetime of being told that disabled people were less than. 

Shane had been as terrified as Ilya had been omce, when he’d been in a hotel room in Boston and Mom had called with the results of SickKids testing on Nicky. He would likely receive a diagnosis of cerebral palsy because of conclusive evidence of a  stroke Nicky had bad had in utero. 

Shane’s world had dropped out from under him. He wasn’t even sure why he’d chosen to go to the Boston game over the appointment. It was just that they said it would take a day or so to interpret the results and their road trip was supposed to be over by then. Shane was supposed to be home when they got the news that Shane’s world had been turned upside down, that Nicky’s world had been turned upside down. 

The results had been conclusive. Nicky had had a stroke inside of Shane that had damaged the parts of his brain that controlled his legs, hands, and trunk. The life of Shane’s six month old had changed forever and Shane found out while in the same city as the father of his child who wouldn’t fucking talk to him.  

Shane had texted Ilya. Shane had asked if they could talk. Shane had wanted to talk to Ilya. Ilya didn’t even have to care. Shane could pretend that Ilya cared. Shane didn’t even have to talk about his life or his problems if Ilya didn’t want to listen. He’d just wanted to be held. He just wanted someone else to know that Shane’s entire life had changed. 

Shane been terrified and he had already known there were paths forward, that this was life altering but not life ending, that his money made a difference in what Nicky had access to, that he had the resources to hire professionals who could give Nicky the best chance at having an amazing life, that he could afford to retro fit his parents home and make it accessible (and that all of that wasn’t fair). Shane had been terrified and he’d know that Nicky had a future. 

Ilya had been confronted by the fact that he had a son and that that son was disabled in the same blow. If Shane’s world had spun and Nicky’s diagnosis, Ilya’s must’ve been moving at the speed of light. 

Ilya had been patient and that was a kindness Shane didn’t exactly feel like he deserved. Shane had sent more photos of Nicky. One of Nicky at the park with Bella. Another one of Nicky playing with blocks. Nicky looked so sweet in it Shane forgot it was taken at SickKids. He’d also sent one of the newborn pictures Shane had, when Nicky was small and scrunched and barely looked like much of anything. 

Nicky had been shockingly blonde. Not quite as pale as Shane imagined Ilya’s hair must’ve been when he was born but blonde enough that even if Nicky’s hazel eyes hadn’t been a giveaway, his blonde hair would’ve been. Maybe not to everyone. Definitely not to everyone, but Mom had somehow figured it out. 

Shane had never asked how she put two and two together when Ilya and Shane were so publicly rivals, just accepted the fact that she knew. 

Ilya had responded to each text from Shane with a: 

Thank you. 

Every text was like a knife of ice up Shane’s spine. Shane was giving Ilya pieces of information about his own kid. About their kid.  Pieces, like pictures, snapshots of a life he was living without Ilya and without Shane. And Ilya was thanking him like Shane was doing him a favor when all Shane was doing was giving Ilya information about the child he should’ve known about 5 years ago. 

Shane had chosen not to be as present as a parent as he could be. Shane had chosen a life of watching Nicky grow up in pictures. Shane hadn’t even given Ilya the option. He’d just assumed that given the circumstances Ilya wouldn’t want anything to do with a baby or rather that he’d decide it was too complicated. Although for Ilya, if he’d lived in Boston, it would’ve been complicated. Ilya would’ve gotten even fewer days than Shane got, days sandwiched between two day stretches of time off where Ilya had to fly or drive to Nicky. Maybe Ilya would’ve been content with videos of Nicky’s milestones that he watched in a hotel room. Maybe Ilya would’ve quit hockey entirely. Maybe.  

Shane had texted Ilya several times after Ilya broke off their situationship. He’d asked to talk, just said hi, tried talking hockey, tried anything to start a conversation. It was stupid and transparent and Ilya hadn’t responded. Not even a: stop talking to me, Hollander. 

So Shane made a decision. He had never been sure it had been the right one. 

* * *

Ilya received the text while he was driving to the rink for the first day of training camp. 

Shane Hollander 

Can we meet on Thursday. 

It was followed shortly by (because Shane loved to clarify): 

Shane Hollander 

To talk about meeting him. 

They didn’t talk about Nicky over text message. Or at least, they didn’t use his name. Yes, they were playing with fire by leaving a paper trail at all, by using their real names at all, but making it clear that they were talking about Shane’s baby “cousin” would give away more of their secret than they could handle. 

Shane had sent photos, six of them. 

The first was the one of the Nicky in a sled. The second was a picture of Nicky when he must’ve been a newborn. He was so small and scrunched up, wrapped in a tiny blanket. 

Shane must’ve gotten a shock at the watery blue green of Nicky’s eyes and the blonde of his hair. Ilya tried to imagine Nicky learning to track the room with his watery blue green eyes and it hurt. 

In the next photo Shane sent, this one recent, probably taken that day, Nicky was playing with what had to be one of the Pike kids. She looked about Nicky’s age and was very blonde. They were playing in a hallway filled with bubbles and it was so adorable it hurt. 

In another photo Shane sent, Nicky was playing with blocks and clapping. And in a picture and video that Shane sent in quick succession, Nicky was grinning and playing hockey. The first was another photo of him in his sled. But the video was of Nicky hitting a goal into an untended net. He cheered loudly: GOOOOOOAAAAAAL! like he was playing soccer. 

The pictures made Ilya happy and made his heart race and his chest tighten. He had a son he didn’t know. A son with his eyes and Shane’s smile and little eye crinkle in his grin and Shane’s precious, beautiful freckles.  

And Ilya didn’t know him. Because he’d told Shane to leave him alone, to stop talking to him, to stop interacting, to stop feeding their rivalry. He told Shane his priority was hockey and hockey only, no distractions. That hadn’t meant his son, but Ilya had ignored Shane’s every attempt at reaching out. Even if Shane had tried, and he must’ve, he had. Ilya remembered the messages. The: heys and hellos and the “can we talk?” that went ignored. 

Shane had made a choice not to tell Ilya, but Ilya hadn’t exactly made it easy for Shane to choose otherwise. 

And now he had a son that was absolutely beautiful and Ilya hadn’t known about him. For some reason, Ilya’s mind kept wandering to the text he’d received when Montreal had played in Boston. Nicky would’ve been six months old. Shane hadn’t texted in months. And then, randomly: 

Jane 

Can we talk please? 

Ilya didn’t responded. He’d wanted to, he’d agonized over it. 

He hadn’t responded. 

Ilya wondered what might’ve happened if he’d said yes. 

* * * 

“Are you sure about this?” Mom asked. 

Technically, Mom had the final say on if and when Nicky could meet Ilya. Well, actually Mom and Dad had the final say but no one would say Yuna Hollander wasn’t in charge in this family. 

“It’s technically your choice,” Shane replied. The only reason that Shane’s parents hadn’t adopted Nicky was because Quebec tried as much as possible for guardianship over adoption, especially if it was a kinship situation, but Mom and Dad were responsible for the decisions that impacted Nicky’s day to day the most. 

“Shane,” Mom said and this was going to be another argument. Like it always was when it came to parenting decisions that Shane felt he didn’t have a right to make. 

Shane had never thought of himself as a good parent and sometimes he struggled to think of himself as a parent at all. He became a father because he found out he was pregnant at 26 weeks because he’d missed a dozen tiny signs and it was too late to terminate a pregnancy. Shane had wanted to be a parent but he thought it would be eventually, not in the middle of his career, not in the middle of the season, and not pregnant by a man who wouldn’t talk to him. 

He’d signed custody away because it became abundantly clear in the exhausting fog of taking care of a newborn that parenting was not something Shane could actually do. He was present whenever he could be, when Dad brought Nicky to Montreal because he got therapy there. (Mom and Dad had considered moving down to Montreal and they probably would one day but Ottawa had one of the best physical therapists in the country, Nicky’s incredible nanny, a pediatrician that Shane adored, and it was that much closer to SickKids.) 

“Mom, I don’t even know how to introduce them,” Shane responded. “I don’t know anything about…”

“Shane, hey, it’s okay if you still need time. If he still needs time.” Shane had explained to his mom, in more detail than he’d given Hayden but less than he’d given Lacey, that Ilya was having a hard time coming to terms with Nicky’s disability. 

A week ago, Mom and Nicky reviewed paperwork with their lawyer again. Shane started at his signature on the bottom of the page, the one he’d signed when Nicky was 4 weeks old, the one Mom told him he didn’t have to, that they could’ve figured out a different solution. Shane rarely looked at the paperwork, at the messy scrawl that gave power of attorney and physical custody to Shane’s parents. The ink that made Shane Nicky’s dad in name only. 

The lawyer had confirmed with Canadian case law that they were in the clear and they could proceed with any level of contact they wanted. It would be an uphill battle for Ilya to obtain visitation of a child that was under a guardianship order. It was possible, sure, but they had a solid case if Ilya ever pursued that, not that Shane thought he would. They technically didn’t have to start visitation at all. 

Mom was leaving it up to Shane. Shane didn’t know how to proceed. He knew one thing. “I want him to actually meet Nicky.”  

“I know,” Mom said softly.  

“And…” Shane stared at the table. “Why didn’t I tell him?” Shane asked. “I should’ve told him.” He should’ve told Ilya sooner so that he wasn’t making this decision with a preschooler who might start seeing how complicated this was.  

“It was an impossible decision,” Mom pointed out. 

Mom was absolutely right. Had any variable been different, had Shane found out he was pregnant sooner, if him and Ilya still been talking to each other when Shane found out, if Shane kept custody of Nicky. Shane’s biggest fear in telling Ilya about Nicky was that they’d end up ousted from the league, if not kicked out then unsignable. And then Ilya would have been forced back to Russia. And maybe Shane shouldn’t have made that decision for Ilya. Maybe he should’ve let Ilya decide to take the risk. 

But Shane had been fucking terrified. He’d been saddled with a responsibility he had no idea how to prepare for. And then everything had changed with Nicky’s diagnosis and by the time that life slowed down their circumstances still hadn’t changed and Shane had still been fucking terrified. He still was terrified. He still had no idea how it was going to go. 

But Ilya and Nicky deserved the chance they hadn’t had four years ago. 

* * *  

“Your friend’s mom helped me learn a lot about Russia and disabled people,” Ilya said. They were sitting in Ilya’s kitchen again. It was the same place where Ilya’s entire life had been flipped upside down two weeks prior. 

Ilya was terrified of this conversation, terrified that he hadn’t learned enough to even meet Nicky, terrified that Shane would change his mind, terrified that he didn’t deserve to be a dad to Nicky.  

“Your friend’s mom,” Ilya continued. “She seems like an amazing woman.” 

Shane, to Ilya’s surprise, smiled a little. “She is,” Shane said. “Kat and my mom are friends and Nicky and I sat with her and Fyo during the 2022 Paralympics. He taught me a lot of Russian words for hockey.” 

“Fyo is your friend’s brother, your friend Lariseya?” Ilya asked, just to clarify. 

Shane looked confused for a half second and then: “Oh yeah, Lacey. Yeah, I forget she doesn’t go by the name the orphanage gave her.“ 

“Is it like your old name? Should I not use it?” Ilya asked. He knew Shane had a name before he transitioned; Ilya didn’t know it, but he did know you weren’t supposed to use the name a trans person was born with unless they wanted you to. 

Shane shook his head quickly. “No, she’s fine with her mom and other people calling her Lariseya, or Laryusha as her mom calls her; she just doesn’t really use it when she’s competing because she doesn’t always like telling people she’s Russian.” 

“Why not?” Ilya asked and then felt foolish; one of the articles in the folder was about how complicated it was to be disabled and Russian. 

“I think it invites a lot of questions,” Shane explained. “She’s doesn’t like advertising that she’s adopted either and when she competes internationally there are other Eastern European people who know…” 

The unspoken part of that sentence was that: other Eastern Europeans would know that she’d been abandoned by her first family and adopted into North America. Ilya could imagine why Lacey wouldn’t want people to know that until she got closer to someone. 

“So, the people she meets at tournaments, they’re the ones whose parents kept them?” Ilya asked. He’d only seen a small handful of stories like that and most of the time it was because their parents had money or status and their disabilities weren’t very noticeable.  

Shane nodded. “For the most part, yes.” 

Ilya had read about how difficult it must’ve been for their families to keep them, not just in Russia but in other places too. He wondered if he could find more stories about disabled people who had actually grown up in Russia outside of orphanages. 

“That must be hard, for her, I mean,” Ilya said. He couldn’t imagine playing in international tournaments and meeting people . I didn’t know how bad things were in Russia for disabled people.” But Ilya should’ve known, shouldn’t have thought it was okay for parents to be pressured to put their kids into orphanages just because they were disabled.  

“Lacey talked to me about it, and I read her mom’s articles too. She really has a gift for helping people understand. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be raising Nicky in Russia.” Shane smiled tightly. 

Ilya couldn’t imagine it either. It would be extremely difficult, but Ilya would’ve wanted to do it. Ilya already loved his son so much, and he hadn’t even met his son. 

“So, I guess, do you have questions?” Shane asked. 

Ilya asked the one he’d been turning over a few days. “Why do your parents raise Nicky?” Ilya was pretty sure that it was strategic, that Shane couldn’t be a professional hockey player and a full time parent and the best option seemed to be Shane’s parents. 

Shane didn’t look surprised. He looked like he had been expecting that question. Ilya watched him breathe, the way his nostrils flared ever so slightly. And then: “It was better for him. He needed stability and I wasn’t ready to quit hockey. I was selfish.” 

Selfish? That could hardly describe a decision to give Nicky the most stable situation possible.“You weren’t,” Ilya reassured him. “Hollander, you were not selfish.” He’d thought a lot about Shane’s choices, about Shane still playing hockey even after having a baby. Shane had to make a really difficult choice, and Shane’s parents seemed very nice and loving. Ilya doubted Shane would’ve given Nicky to them if they weren’t. 

“I put hockey before my kid,” Hollander said. “That’s the very definition of selfish. He’s my kid and I just gave him away.” 

“To your parents,” Ilya pointed out. Shane didn’t put Nicky in an orphanage or give him to a foster home; he gave Nicky to people he trusted. “To people you know love him and you and who raised you. Your parents seem kind.”

“They are the best,” Shane smiled. “They’re really good parents and they take the best care of Nicky.” 

“Then not selfish,” Ilya responded because if Shane was any indicator of the type of parents Yuna and David Hollander were, they were a great place for Nicky to be. “Nicky is safe. You said he is very happy.”

There wasn’t a lot about Nicky on the internet, nothing besides a few pictures from when Shane’s parents had first casually mentioned they were caring for a relative’s child. Otherwise, Nicky had mostly faded into the background. He wasn’t news in hockey because the hockey world had no idea who Nicky really was. 

Shane shrugged. “He is very happy,” Shane confirmed. “But he’s going to get old enough and realize what I did.” 

Ilya didn’t know what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said quietly. “For not telling you and then for giving him away.” 

Ilya suddenly found the beds of his fingernails to be very interesting. “I didn’t talk to you.”  Would Shane have told Ilya everything if Ilya had bothered to respond just once? 

“I still could’ve told you,” Shane responded. “I mean, we saw each other four times a year and I-“ Shane trailed off and looked down at his hands. The beds of Shane’s fingernails must’ve been interesting to him too. 

“You were scared?” Ilya asked. Shane must’ve been terrified. He’d had a baby and Ilya wouldn’t even talk to him. Ilya hadn’t known. Of course he hadn’t, but he didn’t exactly make it easy for Shane to tell him. 

“I was terrified,” Shane agreed. “I am terrified.” 

“Me too,” Ilya admitted. “Having a child is scary.” 

“And amazing sometimes,” Shane actually smiled.  “When I’m home, it can be really amazing. I do want you to meet him, but I don’t think I’m ready to tell him who you are just yet.” 

Ilya could help but let the hurt show on his face. “I understand.” 

“It’s not you, I just, I have to figure out how to explain it to him.” Shane was still studying his nails. 

“He does not know you were the one was pregnant with him?” Ilya asked. 

“He does know,” Shane said quickly. “Well, as much as he can. I think he’s still a little confused about it because most of his friends have moms and he doesn’t. I just don’t want him going to daycare and telling his friends that he met his other dad and he plays hockey. Daycare already thinks it’s weird he calls me daddy but I honestly think they just think he’s confused or wants to fit in.” 

It took Ilya a moment to internally translate Shane’s dump of English. While Ilya had certainly improved his English after 15 years in the NHL, complicated topics were always frustrating to translate.

“I understand,” Ilya said. 

“But I want you two to meet,” Shane said. “I talked to my mom. Since she has custody it’s technically her choice, but she’s never made a decision for him without consulting me. She thinks it’ll be nice for Nicky. I think we can start slow with visits.”

“When?” Ilya asked, totally unable to hide his impatience. 

Shane looked thoughtful. “Sunday?” He suggested, still studying the tips of his fingers. 

“Sunday?” It was Thursday. Sunday was in three days. Ilya was supposed to go to Montreal to go out clubbing with a few Centaurs players this weekend but that wasn’t happening. 

“Is that too soon?” Shane asked. 

“No,” Ilya said instantly. “Is perfect.” 

He would get to meet his son on Sunday.  

“I was thinking we could do it in Montreal?” Shane suggested. “My friend Lacey owns a sensory gym that Nicky loves. And Nicky has a doctor’s appointment in Montreal Monday morning.” 

“Is he…” Ilya trailed off, unsure of how to ask if this was a regular appointment or if Nicky was sick or hurt. 

Shane thankfully explained: “It’s routine, just a follow up because he has foot drop and they want to see if his new brace helped.” 

What?

“It’s, uh, basically when he walks or during transfers he has a hard time picking up his foot,” Shane explained. 

Ilya was sure he still looked confused because Shane pulled out his phone. Ilya thought Shane would google something and show Ilya a page full of confusing words but instead, when Shane handed Ilya his phone it was a video. 

There was a woman who probably ran track if the outfit she wore and the last name Grebe printed on a bib was any indicator. 

“I saw this the other day,” Shane explained. “I was trying to see if there were any suggestions if his foot drop got worse.” 

Ilya clicked on the video. 

{“So you started racing with a brace. Can you explain to the audience at home how that experience has been and how it has helped?” A reporter off camera asked. 

“Of course, yeah,” the woman said. “I have what’s called foot drop and what that means is that when I was little and they surgically repaired my club foot but some of the nerves there were damaged so I can’t flex my foot and I can’t pick it up, which is what my brace helps with.” 

“And how has that improved your stride?” The reporter asked. 

“It’s easier to lift my foot because I can use the muscles and nerves with less damage,” Grebe responded. 

“Well, it certainly served you well, and hopefully we’ll see you in a couple months in Paris!” 

“Hopefully!”}

“I understand better now. She’s a Paralympic athlete too, right ?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes, but she’s Summer Paralympics,” Shane said. “And on Team USA.” He made a face. 

Ilya chuckled. Canada and the USA had a pretty intense rivalry. “Hey, I saw you posed with Team GB earlier this year for a photo! So you do like Paralympians from other teams.” The video of one of the athletes from Team GB showing Shane how to make a sign called the Equal Play sign had gone viral mainly because Shane, probably jet lagged from skipping media to fly to Beijing, had a hard time making a very simple sign. 

“That was for a good cause,” Shane smiled. “There’s not always opportunities for disabled kids in the UK to play sports or do PE.” 

“Really?” Ilya asked. Hockey had been such an important outlet for Ilya as a child. He wouldn’t have survived losing his mother without hockey. Ilya couldn’t imagine not having the option to play. 

“Some of them can’t even go outside for recess because their playgrounds aren’t accessible. Although, that happens here too.” 

Still? 

“I thought there were laws here,” Ilya said. 

“There are,” Shane said. “But they’re hard to enforce and so many schools will just say it’s too hard or too expensive to include disabled kids.” 

Shit. Ilya didn’t like how tight that made his chest feel. 

They were quiet. 

“So, Sunday,” Shane said. “At the sensory gym my friend owns. Lacey knows about you. Don’t worry. She won’t tell anyone, not even her wife.” 

“Your friend is gay?” Ilya asked. He couldn’t help himself. Lacey was disabled and gay? 

“Very,” Shane laughed. “Very very gay.”

“Her mom did not say in the article,” Ilya noted. He didn't know why it was so surprising. If disabled people could be married, they could be gay too, couldn’t they?

“I think, uh, her mom was trying to make sure she didn’t alienate part of her audience.” 

“Alienate?” Ilya asked. “I don’t know what that word means.” It was rare these days that Ilya ran into a word he didn’t know the meaning of, and Ilya could probably guess what alienate meant, but it was easier to just ask Shane.

“It means, like, she didn’t want to make people not listen to what she was saying about raising disabled kids because Lacey being gay made them uncomfortable. Because…” Shane trailed off. 

It took Ilya a moment to understand. “Oh, because Russia?” 

Shane nodded. “Not everyone that moved to other countries is as accepting as she is.” 

That was very true. “So Lacey’s mom is okay with her being gay?” 

“Well, she’s also gay, so yeah. Although she didn’t come out until after Lacey did.” 

“She took even longer than you,” Ilya said and then wanted to kick himself. Shane’s eyes flitted downward. “Sorry, I meant-“ 

Shane smiled a little. “You’re right. I guess it takes some of us awhile. But um, Lacey is letting us use her kid’s gym. She has big sensory area and it’s closed on Sundays anyway. Nicky loves it there and I think help you both ease into it?” 

“What is a sensory gym?” Ilya asked instead of focusing on the fact that he could meet his son as soon as Sunday. 

“It’s mostly a play area but there’s good sensory stuff for kids with sensory issues.” 

“Does Nicky have sensory issues?” Ilya asked. 

“He’s actually autistic,” Shane said gently. 

Oh. 

“Autism? That is the one that is like… it is a mental difficulty, right?” 

“Yes,” Shane answered. “He doesn’t have an intellectual disability and he can speak so for him it means he’s more sensitive to things like lights and sounds and well, he didn’t talk until he was almost three but I didn’t talk that much either. And sometimes when he gets overwhelmed with the world he needs a break or he gets really upset. And he really likes when things are consistent, when therapy is on the same day, same foods, same morning routine whether he’s in Ottawa or Montreal.” 

“He sounds like you,” Ilya pointed out because Shane did all of the things, except Ilya didn’t know when Shane started talking.

Shane pursed his lips but said nothing. 

“But this sensory gym? It’s good for him? He likes it?” Ilya asked. 

“It’s one of his favorite places.” Shane grinned wide, the biggest smile he’d seen from Shane in almost 5 years. 

There was a shrill ring from Shane’s pocket. “Sorry, it’s my mom. I have her on emergency bypass in case there’s anything wrong with Nicky.” 

Shane stood up and stepped away. Ilya tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation. It was brief anyway.

“Mom couldn’t find his stuffie and he won’t go to sleep without it. It’s this little owl my mom got him when she and my dad went to Aruba. It’s his favorite.” 

“Sounds cute,” Ilya smiled at the thought of it. 

Nicky was already a preschooler with preferences and with yet another diagnosis for Ilya to wrap his mind around and Ilya got to meet him Sunday. 

Ilya was excited he couldn’t breathe. He was also so terrified he couldn’t breathe. 

* * * 

Ilya wasn’t sure if he was supposed to knock on the door or text Shane or something else when he got to the door of the sensory gym. 

He didn’t have to wonder for long because the door opened automatically. Ilya, who was pretty sure that it was in response to him standing there, walked inside. 

“Hi,” said an unfamiliar voice. It took Ilya a second to place it because it was a woman’s voice and also because she sat a good three feet lower than him in a wheelchair with orange, white, light pink, and hot pink spokes. “Hi,” Ilya responded with a wave. 

“I’m Lacey, Shane’s friend. He’s running late.” Lacey smiled. “He asked me to let you in but I’ll go in my office once he gets here.” 

“Okay,” Ilya said because he didn’t know what else to say. 

Shane’s friend was pretty. She had short blonde hair that was styled neatly and light brown eyes. Plus, she looked incredibly muscular. Ilya tried not to make it obvious he was staring but he couldn’t help it. He just hadn’t met a wheelchair user beyond the brief meetings with Make a Wish kids that felt different. 

Ilya breathed a sigh of relief when Shane came through the door. 

He carried Nicky in one arm and a tricycle in the other. 

Nicky was smaller than Ilya expected. Up close, he looked tiny, not just his legs, which were smaller than most kids’ were, but his entire body. He was smaller than most four year olds, freckly like Shane but not, at all, the least bit shy. 

Ilya had expected some sort of warm up period, some sort of Nicky hiding behind Shane, of Nicky being like Shane was but Nicky was as bold as Ilya had ever been. 

He brought himself right up to Ilya on the tricycle Ilya had only seen in a photo, looked up at Ilya with his big hazel eyes and said: “Do you know how many parts of the body a bug has?” 

Ilya was pretty sure that that a few concussions had taken care of the part of the brain that knew how many parts of the body bugs had. 

“Cmon! Let’s go to the bug room!” Nicky was determined to give Ilya a tour of the sensory gym. First the bug room, where Ilya learned that bugs had three parts of their body and also that Nicky’s favorite bug was a butterfly, then the space room, where Nicky made Ilya pretend to be an astronaut, then the life skills room where Nicky showed Ilya how to scan groceries and zip up his jacket. 

Ilya was obsessed with Nicky. He was so fucking beautiful and smart and his smile, oh it hurt everything inside of Ilya to see. Nicky was so fucking perfect. 

He was so much like Shane that it hurt, but there were these bursts of energy, bursts that Ilya had learned that he had to keep quiet when he was little. Nicky was unabashed however and he really liked to talk. He talked more than Ilya had ever heard any four year old. 

Nicky especially liked the hockey room. 

“Auntie Lacey scored more goals than any girl in sledge hockey ever!” Nicky beamed with pride and pointed at a picture of Lacey playing sled hockey. 

At the fake net, Nicky got off his tricycle to demonstrate that he knew how to score a goal with a small stick. 

“Daddy taught me how to score a goal!” He said when the puck he shot landed cleanly in the untended goal. 

And then: “Can you score a goal, Mr. Ilya?” 

This made Shane start laughing and Ilya could barely hold his own amusement in. “I am very good at scoring goals.”  He got paid a lot of money to do exactly that. 

Nicky regarded Ilya with a skeptical squint and Ilya’s heart melted. There was no shortcut to Nicky’s heart via being good at hockey. 

“I bet you can’t score one against Paul the Wall,” Nicky said. 

Ilya had no idea who Paul the Wall was.  

Shane explained, while Nicky set up for a shooting drill, that Paul Winebauer was the goalie for Team Canada. he earned his nickname after Team Canada played the entire Olympic tournament without letting a single goal in until the goal medal match. Paul was the best goalie in para ice hockey period, apparently. And when there had been an NHL Friends vs Team Canada Para Ice Hockey game, Paul had graciously given Wyatt Hayes tips on goalieing after he let five shots go in during the first two periods. The result had been an awesome third period where Wyatt managed to block 30 of 32 subsequent shots. But apparently Paul the Wall was known for shutouts.) 

The entire was overwhelming for Ilya even though Nicky was in his element. It was hard to breathe. Every time Ilya saw Nicky he grinned wider. Nicky was so beautiful. So smart and sweet and funny and fucking perfect. Fuck every voice in his said that said to Ilya that something was wrong with Nicky. He was fucking perfect. 

Ilya was shocked to realize, when Nicky started to get tired, that three hours had already passed. 

Shane looked reluctant to end the visit so Ilya took a deep breath and said: “It looks like you might be sleepy, Nicky.” 

Nicky hummed. “Maybe,” he said. He yawned. 

“I think it’s time for a nap, buddy,” Shane said with a sad smile. “We can play with Mr. Ilya next time, okay?” 

Nicky looked reluctant and Ilya was glad he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want this visit to end. But Shane had said next time. There would be a next time. 

“Okay,” Nicky replied. He turned to Ilya. “Can I give you a hug please?” 

Ilya nodded, not trusting his voice and Nicky wheeled himself over and then practically fell off his tricycle giving Ilya a hug. 

Ilya never wanted to let go. 

Chapter End Notes

Edited and updated 5/6/26

Chapter 5: surface

Chapter Notes

Well, here's another chapter.

Content warnings: homophobia including use of the f slur, ableism, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

It had been the same nightmare since he’d found out about Nicky. 

His dad alive, healthy, the same age he’d been when Ilya last remembered him being healthy and not riddled with dementia. Ilya found that, after 14 years in North America, he usually dreamed in English but not always. Today, his dream was in Russian.

“You must send him away,” Father said. “He brings shame on our family. He is defective.” 

Ilya couldn’t speak ,couldn’t explain that he didn’t think like his father, that he didn’t want to, that Nicky was Ilya’s son, no matter what. 

“He is defective because you are an abomination,” Father growled. “You did this to him. You and that-“ 

Ilya spat in his father’s face. 

Father responded with a slap, cold, hard, just like Ilya had grown used to as a child, at least until Ilya was old enough to fight back, at least until Dad started targeting the one person in the house who wouldn’t fight him, Mama. 

Ilya couldn’t fight back this time. His entire body felt submerged in molasses.  

“You disgusting fucking faggot,” his father growled. “You made him like this.” 

“He’s… perfect,” Ilya gritted out. 

“He’s defective. You know that. Look at him.” 

Nicky appeared out of nowhere and all of a sudden Ilya was free and he was furious, especially as his dad lunged at Nicky. Ilya shoved his father against the wall with a thud. 

Father tried to fight back but Ilya was stronger. Ilya was panting heavily, his nostrils flailing with every breath. “Don’t touch him!” Ilya growled. 

“Look at him,” Father said with a cold smirk. “He’s terrified of you.” 

Ilya dropped his father immediately and turned to look at Nicky, who was staring at Ilya, eyes wide with terror and wet with tears. 

Ilya woke up screaming.

Fuck.

* * *

“So we’ve got good news and bad news,” Dr. Tyler said. The dark haired white man sat down in front of Shane and Mom. Nicky was asleep on Shane’s lap since it was well past his nap time. His head rested against Shane’s chest and he drooled slightly. Shane didn’t mind. 

“What’s the bad news?” Shane asked. It was usually easier to start with the bad news and doctors planned it that way anyway. Easier to end on a positive note, right? 

Dr. Tyler took a deep breath. “The bad news is that the brace wasn’t doing as much as we hoped and I’m not ready to rule out surgery like we thought we’d be able to by now. The good news is that there has been noticeable improvement in the muscles in his foot and I think we can continue wearing the brace while keeping surgery as one of our options.” 

Shane’s heart sank. The entire point of having Nicky in his brace 18 hours a day was that it was supposed to prevent him needing surgery on his foot.

“So what does that look like? Wearing the braces 24/7?” Mom asked. 

That was the next step and one Shane didn’t love but it was better than surgery. 

“That’s my next step. We’ll get him fitted for an overnight brace which should help with keeping his muscles from contracting,” Dr. Tyler said. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the news you wanted.” 

Nicky stirred on Shane’s chest but didn’t wake up. He must’ve been exhausted. He’d had a busy past couple of days. He’d met his dad, although he had no idea who he was, and then he’d had a long doctor’s appointment that involved a lot of walking and moving, things that exhausted Nicky on a good day. He was probably going to take a longer nap than usual and go to bed early like he has yesterday. 

“It’s okay,” Mom said, because Shane hadn’t said anything. “Is there any physical therapy exercises we should be practicing at home?”

“Just continuing to practice walking,” Dr. Tyler said. “How often does he use a mobility aid?”  

Mom looked at Shane, who panicked. He was terrible at doctor’s appointments. All they were was a reminder of how much of Nicky’s day to day life that Shane missed. 

“He uses his chair most of the time,” Shane said. “Usually at daycare. At home he uses his trike or his cane.”   

“I’d definitely encourage him using the tricycle,” Dr. Tyler said. “It should help strengthen the muscles in his ankle and foot. I wish I had better news, but I’m not recommending surgery just yet.” 

Shane breathed a sigh of relief. 

The rest of the appointment was Dr. Tyler walking them through different options for overnight bracing. Nicky still hadn’t woken up and so when the appointment was over, Shane carried Nicky to the car while Mom pushed Nicky’s trike.  

“He’s exhausted,” Mom said as they pulled out of the hospital parking garage. 

“I think maybe we overdid it the past couple of days,” Shane said as he glanced out the window. “He played pretty hard with Ilya yesterday.” 

“How did that go?” Mom asked. 

Nicky had spent the night at Shane’s house since Mom had wanted some alone time with Dad. (Shane felt yet another pang of guilt at the fact that his parents had been empty nesters for almost ten years before they had to start all over with a newborn.) Mom had been running late because she’d forgotten some of Nicky’s paperwork and by the time she got to Montreal, Shane and Nicky were already in the car waiting for her. 

“Well, Nicky really likes him,” Shane answered. He was still reeling from the visit, from the fact that Ilya knew and all of this was real and happening. 

“How did Ilya do?” Mom asked. 

“He seemed excited,” Shane answered. “And you know Nicky, he’s a social butterfly. He can charm anyone into playing with him.” 

“He must get that from Ilya,” Mom said quietly. “You were so shy we’d had to bribe you to talk to your kindergarten teacher long enough to ask to use the bathroom.” 

Shane didn’t remember this but he’d been so shy as a kid. Nicky was the opposite. He loved to talk and liked to talk to everyone. 

“Probably,” Shane said. He kept staring out the window. “Mom, I don’t even know how this is supposed to work. I don’t even have custody of Nicky.” 

Shane waited for his mom to interject with a reminder that all Shane had to do was the say the words and they’d go to a notary and get their custody decision reversed, but Shane didn’t want to think about that. Mom and Dad having custody made sense, at least until Shane was ready to be done with hockey. 

Instead of saying that, however, Mom said: “I think starting things slow is good. I would like to meet, Ilya, though, properly.” 

Shane groaned. He couldn’t help it. 

“Shane, if he’s going to be spending time around my grandbaby I want to talk to him.” 

“I know,” Shane said. “I know, I just… That’s probably a good idea.” Mom had a point and it would probably give her peace of mind. 

“I can drive to Ottawa this weekend,” Shane said. “After training camp? We could invite Ilya over for dinner at the house.” 

“That sounds good. I’ll plan something okay? Now, how are you feeling about surgery?” 

“Dr. Tyler said it was a maybe,” Shane said. 

Nicky had already had surgery once in his life because of how his hips were aligned. His stroke had led to reduced movement in utero which had caused some of his joints to stiffen. The surgery had helped Nicky with walking but it was mostly to address the pain he was having when sitting. Nicky’s foot drop wasn’t painful yet. He just tended to drag his foot when he walked. 

“Surgery was so hard on him last time.” His surgery to correct the position of his hips had been a year prior, right after the playoffs ended. Nicky had been in bed rest for several days and it had been months of physical therapy to get him back to where he was before he’d had surgery. But he wasn’t in pain anymore. Foot drop wasn’t causing Nicky pain and the brace was helping. “I’d rather try overnight. At least for a few months. If it’s surgery, then we’ll get surgery. We’ll go to CHOP. Elkins really likes the surgery their orthopedic team did for his daughter, and they have the best team in the world for orthopedics.” 

Mom put a comforting hand on Shane’s knee. “He’ll be okay.” 

“I know,” Shane said. “I just hate that I can't make it better.”

“Me too,” Mom said. 

“I can’t imagine how much this all feels like for Ilya.” Shane had been thinking about it. He’d been in the world of surgery and braces and acronyms and stem cells and muscle biopsies for four years now. 

Shane knew Nicky didn’t tolerate anesthesia well, that he usually needed the anesthesiologist with the most experience to monitor him. He knew that nicky was sluggish when he woke up from surgery, that getting him to eat was hard, that it was essentially a mix of pediasure, ice cream, and applesauce with a fortified veggie puree when they could convince Nicky to eat it.  Shane knew what stuffed animals comforted him. He knew was it was like to crawl into bed gingerly next to Nicky after a long day of practice, knowing that he would have to leave early in the morning to be back in the time for a pre-season road trip. Shane knew that Nicky mostly wanted to watch hockey highlights when he recovered and that he liked to get mobile as soon as he could.  

And it was still hard for Shane to come to terms with things like this. 

Ilya had done a great job with Nicky on Sunday. Seeing Nicky’s smile broke Shane’s heart. Nicky could’ve had this sooner, could’ve seen his eyes and smile reflected. He could’ve talked about hockey with Ilya, would’ve known that Ilya was actually very good against hockey (and definitely couldn’t score against Paul the Wall). 

He should’ve told Ilya. When Ilya hadn’t answered, Shane should’ve tried harder.  

“Shane?” Mom said softly. 

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Ilya.” 

“I think we can have dinner Saturday,” Mom said. It didn’t sound like a suggestion. 

“He might have a contract obligation,” Shane said. 

Mom shook her head.  “Summer,” Elkin’s wife, “actually invited me to the sensory friendly night at the museum. She said Elkins was going and invited us.” 

Elkins had made a great cover for attending events with Nicky. Elkins and Shane were publicly good friends and Elkins was a friend. He definitely knew that Nicky was Shane’s. Elkins also had a trans daughter so he and his wife knew the importance of being absolutely silent about that fact. Elkins also definitely didn’t know that Nicky was also Ilya’s.  

Sometimes Shane stressed about how many people knew the truth about Nicky but they'd all kept quiet. Eventually, the world would know the truth. Shane had promised himself that when he’d given custody of Nicky to his parents. The world would know about Nicky. That plan had included telling Ilya eventually, before the press found out. At least that had happened. 

“You didn’t tell them yes, did you?” 

“No, I didn’t,” Mom said. “But, they shouldn’t have any team commitments. So, I want both of you over for dinner on Saturday. Okay?” 

Mom wasn’t going to let this go. Might as well rip it off like a bandaid. “Okay.” 

* * * 

Shane Hollander 

My mom wants to meet you and asked me to invite you to dinner this weekend. She’s going to have a lot of questions for you. I’d prepare in advance 

Ilya Rozanov 

I don’t want my answers to seem like I practiced too much. I want to be honest. I will be ready 

Shane Hollander 

No one is ready for my mom. Good luck. 

* * *

Ilya stared at the text message from Shane. Did Ilya really need to prepare that much to meet with Shane’s parents? Things had felt really overwhelming after llya met Nicky. His nightmares intensified, not that Ilya had a crystal clear memory of Nicky’s freckled face that he would never forget. He was skating like crap, enough that Coach Wiebe had asked more than once if everything was alright in his personal life. Ilya had told his coach he had some private family issues he was working on and that he’d work harder to make sure it didn’t impact his playing. Coach Wiebe had told Ilya he was available if Ilya ever needed to talk, but Ilya wasn’t sure how Coach Wiebe would take the revelation that Ilya had gotten his rival pregnant five years ago and had just learned about that fact. But Coach Wiebe had a point. Ilya needed to talk to someone.

Ilya could call Svetlana. (He was pretty lacking in the friends department unless you counted his teammates who treated him more like a living legend than a potential friend.) Svetlana was discreet. She’d also understand why Ilya was having a difficult time with the fact that Nicky was disabled. 

Ilya was trying not to let it bother him. Nicky was perfect and he was also disabled and that was hard to think about. Was it Ilya’s fault? He knew logically that it wasn’t. But some part of him remembered when he was 13 and at his first international tournament and there were two women holding hands while they walked with a young girl in a wheelchair. 

“You see?” Father had said. “Their child is cursed because they’re an abomination. God punishes sin like that.” Dad had shaken his head. 

Nicky wasn’t cursed. It wasn’t Ilya or Shane’s fault that he was disabled. Nicky could still have a good life. But Ilya was terrified. He hated that part of him still wished Nicky was normal, that he wouldn’t struggle in life, that he could run and play like other kids. 

Ilya’s fingers hovered over the phone. What would Svetlana say about Nicky being disabled? Would she think he was cursed too? 

Ilya took a deep breath and then called Svetlana. 

Svetlana answered after three weeks. 

“Ilya, hey, you haven’t called in weeks,” she answered in Russian. “Is something wrong?” 

Ilya sighed. “I don’t know,” he answered in Russian.

“Hold on,” Svetlana said. “Gimme a minute or two; I’m getting into my apartment.” 

Ilya waited and tried to figure out how to explain. He didn’t exactly think he could explain it without mentioning that Nicky’s other father was Shane. He knew Svetlana knew how important it was to be discreet. She was queer too, and that had always come with high stakes for both of them.

“Okay,” Svetlana said after a minute or so. “What’s wrong?” 

“I found out a few weeks ago that I have a son,” Ilya opened. “He’s four years old and I didn’t know about him until a month ago.” 

All Ilya could hear was Svetlana’s breathing.  

So Ilya kept talking: “He’s um… Svetlana, it is really important that you keep what I am going to say a secret.” 

“Of course I’ll keep your child a secret,” Svetlana said immediately. “What, is his mother a celebrity or something? Or is she a drug addict? You said you just found out. Did child services call you or something? Is that how you found out?” 

Ilya wasn’t sure how to explain it. Fuck. He should’ve figured it out before he called. “Well, um, I saw him at the practice rink in Ottawa.” 

“Your son lives in Ottawa? Was it some one night stand on a road trip? How do you know he was yours?” Svetlana asked. “These women, they can be money hungry.” 

“You make a lot of assumptions, Svetlana,” Ilya joked then took a deep breath. “Do you know who Shane Hollander is?” 

“Are you okay, Ilya?” Svetlana asked. “What does he have to do with this?” 

“Shane Hollander,” Ilya said. “The hockey player. The transgender hockey player.” 

Svetlana was very quiet. 

“I got him pregnant.” 

“I figured that was why you mentioned him,” Svetlana said. “When? How? What?” 

“We were… we were lovers,” Ilya said. “And then after my dad died, I ended it. And apparently, Shane was pregnant.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense, Ilya,” Svetlana said. “Hollander got injured that season but that was 2017. He played the full 17-18 season. They made it well into the playoffs. He almost beat his scoring record.” 

“He missed the first month of the season,” Ilya pointed out. “Upper body injury.” 

“But he was still at training camp and he was at games, he just wasn’t… Oh my god,” Svetlana said. “Oh my god, Ilya. Ilya, you have a child with Shane Hollander?” 

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “He’s four.” 

“Holy shit, Ilya,” Svetlana said. 

Ilya had missed the comforting cadence of Russian profanity coming from anyone other than himself. 

“And he didn’t tell you?” Svetlana asked. “That’s fucked up. What would he have done if you never found out?” 

Ilya didn’t want to think about that. Instead he said, “He didn’t find out until he was six months pregnant. I think it was hard for him.” 

“He didn’t even try to talk you?” Svetlana asked. “To give you a chance.” 

Ilya’s heart sank. “He tried to tell me we needed to talk. I thought that he just wanted to talk about us.” 

“Oh,” Svetlana said. 

“I ignored him,” Ilya said. “I didn’t know or I would’ve never.” 

“I understand why he didn’t tell you,” Svetlana said. “How long did he try to contact you for?” 

“The last time he did Nicky was six months old.” 

And then, something hit Ilya like a fucking train. Shane had said that he’d noticed Nicky’s symptoms of cerebral palsy early, probably earlier than most did. 

Shane had texted Ilya when Nicky would’ve been six months old. It had been the last text. Ilya had never deleted it. 

Jane

Can we please talk? Please 

“Oh fuck,” Ilya said in English. 

“What?” Svetlana asked, still in Russian. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

Ilya had no way to confirm it, not without asking Shane. But if Shane had noticed when Nicky was only a few months old, and Shane noticed everything, then that would’ve been around when Nicky was diagnosed. 

“He’s um, he’s um,” Ilya didn’t know what the respectful word for disabled was in Russian. They weren’t supposed to use special and he definitely knew that the actual Russian word, invalid, sounded even crueler. Ilya settled on. “He has a difference.” 

“Like a disability?” Svetlana asked in English. 

“Yes, he has um, cerebral palsy,” Ilya answered, also in English. “He had a stroke before he was born,” Ilya switched back to Russian.  “His legs don’t work very well and he has issues with his hands but he doesn’t have mental difficulties.” 

Svetlana was quiet and then: “That’s probably why Hollander started following sled hockey,” she mused. “That makes sense.” 

“You know about Hollander and sled hockey?” Ilya asked. 

“I interviewed a retired team USA goalie for the sled hockey team. He talked about Hollander backing Canada financially,” Svetlana said. “It has made Team Canada a bit of a menace apparently. I thought Hollander was just nice.”

“He is,” Ilya said defensively. “But he cares a lot because of Nicky.” 

 “How are you?” Svetlana asked. “Because Nicky is disabled?” 

“He is… perfect,” Ilya said simply. 

“Every parent thinks their child is perfect,” Svetlana said. “But you remember summers, when we would walk past the orphanage with the disabled,” she used the English word, “kids. My father would tell me they were cursed. Yours too, I believe. It must not be easy having a disabled kid.” 

“Nicky is not cursed,” Ilya said quickly. 

“I know,” Svetlana said. “But I’m asking, do you think it’s your fault?” 

Ilya was quiet. It was unfortunate that Svetlana knew him so well, that she knew what he was thinking like she could read his mind. 

“He is not a curse,” Ilya repeated. “He’s not. But I’m scared for him and for me.” 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Svetlana said. 

“I am glad he does not have mental difficulties,” Ilya admitted. “I want him to have a good life. I’m scared he won’t. I’m scared I don’t know how to love a special child but I love him so much. He’s amazing, Svetlana.” 

“You got to meet him?” Svetlana asked. “Not just see him?”

“Best day of my life,” Ilya smiled. “We went to play place. He talks so much.” Ilya found his voice got lighter when he talked about Nicky. 

“Why don’t you tell me about him?” Svetlana asked. 

Ilya spent the better part of the next half hour talking about his amazing son. 

* * *  

The back door opened and then Yuna Hollander was standing on her back porch with a perfect view of Ilya taking the last dregs of the cigarette he had been very close to successfully sneaking. Ilya was quitting. He was fucking quitting. 

“You know,” Yuna said. “Secondhand smoke is not good for kids.” 

“I am trying to quit,” Ilya swore. 

Yuna waved a hand. “I had to quit when we were trying to get pregnant,” she said. “Never picked it back up after, but I get it.” 

Ilya almost offered Yuna a cigarette because he’d found that even amongst his teammates who no longer smoked, they would all take a cigarette once in a while. As it stood, Ilya couldn’t imagine Yuna Hollander taking a cigarette from him, regardless of if she was craving one or not. 

(Dinner had gone pretty well. Ilya had been expecting it to be awkward but Nicky ended up talking the entire time about the adventure he’d had on Thursday with one of the Pike children, Amber. Ilya was very absorbed in Nicky. It was hard not to be. He was a ball of energy and joy and the attention of the room tended to gravitate toward him. 

Shane had to remind Nicky to slow down eating, and Nicky had asked Ilya if Ilya could cut his chicken. Ilya had done his best not to cry as Nicky gave exact instructions on how he wanted his chicken cut. 

“He’ll make a great future captain,” Shane had whispered to Ilya under his breath, and Ilya was pretty sure he was implying that, like most captains, Nicky was already a little bit of a bossy asshole. But Shane was smiling and clearly he was joking.  

Beyond that, it had gone well and Ilya had helped David with dishes in silence while Shane and Yuna started the process of Nicky’s bedtime routine. Afterward, while taking the trash out, Ilya grabbed a cigarette from his pocket. He knew he should be quitting and that it would not endear Shane’s parents any more to Ilya, but he had been craving one badly and he needed a break.) 

“Can I sit?” Yuna asked, gesturing at the chair next to him.

Ilya nodded. “Is okay I put this out here?” He asked. 

“I had a friend who would visit who used to smoke a pack a day. This deck has seen worse.” Yuna said. “But you should really work on quitting. Nicky can have a hard time breathing when he gets sick.

Ilya dropped his cigarette butt on the porch and then stepped on it. Then, he reached out an retrieved his cigarette butt. Smoking in front of Shane’s mom was one thing. Leaving trash on her porch was another. “I know,” Ilya said. “I’m trying to quit because I looked it up and it was bad for him. I’m only smoking one a day, sometimes two. I’ve tried to quit, but I crave them when I’m stressed.”

“Parenting is stressful,” Yuma pointed out. “All of it.” 

“It is,” Ilya agreed, even though he hadn’t actually done any parenting. 

“Do you know why I’m worried about you?” Yuna asked. Her tone was firm but gentle even if her words were anything but. Shane hadn’t been kidding.

Ilya had a few ideas and he figured that stating any one of them would earn him more brownie points than saying he didn’t know. “Because I am a playboy and because people think I’m irresponsible.” 

“Yes,” Yuna agreed. “And because publicly you sleep with a lot of women, and my son is not a woman.” 

“I know,” Ilya responded sharply. He couldn’t help the blush rising in his cheeks. “I like men too,” Ilya said. “I like both men and women. And Shane is a man.” 

Yuna seemed to size Ilya up, trying to determine if he was being honest. Ilya was. Shane had only ever been a man to Ilya, sans the period when they were both teenage boys. 

“Good then,” Yuna said. “I wanted to clarify that because I know not all hockey players are as accepting of Shane as they publicly claim to be.” 

Ilya knew that too. Hockey was a tough world. He understood Yuna being protective.

“Now, I’m not going to pretend that this isn’t an interrogation.“ 

Ilya could probably guess what interrogation meant because his old roommate on the Raiders loved tv shows about crime but Ilya wanted to be sure. “Interrogation?” 

“It’s what police do to suspects,” Yuna explained. “It means I’m going to ask you some very hard questions.” 

“Oh.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I want to keep my grandson and my son safe,” Yuna said. “And I don’t know anything about you besides the fact that you and my son were…” 

“Lovers,” Ilya supplied. 

Yuna made a face. 

“Is that not the right English word?” 

“It’s um, not very appropriate,” Yuna said delicately. 

“Oh.”

“I understand,” Yuna said quickly. “My father was Japanese and an immigrant. English was his third language.”

“It is my second,” Ilya admitted. 

“It’s a hard language to learn coming from Russian,” Yuna said. “I won’t hold that against you.” They were quiet and then Yuna spoke: “I don’t know very much about you, Ilya. You grew up in Russia, right?” 

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “In Moscow.” 

“Do you have family there still?” Yuna asked. 

Ilya winced. He wasn’t expecting that question and it made him tense. Technically, he did have family in Russia. He had a niece he still cared about, but that was it. “My mom died when I was 12, and my dad died five years ago, but he was not a good man. My brother still lives in Russia but we do not speak.” 

Yuna looked a little taken aback at that and the corners of her mouth quirked downward. “You didn’t have a good relationship with your family?” 

“My mom was amazing. She would’ve loved Nicky,” Ilya added. Because that was something Ilya could be certain of, even if he sometimes wondered if his mom would’ve accepted him for being bisexual, Ilya knew his mama would’ve loved Nicky regardless. She would’ve been thrilled to meet him.

“But your father and brother were not amazing?” 

Ilya laughed a little because of course Yuna Hollander had heard the subtext. Only his mom was amazing. “You were not kidding about police questions.” 

Yuna smiled. “I’m honest,” she said. 

“My father and brother were very old fashioned,” Ilya explained, like he had done to Shane in a hotel room before Ilya had gone and fucked up his life, both of their lives, probably. “They were both police. My dad was not kind.”  

Yuna’s frown deepened. 

“I will not be like him,” Ilya swore because he wanted to reassure Yuna he would never hurt Shane or Nicky. “He is someone I want to avoid.” Ilya expected judgement or for Yuna to think that Ilya was going to be like his father. 

Instead, she said, “David’s father was not very kind either. He is a good father.” 

“I want to be a good father,” Ilya said. “To Nicky.”  

“I trust Shane,” Yuna said. “He would not have let you meet Nicky if he didn’t think you’d be a good father.” 

Ilya swallowed hard. That was news. Ilya wasn’t sure he believed Shane believed that. 

“But I still want to know more about you,” Yuna continued. “Because Shane also trusts me to keep Nicky safe and I’m worried about both of my boys. It’s important that we talk, okay?” 

“It’s important to me too.” 

“Good,” Yuna said. “Then I have some questions for you.” 

They started off easy. Well, easy was relative because there wasn’t exactly an easy way for your child’s grandmother to interrogate you. 

“Do you understand the custody agreement that Shane has with me and my husband?” Yuna asked. 

“Nicky lives with you. Shane said you have custody.” It was straightforward and Ilya was in no place to challenge something that was clearly working very well for Nicku.

“Yes, and it is a temporary arrangement but it does mean that David and I make medical and legal decisions for Nicky. We do it with Shane most of the time but in emergencies, we can make decisions quickly.” 

“I understand.”

“Good. Are you thinking about pursuing legal custody of Nicky?” 

Ilya was surprised by Yuna’s bluntness. “No,” Ilya said. “He is safe and he is good here with you and your husband. I don’t want to mess that up.” 

Yuna looked relieved and Ilya wondered if she really thought that Ilya was going to disrupt Nicky’s life like that. “If that changes,” Yuna said, “I don’t want to find out in a court of law. If you want to talk about custody, you go to Shane first and then we can talk about it.”

It took Ilya a second to translate given the context but he nodded. “I will talk to Shane first.” 

“So, Shane told me about you growing up in Russia.” 

Ilya stared at his shoes. Ilya knew where this was going. “You mean how I thought about people that have disability.” 

“Yes,” Yuna said. “Was it hard for you to learn that Nicky had one?” 

Ilya nodded. “Very hard; it is still hard. Growing up, I was taught it was not good. I’m learning more now.” 

“Shane had to learn too. We all did. It’s a learning curve.”

“Shane probably learned by reading thirty books in a month or something,” Ilya said. He wasn’t joking. That seemed like exactly what Shane did. 

Yuna smiled. “That’s about what he did. He read a lot and then connected disability to hockey.” 

“With his friend that plays sled hockey, right?” 

“Yes,” Yuna said. “And he also started going to events and meeting more people and learning more about what Nicky’s life could look like. Not just in sports but in a lot of different jobs. His friend Lacey’s wife snowboards but not professionally and she’s a welder. She’s also had a leg amputated because of cancer and I think that was good for Shane to see that there were options for Nicky.” 

“I met Shane’s friend on Sunday,” Ilya said. “She is the first disabled adult I’ve ever met. I was worried Nicky wouldn’t have a good life.” 

“I worried about his future too. And David and I worried about Shane’s. That’s part of being a parent. It’s even more worrying when your child is disabled. And I know it’s different for you. How do you feel about his disabilities now?”  

“It’s a lot,” Ilya said. “I don’t know a lot about cerebral palsy or autism and it’s a lot of new words for me. I’m still scared,” Ilya admitted.  

“It took us all a while to stop feeling so scared,” Yuna said. “We were absolutely not expecting a diagnosis and we were very surprised.” 

Ilya had to ask. 

“When did you find out Nicky had cerebral palsy?” Ilya asked. 

“What?” Yuna asked then she processed the question. “When he was a baby.” 

“When? What day?” Ilya was pretty sure he knew. Fuck.

“Nicky was six months old. It was during hockey season, the end of regular season. We took Nicky to SickKids. Shane was on a road trip.” 

“To Boston…” Ilya finished. 

“Yeah, he was in…” Yuna trailed off. 

Fuck. 

So Shane had texted him right after he’d found out Nicky had cerebral palsy. 

Fuck. 

“He texted me,” Ilya breathed. “He asked me to talk.” 

“Oh,” Yuna said softly. 

Fuck. 

“I didn’t know,” Ilya said. “I didn’t…” 

Yuna surprised him. She offered a comforting hand and Ilya let her place it on his shoulder. 

Fuck. 

It took Ilya a moment for the blood to stop rushing in his ears. “I’m sorry,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. He just… he hadn’t realized. “I’m sorry.” 

Shane had reached out and Ilya hadn’t even responded. Maybe if he had… 

He wasn’t aware he was crying until Yuna started rubbing soothing circles on his back. Shane had such a wonderful mother. Nicky was in such wonderful hands. 

Ilya wasn’t sure how long he cried for but it had been a long time since a mom, any mom, had comforted him like this. And this was Shane’s mom, Shane Hollander, the man whose heart Ilya broke because he couldn’t handle his own feelings.

He had been so fucking depressed. He knew now what it was, that when he’d sat in his apartment in Moscow with a bottle of pills in his hand after his dad’s funeral thinking about running from everything, that he’d been depressed. 

Ilya had buried himself in hockey and when that hadn’t worked, he’d turned to drinking, to blacking out after games and knocking back a cooler full of Gatorade to stave off a hangover. 

He’d been so fucking drunk the night that Shane had texted him that Ilya had almost replied. He’d forced himself to drink water and go to bed instead. He told himself he was no good to Shane that drunk. He told himself that Shane deserved better than being shrouded in secrecy. 

He told himself it hurt too fucking much to love someone like he loved Shane. 

And the entire time he hadn’t  known that there was tangible proof of love that hurt so badly Ilya couldn’t breathe. 

How had he fucked so much of this up? 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat on the porch with Shane’s mom but Shane came out tentatively as Ilya was drying his face. 

Shane looked between his mom and Ilya and noticed the tear tracks on Ilya’s face. 

“Mom,” he said. “Did you…” 

Ilya shook his head. “No, I am crying for different reason.” 

“Are you sure?” Shane asked. “I told you she could be a little intense.” 

Yuna made a lightly offended scoff but she smiled. 

“She cares very much for you and Nicky,” Ilya said. “I will tell you why I was crying later.” Eventually, he would have to talk to Shane about what happened after Ilya’s dad died, but he couldn’t do that today. 

“Okay,” Shane said. “Nicky just went down to sleep but he wouldn’t let me put the brace on.” 

“Did you try asking your dad?” Yuna asked. 

“Nicky wouldn’t let him either. He wants Helmi to do it.” 

“You have a good night, Ilya, okay. Thank you for letting me interrogate you.” 

“You would make a very good detective,” Ilya said. 

Shane looked almost horrified. “She interrogated you?” He asked Yuna stepped inside and Shane said: “Are you actually okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine now. I just…” Ilya wasn’t ready to tell Shane about his depression, about the fact that he’d realized that the last time Shane had texted him had been when Ilya was at his lowest, that he was barely okay and he was trying to be better because Nicky needed him to be better.  “Your mom asks hard questions, but she did not interrogate me like police. She is very kind.” 

Shane looked a little relieved. “Okay. Are you sure you’re fine?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. Can you tell me more about the brace Nicky wears?” 

Chapter 6: shake

Chapter Notes

Some notes:

I’ve changed the last name of Lacey for personal preference reasons. Lacey’s last name is now Elroy.

Elkins, my OC who is a Centaur defensemen in this fic is autistic. He is depicted in ways that some might find stereotyping because he is very clipped in speech. He has something called apraxia of speech which makes speech difficult and frustrating for him. He manages by responding to people in as few words as possible. If his dialogue seems clipped, it is with intent.

CW: ableism and mentions of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders including postpartum depression and anxiety, and pregnancy related gender dysphoria, and Shane’s eating disorder traits and recovery, grab some tissues because i'm told this made people cry.

If you want to cry harder at the Ilya and Nicky and Shane bedtime story scene, I highly recommend this video of the book that Shane reads, called This Is How We Play by Jessica Slice and Caroline Cupp.

Ilya had one objective after practice: talking to Elkins. 

“Elkins, you like cars, yes?” Ilya asked. There had been some sort of YouTube video Ilya had seen a few months ago of Elkins showing off his many (6) cars, including two luxury cars that he’d had adapted to transport his daughter. 

“I have cars,” Elkins responded. 

“We should go to a bar and talk about cars,” Ilya said. Ilya wanted to talk about getting one car in particular, a wheelchair accessible one for Nicky. Shane’s mom had a black Toyota Sienna with a ramp that came out the side door. Shane’s dad had a grey Toyota 4Runner with a lift that also came out of the side door, and Shane had a Toyota Land Cruiser that Nicky could wheel right into the back of. 

“Okay,” Elkins said. 

“Today,” Ilya said, somewhat impatiently. Then he added: “If that works.” 

“Okay,” Elkins said. 

Elkins was giant man and he was even taller and certainly much broader than Ilya. He had a dark beard even outside of playoffs and was very clearly a man of very few words. 

“Benny’s?” Elkins suggested. 

Benny’s was a queer friendly bar in Ottawa. It wasn’t gay, but it was usually where the team went when they were going out with Harris, the social media manager, because he was gay and they wanted to make sure he was safe. The Boston locker room never would’ve considered the wellbeing of their gay social media manager when picking a place to go out, but Ottawa embraced Harris and enjoyed hanging out with him. Benny’s was an interesting choice for Elkins but Ilya knew very little about the man. He had a wife, but he could be an ally or bisexual. 

They made plans to meet after both of them had showered and changed at home.  

Three hours later, Ilya sat across from Elkins at Benny’s with a beer. Well, Elkins had ordered a cider with a single word and then slid a 50 across the bar. 

“So, you like cars,” Elkins said. He took a sip of his cider and winced. 

“I have question about your cars,” Ilya wasn’t even sure how to casually broach the subject of a wheelchair accessible vehicle. 

“Which one?” Elkins asked. 

“Your SUV. The one with the um, the one with the ramp,” Ilya answered. It was by far the nicest of Elkins’ cars and Ilya liked that it wasn’t a van. 

“Oh, Maddie’s car,” Elkins said. 

Elkins was not a very good conversationalist. “Yes, Maddie is your daughter, right? She’s disabled, yes?” 

“Yes,” Elkins answered. 

This was starting to get frustrating, but Ilya pushed on because he really wanted to get a wheelchair accessible vehicle as soon as possible. “Well, I know a child who is disabled and I was thinking of getting a car like yours, accessible,” Ilya said. “He has a wheelchair and a tricycle so there needs to be room in the trunk. How long did it take for yours?” 

“2-3 months, usually,” Elkins answered. He paused. “Is this for your kid or a friend’s kid?” 

That was the longest sentence Ilya had ever heard from Elkins. 

“Um, a friend’s kid,” Ilya lied after more than a minute of floundering. He brushed his nose. 

Elkins eyed Ilya. He looked like he was doing math in his head. “I think we have the same friend,” he said slowly. 

Shane and Elkins were publicly friends and had been seen together at a few Paralympic events and fundraisers.  Ilya could probably tell Elkins he was friends with Shane. Guys had friends on other teams. “I’m friends with Shane Hollander. His um, his parent’s-“ 

“I have to go make a phone call in my car,” Elkins said with a frown. “I hate phone calls.” 

He stood up and left the table. 

He came back five minutes later. “So Shane and I talked. I know what you know.” 

“Oh,” Ilya said. 

Ilya’s phone buzzed. 

Shane Hollander 

Elkins called me to clarify if you knew I was Nicky’s dad and he told me you were looking for a car for Nicky. I’m sorry I told him about us. 

Shit. Well, that had been one way to come out to a teammate. 

“My daughter is trans,” Elkins said. “That is not something I share with most of the team. I’m not going to tell anyone about you being… Shane didn’t say.” 

That was definitely more words than Ilya had ever heard Elkins say at once to anyone and it made Ilya a little emotional. “I’m bisexual.” 

“Cool,” Elkins responded drily and if Ilya hadn’t known how little the man spoke he might’ve assumed that Elkins didn’t approve. “I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Well, it’s hard to tell someone when you don’t talk very much,” Ilya pointed out jokingly. 

“True,” Elkins said. He said nothing else. 

“So, can you help me get a new car for Nicky?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes. What brand?” 

“Well, you know me, the flashier, the better.” Ilya winked. 

* * *

Shane had to tell Nicky about Ilya being his father. Enough adults in Nicky’s life knew about Ilya that Nicky absolutely deserved the truth before someone slipped up. 

Shane only had two weeks before the preseason started (and 15 days before Nicky’s birthday) and he wanted to have this conversation when Nicky had time to process and ask Shane questions. 

So, he’d decided to do it one afternoon while Dad made dinner. Mom was at hot yoga. They read the book What Makes a Baby, and the book explained that babies were made with sperm from one person and an egg from another person, and that’s when the sperm and egg meet, they tell each other stories about the people they came from and that it makes an embryo that eventually grows into a baby. 

Nicky already knew that he’d come from Shane’s egg. Shane wasn’t totally sure that Nicky knew most kids didn’t come from their daddy’s egg. Or maybe Nicky did know that but he also knew that most kids didn’t live with their Halmi and Pepe either. 

“So, do you remember my friend Mr. Ilya?” Shane asked when he finished the book. 

Nicky nodded. “I want to teach Mr. Ilya how to score a goal!” Nicky said proudly. 

The noise Shane made was unseemly. “I’m sure he would like to learn that very much,” Shane laughed. “So, I wanted to tell you something about him. Remember how we talked about how to make a baby like you.” 

“I’m not a baby,” Nicky interrupted. 

“Right, you’re not a baby, but you were a baby and remember, you grew in my uterus and I had the egg that helped make you. Well, we need two parts: egg and sperm. I haven’t told you who had the sperm that helped make you.” Shane was hitting his limit of use of the word sperm in a conversation with his preschooler. 

“Who?” Nicky asked. 

“Well, my friend Mr. Ilya helped make you,” Shane explained. 

Nicky looked confused. 

“So you know how I’m Daddy?” Shane asked. “And you have Halmi and Pepe and Halmi and Pepe are my mom and dad. Well, I’m made of my mommy and daddy and you are made of me and Mr. Ilya.” 

“Mr. Ilya is mommy?” Nicky asked. 

So, this was going very well.  

“No, he’s not mommy, but he did help make you, just like I did. You can still call him Mr. Ilya,” Shane said. He wasn’t ready to give Nicky the language of Daddy and honestly he wasn’t even sure that Ilya was going to be around Nicky enough for that title to come into play. Maybe he’d be like Shane’s divorced teammates who saw their kids once or twice a year. Shane hoped not. 

“Okay!” Nicky looked excited. “Can he come to the game tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane said. “I’d have to see if he can come.” 

There was a game of the women’s para ice hockey world championships that Shane had been planning on taking Nicky too. It might be a good time for Ilya to para ice hockey and the Volkova-Elroys and Elkins and his wife would be there as buffers.  

“Yay! I’m going to wear my Team Canada shoes Paul the Wall got me!” Nicky cheered. 

Shane smiled. They were custom adaptive Team Canada nikes and while they didn’t provide quite enough support for Nicky’s everyday wear, a world championship game was exactly the special occasion for it, even if Canada wasn’t playing. 

“I’ll make sure to pull them out,” Shane smiled. He was going to miss getting to do the little things when the season started back up. Hayden said it got easier, and it had, mostly because nothing could’ve been worse than the season after Shane had Nicky, when Shane had been on fire on the ice and spiraling off of it, loving hockey and missing Nicky so desperately that it felt like he’d been split clean in two. 

This was easier to handle at least. 

“Daddy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you think I can teach Mr. Ilya to score a goal tomorrow?” 

* * * 

It had been a long time since Ilya had attended a game in a box seat. Ilya didn’t usually go to hockey games that weren’t his own. He didn’t really have time. 

But Elkins had invited Ilya, in less than 10 words, with Women’s Para Ice Hockey World Championship being six of those, to join Elkins and his wife in their box. Ilya had gotten more information in a text from Shane. Shane and Nicky were going to be there, so was Lacey, Shane’s friend from para ice hockey and her wife and daughter. That had been a little more helpful at explaining the invitation. 

The box was nice, although the arena was almost empty, which made sense; it was the middle of a weekday and apparently it was Italy vs. Norway. 

Ilya scanned the room until his gaze landed on Nicky, who was playing blocks in the corner with a blonde child that looked to be a little older than him. Ilya scanned the rest of the room and found Shane’s friend, Lacey, and who Ilya guessed was Lacey’s wife based on the fact that she was sitting on Lacey’s lap. He spotted Shane chatting with Elkins’ wife at some tables near the back of the box. Ilya’s gaze drifted back to Nicky who sat on the floor building what looked to be a castle. It was tilting. 

Ilya heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Shane with Elkins’ wife. 

“Rozanov,” Shane said in greeting. (So they were going as casual friends). “Have you met Summer?” 

“No I don’t think we have,” Ilya said. He honestly wasn’t sure if he’d met Elkin’s wife. 

“I think briefly at Boodram’s party last fall, we did,” Summer responded. 

Ilya’s cheeks burned a little because he absolutely did not remember that. 

“It’s okay,” Summer said quickly. “It was your first party so you were meeting a ton of people. I don’t hold it against you.” 

Nicky had apparently recognized Ilya’s voice because he looked up and yelled: “Mr. Ilya!” 

Ilya had no idea if Summer had any clue if Nicky was Shane’s much less if he was Ilya’s but she seemed to take it in stride and didn’t look overtly scandalized that Nicky knew Ilya’s name and looked excited to see him. 

Ilya excused himself from Summer and Shane and walked over to his son who was grinning. 

“Can I have a hug?” Nicky requested. 

“Yes,” Ilya responded and he crouched down so that Nicky could hug him. Having Nicky in his arms was better than holding the fucking Stanley Cup. 

Ilya hoped the other adults in the room, all parents, all people who may or may not know that Ilya was also a parent weren’t watching him too closely because he was sort of terrified of interacting with Nicky in front of anyone except for Shane. He was constantly worried he would say or do something wrong. 

Ilya took a deep breath and looked at the blonde girl next to Nicky. “Who is your friend?” He asked Nicky. 

“This is Mila and she’s my best friend!” Nicky smiled. 

“Hi,” Ilya said to the little girl. 

Mila furrowed her eyebrows. “You sound like babushka,” she announced. 

As it turned out, at least one person was paying attention to Ilya, Nicky, and now, Mila because Lacey’s wife was behind Ilya and had heard her daughter. 

“Mila,” she said. “Remember we don’t talk about how people sound?” The woman’s own voice sounded like it was a prairie accent. (One of the things Hayes was very good at was guessing the origin of Canadian accents and he’d entertained Ilya with them during a water break earlier in the week.) 

“Oh yeah!” Mila said. She turned to Ilya. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“Is okay,” Ilya responded. He didn’t really mind. Her grandmother did seem like an awesome woman. 

“Do you speak Russian?” Mila asked. 

Behind Ilya, Mila’s mom sighed. 

“I do,” Ilya said. 

“Me too!” Mila responded. “Me and uncle Fyo.” 

Mila’s mom interrupted her to say, “I’m Hannah, Mila’s mom.” She stuck out a hand. 

“Ilya,” Ilya responded, shaking it. 

“Nice to meet you, Ilya.” Hannah beamed warmly. She was very pretty and if she recognized him or was impressed by him, it didn’t show. 

Ilya’s face felt hot and he looked down and noticed a bright blue prosthetic limb that went all the way up to her thigh. It had white roses with black thorns painted on it. He knew he was staring but couldn’t help it. It was truly a piece of art; it reminded Ilya of Boodram’s tattoos, but staring was rude. Shit. Ilya probably looked like an asshole. 

“Sorry,” Ilya said quickly. Well, he was really fucking this up. 

“It’s fine,” Hannah gave a genuine smile. “If I wanted less attention on it, I’d wear pants.” 

“It’s pretty,” Ilya said, because it really was. 

“I designed it myself. Well, I designed the cover. The leg was actually designed by a friend of mine.” 

“Warm ups!” Elkins yelled from where he was watching the ice. 

Nicky lit up and he immediately got on his tricycle and went over to the window. Ilya, Mila, and Hannah followed. Ilya had never seen para ice hockey in person so he was really interested to see what it was like. Nicky was flapping his hands happily as the players came out onto the ice. 

The rink was the same size as the NHL rink and so were the nets but the benches had been modified and it looked like players could sit in sleds on the floor of the bench and skate directly onto the ice when they changed shifts. 

“Looks like goal scoring is going to be less of a problem than he thought on Friday,” came a voice from behind Ilya. 

Ilya turned around to see Lacey behind him. Up close, she was very pretty. She had short blonde hair and pretty blue eyes. She was smirking, and the way she did it made her look a little intimidating. She wore a black Team Canada jacket and dark pants, which added to her overall slightly menacing look. 

“Which team do you play on Friday?” Ilya got the courage to ask. He was guessing, based on her Team Canada gear, that she was playing in this tournament. 

“Norway, in theory,” Lacey responded. She nodded at the team warming up on the left side of the rink. Their goalie was failing to block most of their practice shots which probably bode well for Canada’s game but maybe not Norway’s. 

“Of course, I think you knew that you’d have an advantage scoring from the 8-0 shutout from Team USA vs. Norway on Monday,” Hannah, her wife, pointed out. “Although Norway did shut Australia out-” 

“Everyone shuts Australia out,” Lacey responded matter of factly.  “They have never scored in an international tournament, actually. Not for lack of trying. Their program just doesn’t have very much depth. So, Norway shutting Australia out didn’t mean much. And Team USA is the best developed program in the world so them beating other countries is meaningless because they have the infrastructure to develop their sledge hockey programs.”

Ilya watched Nicky who was oblivious to the stats chatter and was instead watching Italy’s goalie intently with excited flapping hands. He turned to Lacey, brave enough to ask another question. “Who is supposed to win this game?” He liked knowing ahead of time who was supposed to win and who was an underdog. It usually made for a better game, especially if the underdog won. 

Lacey eyed Ilya like she was trying to decide how to answer which told Ilya the answer wasn’t totally decided. So it would be a solid game at least. “Norway is probably going to win, assuming their goalie can block at least half of Italy’s shots. Italy only has one good scorer and she’s easily in thirty minutes a game.” 

If para ice hockey was anything like regular hockey, Italy’s top scorer would be exhausted and struggling to find scoring chances by the third period. 

“The only thing is Norway’s goalie is the backup goalie and she’s pretty new to the sport. She became eligible just over a year ago so honestly the fact that she’s made a world championship roster is incredible. Italy has a good goalie but Norway has two elite scorers so Norway wins unless Italy’s goalie gets lucky but Norway has been 2 to 1 in shots vs. their opponents. And that’s because Nora Petersen is very good at finding corners of the net and most goalies can’t block when she hits corners that well.”

“I wonder where Nora learned that from,” Hannah mused with a fond smile. 

“From the best,” Lacey responded with a grin on her own.

“Lacey coached her,” Hannah explained to Ilya. 

“She has Norwegian parents,” Lacey added. “But Nora chose to play for Norway so they could meet their minimum and join the tournament. I’m proud of her but it is going to be bittersweet when we beat them.” 

Ilya had to appreciate Lacey’s confidence. He knew nothing about para ice hockey stats but Ilya knew the energy of someone that was confident and had the skills to back it up. 

Warmups ended and Shane, Elkins, and Summer came to the front of the box to sit in the seats. 

Nicky immediately put his hands up so Shane could put Nicky in his lap. Shane lifted Nicky up and settled Nicky on his lap. The hem of Nicky’s pants rode up and Ilya saw dark green hard plastic. For a second, Ilya didn’t know what they were and then he realized. 

They were Nicky’s braces. 

Right. 

Ilya swallowed hard. He couldn’t look away from them. He knew Nicky had braces. He’d read about braces m, but they looked so different in person. For a moment, Ilya wondered if they hurt, if surgery would help or if Nicky would have to wear them still. He wondered if Nicky could walk in them or if even that was difficult. He wondered if Nicky would have to wear them for the rest of his life. 

Ilya realized Shane was staring at him when Shane pulled down the leg of Nicky’s pants to cover his brace. 

Shit. 

Ilya had been caught staring. Ilya quickly schooled his face but not before he saw Shane frowning. Ilya felt bad. He hadn’t meant to stare. He just wasn’t used to seeing Nicky’s braces. 

Ilya turned to face the rink, where introductions of players were starting. 

Shit. 

Ilya had fucked up. 

* * * 

Shane hadn’t missed the way that Ilya had stared at Nicky’s braces. It wasn’t the curious stare that Shane had watched Ilya give Hannah’s prosthetic, which, according to Hannah, had been designed to be akin to a tattoo and she intended to draw attention to it. No, the glance that Ilya had given Nicky’s brace was one that Shane had seen on multiple occasions the handful of times he’d been out with his mom and Nicky. It was one that meant: that poor child is never going to get better. 

It was pity. It was worse than the “bless your heart” Shane had heard his mom get in passing when they were at an away game in Houston and at Texas Children’s for a consultation. 

Ilya had never seen Nicky’s braces. He’d seen Nicky’s mobility aids: his wheelchair, his trike, his sled. But Nicky almost always wore boots because they provided more support but Nicky had wanted to wear his custom pair of Team Canada adaptive Nikes and Shane wasn’t going to say no to Nicky when they so rarely got to go to a hockey game together so he’d been wearing his Nikes which meant his braces showed under his pants. 

Ilya had seen them and maybe they looked permanent in a way that Nicky’s mobility aids didn’t because Nicky could walk a little and Shane knew that before he realized the reality of Nicky’s disability, he’d clung to Nicky walking as a sign that one day he wouldn’t need his mobility aids. And then Shane had learned how difficult and exhausting it was for Nicky to walk. Shane had realized that mobility was the goal, regardless of how that was achieved, whether it was a wheelchair, trike, powerchair, or walking. Hell, Shane knew a wheelchair rugby player who used to use a skateboard. 

But seeing the permanence of Nicky’s disability, the fact that Nicky’s braces at this point were about mitigating damage with the small hope that his foot drop would improve enough without surgery, might’ve been overwhelming. And improvement didn’t mean Nicky would walk, it meant Nicky’s foot wouldn’t drag during transfers or short walks.

Ilya had seen proof in real time that Nicky’s disability was permanent and he’d looked heartbroken in a way that Shane wasn’t expecting to see so unguarded. 

Shane was worried that Nicky would see it, that heartbreak, like there was something wrong with something that helped Nicky move around in the world. 

Ilya had looked so fucking devastated. 

Nicky hadn’t noticed. His eyes had been glued to the ice as introductions started, he’d been flapping his hands excitedly, but Shane had seen it. 

And under the sadness, unguarded, was an expression Shane had never seen from Ilya: fear. 

* * *

“Alright, Nicky, time to start getting ready for bed,” Shane said. “Let’s do your books first.” 

Nicky grinned. “I want to read This Is How We Play and my hockey book.” 

“Alright,” Shane said. He grabbed two books from Nicky’s play area. Shane had explained to Ilya that Nicky’s play areas in his and his parents’ house and cottage was exactly the same, so was his room and bathroom. It provided Nicky with consistency from house to house. 

Shane had also explained that they didn’t buy four copies of every book, just four copies, or usually more, of his favorites. 

Shane sat on the couch and Nicky made hands so that Shane would pick him up. Ilya didn’t miss how careful Shane was with making sure Nicky’s braces didn’t show. 

“Mr. Ilya, come sit next to us!” Nicky patted the couch next to him. 

Ilya pointed at himself, surprised. 

Nicky nodded and Ilya sat down next to Shane. 

“Daddy, read my book,” Nicky said to Shane. 

Ilya was starting to understand what Shane meant when he said their son was going to make a good captain. 

“This Is How We Play,” Shane read. “A Celebration of Disability and Adaptation.”  

“Yay!” Nicky cheered. He flapped his hands excitedly. 

“We sing, learn, sign! We stim, dance-“ 

“Crawl!” Nicky yelled. 

“Yes, we crawl,” Shane smiled. He kept reading, describing the different kids and grownups that were in the illustration. 

Ilya stared at the illustration. There were so many different disabilities represented and Ilya could probably only name one or two of them. There were kids with wheelchairs and an adult with a walker and a baby crawling on the grass to a mom with birthmarks. There was even a child with braces like Nicky’s but these went all the way up to the child’s hips. 

“With love and adaptation,” Shane finished the page. “This is how we play.” 

“Bing! Turn the page!” Nicky said. 

Shane turned the page. 

On the next page the illustration was a girl who was sitting on her mom’s lap. Her mom was in an electric wheelchair and they were at the beach. 

“Daddy! We go to the beach too!” Nicky said. “And we look for shells.” 

“We do,” Shane smiled. “And we have fun.” 

“Bing! Turn the page!” Nicky said. 

Shane read that page and Ilya looked at the illustration of the child in a power wheelchair playing dress up with their mom.  

On another page, a dad with a cane played with a child in a forest. 

“An acorn hat is a cup for tea,” Shane read. “Daddy’s cane, the perfect tree.” 

“Ms. Val has a cane. Her dad made it from a tree!” Nicky interrupted. 

“That’s right.” 

“Bing! Turn the page!” 

“Some days bodies are not much fun,” Shane read. “They hurt and ache, can’t jump or run.”

“My legs weren’t fun yesterday,” Nicky said. “They hurt.”

Shane put the book down. “Your legs hurt?”

“Yesterday. Pepe gave me snuggles and they felt all better.”

“How do they feel today?” Shane asked. 

“Tired!” Nicky answered. “But they had fun!”

“I’m glad,” Shane said. “If your legs hurt again, tell me or Halmi or Pepe, okay?” 

Nicky nodded. “Finish the page, please.” 

Shane laughed. “Days like these we like to cuddle.” Shane squeezed Nicky. “Read our stories, nap, and snuggle.” 

“Bing! Turn the page.”

Shane kept reading and Ilya was mesmerized, not just by the sound of Shane’s voice or the way Nicky interrupted happily on every page to talk about a friend he played sled hockey with or someone at the daycare he went to or Maddeline Elkins or someone on Team Canada’s sled hockey team but by the story itself. Ilya was mesmerized by the story and the art work, the way that every page was about play, about having fun with siblings, about going on adventures, and every page featured a disabled person, sometimes multiple disabled people. 

They were celebrated: a kid making a jump shot in basketball and being cheered on by his grandfather (Nicky screamed: “Like Pepe!”), two siblings racing while their parents watched, a child with a tablet and glasses looked at the stars with their mom. 

By the time it got to a page with three kids drawing pictures for their mom who was in the hospital, Ilya was crying. Shane noticed and he nodded at the end table next to Ilya, where Ilya found a tissue box. Ilya grabbed a couple and then added two more, just in case.  

“Ding and bounce, the lights shine bright,” Shane read. 

This page depicted a physical therapy session. It wasn’t anything like Ilya expected. All of the kids on the page were smiling. The two kids in the foreground were playing with a brightly colored ball. 

“We go to Ms. Greta tomorrow!” Nicky yelled. 

“Are you going to show her how you put on your shoes?” Shane asked. 

“Yes! I can do it all by myself!” Nicky beamed. 

“You can!” Shane smiled back. 

Ilya smiled too. 

“Bing! Turn the page!” Nicky yelled. 

Shane read the next few pages and Ilya wiped at his eyes as several children visited their aunt with Down Syndrome at her home, a blind girl with a guide dog danced with her family in the grass, and then finally, two parents and their children at bedtime.  

“Telling stories with our hands. Heroes, clever, brave and grand…” Shane read. 

“I know words with my hands. Like I love you,” Nicky made a gesture with clumsy fingers. Shane returned the gesture and Ilya, quietly, copied it too: index finger and pinky up, thumb, outstretched, two fingers tucked into his palm. I love you. There, Ilya knew how to say it three ways now. He wanted to say it to Nicky in every way he could. 

“Bing! Turn the page!” 

Shane turned the page. 

“We tuck our tired bodies in,” Shane continued. “And pull our covers to our chins. With love and adaptation, this is how we…” Shane prompted. 

“Mr. Ilya, you have to snore,” Nicky said. “Daddy, do it again.” 

Shane gave Ilya that look that said: See? Future Captain. 

“With love and-“ 

“The whole page,” Nicky interrupted. 

“We tuck our tired bodies in,” Shane continued. “And pull our covers to our chins. With love and adaptation, this is how we…” 

The three of them snored. 

* * * 

“I know,” Ilya said when he and Shane sat down after Nicky had gone to bed. “I should not have stared at Nicky’s braces.” 

Shane looked up. He didn’t look as upset as he did in the box. “I know you didn’t mean to.” 

Ilya didn’t have words in English to talk about how bad he felt.

“It’s just that people look at him like that all the time,” Shane continued. “I don’t see it because I don’t get to go out with him public that much but sometimes people look at him like the only thing they can see is his disability and how sad it must be for him. And Ilya, he’s starting to notice those looks from people now. I don’t want him to get that look from you. 

“I know!” Ilya snapped because he hated himself for how he had looked at Nicky.  “I know he can see. I know he knows. I know what it is like when you are little and your dad looks at you like he wishes you were different.”  Ilya regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

Shane’s face fell. 

Ilya was a piece of shit. He was no better than his piece of shit father. He had no idea why he thought he even deserved to know Nicky. 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said quickly. “I-”

Shane took a deep breath and said: “I know what you meant. You aren’t anything like your father and I know that. You read Nicky’s hockey book three times.” 

(Ilya smiled at that. After they finished This Is How We Play, Nicky had asked Ilya to read his hockey book. Ilya had been expecting for it to be a book about hockey, instead of a book literally called Nicky’s Hockey Book written by Paul the Wall, illustrated by Hannah Elroy. Nicky’s hockey book had been written and illustrated by disabled people explicitly for Nicky.

It was a simple counting book about sled hockey, with each number corresponding to sled hockey gear. 

[1 puck on the ice 

2 sticks in Nicky’s hands 

3 periods in a hockey game 

4 friends play hockey with Nicky 

5 lines on the ice 

6 sleds on the bench

7 cages for 7 friends 

8 neck guards keep Nicky and friends safe 

9 sled boots for Nicky and friends 

10 cheers for Nicky!] 

Nicky had wanted to read it 3 times, and Ilya had loved doing it every time. He would’ve read it 100 times if Nicky had asked.) 

“It was fun, reading his book to him,” Ilya smiled. “I love him. 

“I know you love him,” Shane said. “And you don’t want to see him in pain, and I know you’re scared.” 

“Terrified,” Ilya whispered. “So scared I don’t think there are words in English. I don’t want to hurt him and I hate how my brain feels about his disability.” 

Ilya was trying but every new little thing he learned about Nicky’s disability terrified him.  He couldn’t help that he hated that Nicky would be in any sort of pain, that he’d be bullied in school, that sometimes he wouldn’t be able to go to the same places as his friends,  that he would have a hard time dating, that doctors wouldn’t listen to him. He wanted Nicky’s life to be easier. He wanted to have a normal future. 

And Shane, Shane kept saying that Nicky’s disability wasn’t a good or a bad thing, that it was just something that was part of him. But Ilya didn’t understand how it wasn’t a bad thing. It didn’t make Ilya love Nicky any less even if it was a bad thing.  

“I’m trying,” Ilya said. 

“I know, and I want him to get to know you.  told him who you are,” Shane said quietly. “I told Nicky who you are. He asked if you were his mommy so I’m not sure how much he understood.” 

Ilya laughed a little. 

“I told him because Elkins told me you were getting a custom car.” 

“Well, that one will arrive in about 4 months,” Ilya said. “It’s a Chevy Suburban High Country. But I bought a Toyota yesterday.” 

Shane looked genuinely surprised. “You bought a Toyota?” 

“You, your mom, your dad, Lacey, Elkins, you all have Toyotas,” Ilya pointed out. “They’re good cars for wheelchairs.”

“Well they sponsor the Paralympics,” Shane said. “And they have really good adaptive cars. I’m just surprised you got one.” 

“Just in case, maybe one day, Nicky and me could go somewhere.” Just asking it terrified Ilya, especially after Ilya had just admitted that he was still struggling with Nicky’s disability. 

Shane looked like he was thinking about it and then: “One day, but my mom will want your driving record first.” 

Ilya’s cheeks flushed. He’d definitely paid for a lot of Boston PD overtime with tickets. “I won’t speed with Nicky in the car, not even five miles past limit.” 

“Maybe one day. Thank you for getting a car for him, or two cars.” 

“Only one, technically,” Ilya clarified. “Elkins says when my new car gets here he can help me find a family that needs the Toyota for their child and I give it to them for free.”

Shane smiled at that. 

Ilya tried to decide if he should ask the question that was on his mind. 

“What?” Shane asked. 

Ilya shrugged. “I have a question but it’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s probably not stupid.” 

“Why did Hannah say it was okay for me to stare at her leg but not it’s not okay to stare at Nicky’s braces?” 

Shane leaned back in his chair. “So, with Hannah, she creates the design of her prosthetic and she’s told me that it’s kinda like having a leg tattoo. She likes attention on it, and her leg is just like any other part of her body so she decorates it how she wants and she doesn’t mind people staring because well, she’s a really good artist.” 

“She really is,” Ilya agreed. “Very beautiful art; it reminded me of Boodram’s tattoos.” 

Shane smiled at Ilya and then he said: “There’s this shawarma place that makes pretty good wraps. Did you want to order some?” 

* * *

“Does this get less scary?” Ilya asked out of the blue. They’d been eating mostly in silence. 

“You mean parenting?” Shane asked. 

Ilya nodded. 

“If that ever happens for me, I will tell you,” Shane laughed. 

“You were scared, yes? When you found out you were pregnant? What was that like?” 

Shane went quiet as he chewed on his schwarma. He’d taken a chance and gotten garlic sauce on his bowl and had even gotten white rice. His therapist would be proud. 

Shane had no idea how to answer Ilya’s question. That was a hard to question the answer. The short of it was that Shane had been miserable, beyond miserable. He’d had to grapple with the fact that his body had not only betrayed him but that it had hidden the betrayal until it was too late for Shane to terminate. He’d found out when he was six months pregnant and the only off ramp was birth. He had to quit practicing even though he still trained until pregnancy meant he couldn’t do that anymore. 

Dysphoria wise, it had been another story. Even beyond the fact that his chest got tender, his nipples darker, his pelvis slightly wider, there was just the general invasiveness of pregnancy. There was the fact that there was another person inside of Shane, one who moved all of the time, one who barely let Shane sleep, one who Shane was aware was made of Shane and the person that refused to talk to Shane. 

There’d been Shane’s anxiety and fear, at being pregnant, that the hockey world would find out, that Ilya would find out and want nothing to do with both of them, that the league would find out and Ilya would be kicked out of the league and deported. He’d been so fucking terrified all of the time and Nicky had responded to all of that stress by moving all the time.

“Is okay if it is too hard to talk about,” Ilya said. “Was just asking but that’s private.” 

“It’s okay,” Shane said. “It was just… not easy for me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. 

“I was terrified when I found out because it was too far along to do anything about it.” 

“To end the pregnancy?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah, the latest they’ll do it in Canada is 23 weeks and 6 days and even in the U.S. it was too late for anything elective,” Shane said. “So I was pregnant and I went to my parents and my mom asked if I wanted to put him up for adoption.” 

Ilya considered this. “Why didn’t you?” 

It would’ve been the easier option by far, to place Nicky for adoption and “forget” about him, answer questions if Nicky ever showed up on Shane’s doorstep in 20 years, but Shane hadn’t wanted to. He didn’t think he would’ve been able to. 

“I didn’t want the adoptive parents to know who I was and the way that open adoption works is that if I didn’t give the parents my information I wouldn’t get to meet them or to know if they’d be good parents. It would just be what I’d see in a photo book. And my mom was adopted so I knew Nicky would probably grow up with questions just like my mom did.” 

“Your mom is adopted?” Ilya asked. “I did not know.” 

“She was adopted from Korea, but she’s Korean and Japanese.” Shane didn’t offer more than that because all of it was complicated. “But, my mom and dad offered to take custody of him and that meant I could keep Nicky and hockey. But being pregnant was still hard.” 

Hard was an understatement. It was body betrayal after body betrayal. Nicky moved all the time, which Shane learned to coexist with but his body changed in ways he’d never wanted it to. He’d started leaking from his chest and that had made Shane the closest he’d ever been to wanting to die since junior hockey. 

And the entire time he’d been terrified because at the end of it there was going to be a tiny screaming person who would need Shane for everything and Shane had been terrified of that fact. He’d thought daily about the fact that Ilya would’ve been better at it, all of it, that Ilya would’ve chosen Nicky over hockey, that he wouldn’t have hated being pregnant so much that sometimes the only time he got out of bed was to train twice a day. 

Movement was the only thing that quieted Nicky and he’d been limited by the team doctor as to how much of it and the intensity. All of it had been so overwhelming. He’d been so happy when Nicky was born and he got his body and his mind back. 

He endured the fuckery that was early postpartum, that was having a tiny, screaming newborn that Shane could barely look at, that was waking up at every sound his baby made because his brain had been thrown into high alert without his permission.  He endured sleepless nights and trying to prep bottles and take care of a baby when his body felt like it had been torn apart. He’d endured watching Mom try to encourage him before Shane gave up and she took over because sometimes Shane couldn’t bring himself to do it. Nicky had been so little and needed so much from Shane and Shane had been drowning. 

Eventually, Shane had gotten cleared to exercise, then train off ice, and then he was finally finally able to get back on the ice and his head felt like it was above water for the first time in months. He’d asked his lawyer to draft the custody paperwork that afternoon. 

Things got better because Shane went back to hockey and it was easier for Shane  to give Nicky all of him when they were together when Shane knew that the minutes they had together were precious and that Shane still had hockey. Things started feeling manageable.

And then, in a hotel room in Boston, not unlike the hotel room that had once changed Shane’s entire life, Shane found out his body had betrayed him in a way he’d never fucking fathomed when he was pregnant. Because the entire fucking time after Nicky had been born, the entire fucking time, he told himself that he was miserable and dysphoric and suffering during pregnancy but those parts of his body had kept the person he loved most in the world safe and then it turned out that Shane’s body hadn’t even done that. 

Nicky had had a stroke when he was inside of Shane, and there was nothing Shane could’ve done about it. It was almost worse than it being because of something Shane had done because then it would’ve made sense, if it had been because Shane cut calories at twelve weeks without knowing that there was a fetus that needed nutrients or how many hits he took or how hard he skated in practice or something that at least had cause, something other than Shane’s body betraying him like it had been since Shane had been inside of his mom’s body, maybe it would’ve made sense. 

Shane’s body was supposed to keep Nicky safe. 

Shane’s body was supposed to keep Nicky safe. 

And then Shane was drowning again, in a hotel room in Boston, after a game his team had won, a game against the man that Shane had shared a child with, a man who wouldn’t even talk to Shane, Shane was fucking drowning. 

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked. 

Shane hadn’t realized his breathing had started getting heavy and fast. 

“Shane- Hollander, you are having a panic attack.” 

Shane shook his head. “No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are, Hollander,” Ilya said. “I’ll get you some water.” 

Ilya stood up and Shane tried to remember how to breathe.  The air felt suffocating. Something was wrong. 

Ilya managed to find the cups and he got tap water from the sink.

He handed it to Shane who took a sip, expecting cold water. He sputtered when he realized the water was very warm, not hot, but very warm. 

“What the fuck, Rozanov? This is hot!” 

“I know,” Ilya responded. “To surprise you. See, you are not having panic attack anymore.” Ilya looked pretty proud of himself. 

“Thanks,” Shane said. It took a minute or two of breathing deeply for the panic to leave his body, but it had worked. Amazingly, it had worked. 

“I am sorry for asking,” Ilya said. 

“It wasn’t an easy time for me,” Shane said, looking at his hands.  

“I’m sorry I was not there,” Ilya said softly. 

It felt like more compassion than Shane deserved and he replied: “Me too.”

Chapter End Notes

I saw someone on tiktok say discussion questions at the end of a fic were all the rage so um:

How do we feel about Ilya's conflicting feelings about disability?

How do we feel about the revelation that Shane perhaps isn't as "over" his pregnancy and postpartum period as he'd like to believe?

Ilya uses a less than great method of getting Shane to end his panic attack/flashback. I do not recommend this.

Chapter 7: skate

Chapter Notes

It's Nicky's birthday!!!

This chapter is Ilya centric because Shane's does not have complicated feelings around Nicky's birthday but the time period after (which will be explored next chapter) is more complicated for him.

I don't know anything about professional hockey or if it's legal in the league or just in general for what I write Coach Dunn doing but just go with it. Ilya is spiraling in 2019 and he was trying to "help" (kinda). He's not very good at it.

Nicky is officially the hockey world's worst kept "secret."

September 17, 2019 

“Get up,” Coach Dunn’ furious voice filled Ilya’s room. 

Ilya’s room was suddenly plunged into sunlight.

Ilya had no idea how his assistant coach had gotten into his house. Although, this was Boston, and flashing a Raiders ID badge usually got you into places you normally wouldn’t. Coach Dunn probably phrased it as a wellbeing check or something and it was in the best interest of Ilya’s apartment complex to not have a dead tenant. 

“What time is it?” Ilya asked because the sun was all the way out and they were supposed to be ready for their flight for their first preseason game at 06:30.

“9am,” Coach Dunn growled. “You missed the flight and now I have to stay back here and deal with your ass.” 

“I’ll buy a flight,” Ilya said. He scrambled upward and his stomach lurched. “I can fly out in two hours.” 

Fuck. He was hungover as fuck. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Coach Dunn responded. “You’re being put on Long Term Injury Reserve.” 

“For what?” Ilya demanded. 

“Personal reasons,” Coach Dunn answered vaguely. “Now get up and get dressed. You have 5 minutes.” 

Ilya wondered what his assistant coach would do if Ilya wasn’t ready and decided against testing him. 

Fuck. Ilya had missed a flight. He was put on LITR. This was bad. People were fucking noticing. 

Ilya got dressed in four minutes and walked out to Coach Dunn picking up trash and liquor bottles. 

“Is this cocaine?” Coach Dunn asked about a pile of powder that was exactly that (it genuinely wasn’t Ilya’s, just some woman’s he’d fucked a few days ago). “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. Let’s go,” Coach Dunn said. 

Ilya wasn’t sure what going meant but he followed his coach to the elevator and to his car.

Coach Dunn didn’t talk, nor did he turn on the radio, which meant Ilya was completely alone with his thoughts. What had he been doing last night? Drinking, probably. He’d finished an entire bottle of vodka and his body felt like it. Fuck. Ilya hoped wherever they were going was quiet. 

Why had he gotten so drunk? 

Oh, because it was either that or give into the pills in his room that were calling his name. Drinking seemed better. But fuck, he’d overdone it. Coach Dunn seemed pissed, and Ilya wished he could say this was the first time this fog that had overtaken him had impacted his ability to follow his contact.

The truth was that Ilya had been spiraling since he’d broken things off with Shane Hollander 2 years ago. He’d been spiraling since before that, since before his father’s funeral. 

Drinking was better than making a permanent choice. 

After ten minutes of driving, Coach Dunn parked in front of a nondescript building. 

“Now, legally, we can’t make you do anything,” Coach Dunn said. “But I can say that the owners are going to think long and hard about renewing your contract if your behavior doesn’t change, Rozanov.” 

Fuck. That had been what Ilya had feared. He’d played like shit the last two seasons and injuries like tearing his MCL hadn’t helped. 

“Where are we?” Ilya asked. 

“Therapist,” Coach Dunn answered. 

Ilya blinked. Coaches didn’t take players to therapy; they didn’t care about player mental health, and Ilya was certain that was probably some rules somewhere in the American legal system around this. 

“Rozanov, you are talented and one of the best players in this league, but you are going to destroy your brand if you continue on like this,” Coach Dunn said. 

Ilya didn’t want to go to fucking therapy, but he couldn’t deny that there was something wrong with him. There was something very wrong with him. Ilya just wasn’t sure he could talk about it in English, but Coach Dunn didn’t make it seem like it was much of a choice. 

Ilya got out of the car and approached the building. He was fucking terrified. 

He checked in with a tablet that was on the counter in the waiting room, surprised to find that he already had an appointment and then he sat down in the lobby. 

After a minute or so, the door opened, and a middle aged dark haired woman stepped out. “Hi,” she greeted Ilya in Russian. “My name is Vika. I believe we have an appointment.” 

* * * 

September 17, 2022

“I can't believe a five year old has a more star studded guest list than my birthday party. He has a movie star, five professional hockey players, with 3 Gold medalists between them and of course, Yuna and David Hollander” Rose laughed and taped a balloon to the table. 

“And yet, one of my teammates hired the actual Ms. Rachel for his kid’s birthday party,” Shane responded from where he was also taping balloons to a table. (His teammates could also pay someone to plan all of this). “So, maybe not as cool as that.” 

“She must’ve been expensive,” Lacey commented. “Mila finally grew out of that phase but she’s very popular.”

“Apparently she just wanted a generous donation to her favorite charity,” Shane responded. 

“Wait, we could’ve been getting paid?” Paul asked from where he was using a helium device to blow up balloons. He’d just finished blowing up a ten pack. “I mean: we could’ve gotten a generous donation to our favorite charity?” 

Shane playfully threw another pack of balloons at the goalie, who caught it while barely looking. “And here I was thinking you were showing up for the future of the sport,” Shane joked. 

Paul laughed. “I can multitask. But hey, Nicky has a pretty cool guest list for a five year old.” 

Shane couldn’t believe he had a five year old at all. How had Nicky gotten so big?  It seemed like yesterday he’d been so small and so new and utterly terrifying. 

And now, Nicky had gotten a new wheelchair, which was not a birthday present even though Nicky kept saying it was his favorite birthday present. That was probably because he could lower the handles on his wheelchair so that he could keep an adult or another child from pushing it and because Lacey promised she’d teach him how to do a wheelie in it. 

(“To get to up curbs when there isn’t a cut,” Lacey insisted but Shane was pretty sure she wanted to teach Nicky because wheelies were fun.) 

Nicky’s party was small, very small, especially for a kid that could be as social as Nicky was, but as much as Nicky loved to talk, he did better in small groups. 

This year, for his birthday, Mom and Dad had joined Nicky at daycare for cupcakes during snack time. Nicky had requested they didn’t sing happy birthday and they wouldn’t sing it at this party either. Secretly, Shane envied the fact that Nicky had thought of asking for that. Shane always hated people making a big deal about his birthday and especially the damn song. 

For his actual party, Nicky had asked to play hockey with Auntie Lacey and Paul the Wall and Mila and Daddy and he wanted to teach Mr. Ilya to score a goal. Shane had had to temper expectations about whether or not Shane could successfully teach Ilya to score a goal against Paul the Wall (Nicky couldn’t teach Ilya to score a goal against the best para ice hockey goalie in the world in the afternoon Shane had reserved the rink for; no one could). Nicky also wanted to invite Maddeline and Sadie Elkins. And of course Halmi and Pepe and Mr. Ilya, who was quickly becoming one of Nicky’s favorite people. 

The good thing about Nicky’s small guest list was that Ilya could come. The only one of Nicky’s guest list who didn’t know about Shane and Ilya was Paul and Shane knew Paul was pretty perceptive and had probably figured out the motive for Shane funding sledge hockey was perhaps a little more than caring about his alleged baby cousin.  Besides, there was always a possibility that Paul could just think Shane and Ilya were friends or that he didn’t know Shane and Ilya were supposed to be rivals. Did Paul follow men’s stand up hockey? Shane couldn’t remember. 

Thankfully, it was like Rose could read Shane’s mind because she said: “So, is anyone excited for preseason?” 

“It’s been a few months since Shipping Up to Boston awoke my fight or flight,” Paul said. “But I’ll probably catch a few Raiders games before ticket prices are too expensive for me. And I’ve been invited to Hockey Is For Everyone night. They invited Lacey too but she’s opposed to Boston on principle.” 

Fuck. Shane had forgotten Paul lived in Boston. 

“I’m not a traitor like you,” Lacey retorted. “But I will be there actually.” 

There was a non zero chance Paul would know who Ilya was and that he and Shane were publicly rivals. 

It would be fine. Even if Paul guessed, he wouldn’t ask, and Paul only told secrets to his goal posts. Plus, if Paul ever told anyone, Paul knew Shane would never let Nicky become a goalie, and corrupting Shane’s son into becoming a goalie had been Paul’s goal from Day 1. (Shane was a little worried that Paul was succeeding.) 

Mom and Dad would be here with Nicky soon, so would Hannah with Mila and the Elkins. They would have some hockey, have some pizza, have cake, and then afterward, everyone had to get on the ice and play.

Shane was looking forward to it. Nicky was going to be thrilled. Shane hoped the party would go well. 

* * * 

“Mr. Ilya!” Nicky shouted when Ilya entered the building carrying Nicky’s birthday presents. He’d gone a little overboard and there was more at his house. He’d talk to Yuna and David first before overloading Nicky with too many toys. 

Nicky was wearing a Team Canada jersey, which Ilya saw him in more often than not and he was in a new wheelchair. This one was lime green with black wheels and a black chair. It was also bigger than his other chair.

“Hi Nicky!” Ilya grinned. 

“Look!” Nicky said. “I got new wheels! And Auntie Lacey said she’s going to teach me how to do a wheelie because I’m big enough now!” 

Ilya had no idea what to say. “I like your new wheels!” He tried. 

“Thank you!” Nicky beamed. “And no one can push me unless I want.” 

Ilya noticed then that Nicky’s wheelchair didn’t  have handles like his old one did. 

“That is very good, Nicky.” 

Nicky did not like when people pushed him in his chair unless he wanted to be pushed.  

“Daddy said I can teach you to score a goal!” Nicky said. He pivoted and started wheeling toward the area where balloons were set up. 

There were already several people there. Ilya recognized Lacey, Hannah, and Mila, Yuna and David, Shane, and the Elkinses. 

There was however a man who was taller than Ilya and who was standing next to David, chatting with him, that Ilya didn’t know and Nicky went write up to him. 

Nicky waited until the man and David acknowledged him. 

“Who’s your new friend?” The man Ilya didn’t recognize asked. 

“This is Mr. Ilya!” Nicky said brightly. 

“Mr. Ilya, this is Paul the Wall!” 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ilya,” Paul said with a smile. 

“Just Ilya,” Ilya said as he shook Paul’s hand.”

“Okay, Just Ilya,” Paul responded. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Ilya laughed. 

Paul was even taller up close, which made sense since he was a goalie. He had probably 3 inches on Ilya. Ilya didn’t know why it surprised him that Paul was able to stand and walk; Ilya had been watching videos of sled hockey players lately (he’d been curious after the women’s World championships) and he knew a lot of them were amputees who used prosthetic limbs when they weren’t on a sled. 

“I’m going to teach Mr. Ilya to score a goal!” Nicky said cheerfully.  “Do you want to help?” 

“Sure!” Paul said.  

“Have you ever been on a sled, Just Ilya?” 

“I have not,” Ilya answered. 

“Well then let’s get you fitted,” Paul said. 

They spent the next few minutes getting Ilya onto a frame and then Ilya went into the locker room because apparently sled hockey required a neck guard. Ilya didn’t usually wear one, much to Shane’s chagrin, but he wanted to set a good example for Nicky. 

Paul gave Ilya a brief overview of how to use the sled and the sticks, how to propel himself forward, pivot, and to take a light hit. 

Once Paul deemed him as ready as he was going to be, Ilya took to the ice. 

* * *

Ilya had not been challenged by hockey in more than 20 years.  

Here, however, he was totally out of his depth. For one, he kept tipping over because his center of gravity was different. Secondly, he kept handling the puck with the wrong end of the stick. Third, he could not figure out how to make himself go faster. 

Lacey seemed to find this amusing, especially after Ilya tried passing the puck under his sled and instead managed to tip over. 

Nicky skated by Ilya, much faster on and more used to his sled than Ilya. 

“You need help getting back up?” Lacey asked Ilya. 

Ilya probably did, but even Nicky could get himself up the rare time he did tip over in his sled. Ilya took a deep breath and then hefted himself upward. 

He took another stab at propelling himself forward and huffed when he couldn’t manage speed. Nicky made it look effortless. This was frustrating. 

Lacey skated up beside Ilya. 

“You need to think about it differently,” she said. “You are relearning a sport you’ve played your whole life with your upper and lower body. But now you’re skating and passing 

“Is frustrating,” Ilya grumbled. “I’m trying to…” Ilya trailed off, frustrated. “Paul explained how to-“ 

He’d been given a crash course on using a sled by Paul, the man who was currently playfully deflecting Nicky’s shot on the goal, but Paul talked quickly and had a thick Quebecois accent. 

Lacey looked like she was considering something and then she sighed and asked. “Would instructions be easier in Russian?” 

“Yes,” Ilya answered immediately. It still frustrated him how difficult English could be at times, especially when he was learning something new, even though this was still hockey. 

Lacey spent a few minutes going over the mechanics of the sled in Russian. She’d explained that hers was custom and fitted, which gave her more mobility. She explained how the steel was the same as it was on a regular skate. 

She taught him a technique for quickly switching the function of his sled and once Ilya had managed to skate a lap without falling, she passed the puck to him. 

Forty or some minutes later, Ilya was tired and sweaty but significantly less frustrated and he could pass the puck under his sled. 

Nicky had taken two breaks from the ice during that time, one for snacks, and one because he’d been cold, but he was back. 

“Mr. Ilya! You can skate now!” Nicky cheered. “Do you want to try to score a goal?” 

Ilya decidedly did not want to try and score a goal against a goaltender whose nickname included the words: The Wall but Nicky looked excited. 

“Yes, let’s try.” Emphasis on try. 

Nicky was thrilled. He skated over to where several pucks had been laid out by Elkins earlier. Ilya followed. 

Paul the Wall, as Nicky called him, was a giant man. He was taller than Ilya when he stood and he was bulkier than Ilya. His bulk hid most of the net. Ilya was a little intimidated. There was no way he was scoring. 

Ilya did try. 

He tried six times and Paul blocked every single shot more easily than he blocked Nicky’s. Paul also managed to block all six of Lacey’s shots, which delighted Nicky because she was skilled and made it look easy and fun. 

“Alright,” Paul said. “I’ll get out of the net.” 

“You don’t have to,” Ilya said, even though he very much wanted Paul to. 

“Paul holds the para ice hockey world record for shutouts in international tournaments,” Lacey said. “You’ll need about two more years of practice before you score on him.” 

“How long did it take Shane?” Ilya asked. 

Paul looked thoughtful. “His first time on a sled was the summer before world champs in 2018 and he scored on me during the NHL friends game in 2020 so… eighteen months?” 

“I can do it in 17 months,” Ilya said confidently. 

Lacey laughed and so did Paul but then he said: “Hey, I am always welcome to a challenge. You’ve got good stick handling skills. That usually takes people way longer coming from stand up hockey.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya appreciated the compliments. 

Paul nodded and then skated to the edge of the rink. 

With no one in the net, Nicky lined up the pucks again, and then he explained again to Ilya how to use his stick to score. 

Nicky was so excited about hockey. It must’ve been what Shane had been like as a child. He showed Ilya how to hit the puck (Lacey offered Ilya some more technical advice, in English this time) and managed to get 5 of the six pucks into the net. 

He cheered “GOOOOAAAAAL!” with every single one. 

When it was Ilya’s turn, he managed to get all six pucks into the net. 

Nicky cheered like Ilya had won a shootout in the goal medal match and not managed to do something that well, Ilya had been capable of doing as toddler. 

Still, it was wonderful to watch Nicky skate towards Ilya with a huge grin. 

“You did it!” He cheered as he tipped into Ilya’s lap. “Good job.” 

“Thank you Nicky!” Ilya said with a smile. 

Ilya absolutely loved his son. 

* * * 

“Paul plays in Boston,” Shane commented once they sat down after the cake. . 

Nicky was playing with Mila, Sadie, and Madeline in the arcade area of the rink. 

“You live in Boston?” Ilya asked. 

“I moved there a few years ago to work at Boston Children’s,” Paul answered. 

“And to be my mortal enemy when we’re not on Team Canada,” Lacey complained.  

“Hey, I can’t control where I work,” Paul joked. 

“You like Boston?” Ilya asked. 

“I grew up in Montreal so hearing Shipping Up to Boston makes me instinctively want to get angry, but it’s been a pretty great city.” 

“And you are a doctor at Children’s?” Ilya asked. 

“Oncologist, actually,” Paul said. “Kids with cancer.”

That sounded like a very depressing job. Ilya almost wished he hadn’t asked. “That sounds difficult.” 

“It is, but there are good things about it too,” Paul smiled. “You used to play for Boston, right?” 

“Yes, now I play for Ottawa.” Ilya answered. 

“It’s about time someone revived that franchise. I’ve caught a few of your games. And your goalie is great! He had a hard time adjusting in our NHL friends game until I gave him some tips and then he was great.” 

“You told him what hand I shoot with,” Lacey called from across the table. 

“She’s still not over that,” Paul laughed. “I had to give him something. Lacey is really good at exploiting weaknesses and finding opportunities to shoot.”  

Before Ilya could respond, the arcade door opened and Nicky came out. 

He climbed on Shane’s lap and whispered something in Shane’s ear. Then, he turned to Ilya and said: “Mr. Ilya. Do you want to come play racing?” 

“Yes,” Ilya responded. “Of course!” 

“Yay!” Nicky cheered. 

They followed Nicky into the arcade. 

“Mr. Ilya, I want to sit on your lap and drive.” 

“Okay,” Ilya grinned. 

He picked Nicky up and put Nicky on his lap. Nicky’s braces knocked gently against Ilya’s shin and Ilya had to remind himself that they were okay, that they helped Nicky, that there was nothing sad about them. Nicky was super excited to choose a car and he ended up picking a purple car with great specs. 

Nicky was fidgeting on Ilya’s lap, nearly bouncing with how excited he was. 

The race started, and Ilya floored it. 

Ilya’s son was a terrible driver and Ilya was pretty sure it was because Ilya had been a terrible driver at first. Luckily, Ilya hadn’t steered himself into quite as many poles as Nicky did. Shane, who was by no means going to let Nicky win just because it was his birthday, was smoking them. 

“Can I help you steer?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes!” Nicky yelled. “We just fell off the bridge!” 

They waited for their car to respawn and then Ilya took the wheel, pushed the throttle button, and took off. 

It only took a lap before he was caught up with Shane. 

Nicky had taken his hands off the wheel and was now flapping them excitedly. 

As the finish line neared, Ilya turned on the last boosted he’d been saving for an entire lap and he just barely snuck past Shane’s car for the win. 

Nicky erupted, and he turned on Ilya’s lap and pulled Ilya into a hug. 

“We did it!” He yelled. “We did it! We won!” 

“We did it!” Ilya smiled. 

Nicky motioned for Ilya to come closer so Ilya slouched a little. Then Nicky whispered in Ilya’s ear: “I’m really happy you helped Daddy make me.” 

* * * 

“My mom brought these over,” Shane said, gesturing at a stack of books on his kitchen table. “My dad made you copies of the ones we have at home, actually.” 

Ilya looked at the stack of books. He knew immediately what it was. Photobooks. Photobooks of Nicky. 

Ilya immediately reached for one. The cover photo was of Nicky and he was tiny. His little face was scrunched. 

Ilya’s chest tightened. 

He’d missed this. Sometimes, Ilya wasn’t sure if he was more angry at Shane or himself. Shane had hidden Nicky from Ilya, but it wasn’t like Shane didn’t try to reach out. He’d just never told Ilya that he was pregnant, but Ilya was starting to realize that Shane’s pregnancy probably hadn’t been easy, given the fact that the mention of it caused Shane to have a panic attack, and that there was a lot that Ilya was missing. Shane had reached out. 

Ilya could’ve responded, could’ve answered Shane’s texts. If he’d tried, if he’d… 

Ilya opened the photo book. 

Nicky had been tiny when he was born, tiny and long. 

Someone, David probably, had written notes about Nicky’s first month. 

Day 28: Nicholas David Hollander gets his name. 

The photo accompanying it was Nicky with his name in blocks on a blanket. 

“He didn’t have a name for 4 weeks?” Ilya asked, looking up at Shane. “That is a long time.” 

Something heavy crossed Shane’s face before he forced a half smile. “It was really hard for me to decide on one.” 

Ilya suspected there was more to the story so he didn’t pry. 

Instead he turned the page to one that said, “First Hockey Game.” 

Nicky was wearing a tiny Montreal Metros jersey and a red headband with earmuffs. 

Another photo showed Nicky on Yuna’s chest in a carrier. The background showed the scoreboard. 

“His first game was Montreal vs Boston?” Ilya asked breathlessly. 

He’d been in the same building as his son and hadn’t known. 

“It was my dad’s idea. He didn’t know about you yet,” Shane explained. 

Ilya turned the page, there were pictures of other milestones: Nicky smiling, Nicky playing with toys, Nicky being fed by Yuna and David and sometimes Shane. 

Ilya noticed, even though the photos were still, that there was something odd about the way Nicky had been holding his legs. 

“This is when you noticed he had cerebral palsy, yes?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes,” Shane answered. “I didn’t see him that much but there was something that was different about his legs. We went to the pediatrician and they said that I was overthinking it and it was just new parent anxiety. My mom agreed with the pediatrician until I called Elkins and told him about Nicky.” 

“You told Elkins about Nicky? That you were his father?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes; because I’d seen stuff from his wife about how she knew something was different about their baby and doctors didn’t listen and she had to go to a specialist to get someone to actually listen. Elkins helped us get an MRI scheduled at SickKids.” 

Ilya turned the page. The next page was tough. 

One of the photos on the page was Nicky lying on a table about to go into an MRI. He looked like he was wrapped in a tight jacket, like the one they put people in in horror movies. 

“What is that?” Ilya asked. “It looks like horrible.” 

“I didn’t like it either,” Shane said. “When my mom sent me pictures, but apparently it keeps babies from moving in the MRI. It didn’t hurt him and he was sedated so he didn’t even really feel it.” 

There was a photo of the results and Ilya read David’s neat explanation of what it meant. It was hard to read, and the words started to get blurry. 

Ilya’s son had had a stroke before he’d even had his first breath. He’d had a stroke before he’d had a name. Ilya’s heart broke. 

Ilya turned the page. This one showed Nicky in physical therapy. Another page showed playtime and another showed Shane and Nicky eating cucumbers with identical content looks on their faces. 

Ilya turned another page. This one was about hockey again but this time Shane was holding Nicky. He was still wearing baby earmuffs and Shane and Nicky were looking at the rink. The caption read: First Sledge Hockey Game. Go Sledgehammers! 

For some reason, this one hurt more than the game that Ilya was in the same building for. This was Nicky’s first introduction to hockey that was for him and Ilya had missed it. 

The pages of the book were getting blurry again and Ioya let the tears fall when he turned the page and saw that Nicky had the baby equivalent of a wheelchair. It had handles for an adult to push but also had a place where Nicky could grip and propel himself. 

In the next book, Ilya could see that Nicky was growing and growing quickly but also that his legs seemed to stay small. 

“His legs,” Ilya stared at the photo of Nicky in swim trunks at Shane’s cottage. “They um, they’re smaller than the rest of him.” 

“It’s because he doesn’t move them as much,” Shane explained. “So the muscles get weaker. Physical therapy is supposed to help with that but he uses his arms for stuff most people would use their legs for, so he’s going to have more muscle on top.” 

Ilya nodded. That made sense. Still, Ilya was disappointed to find that it was hard for him to see that Nicky was different. 

Ilya turned the page. He had to wipe furiously at his eyes to keep from getting tears on the precious pages. Ilya had missed so much and all of this was so overwhelming and Ilya was trying his best and all of this was so fucking hard.  

That was how most of the next hour proceeded, with Ilya crying and flipping through a book filled with pictures of the first five years of his son’s life. 

Ilya turned to the last page of the book about Nicky being 4 and froze because on the very last page of the book because someone had taken a photo of Nicky and Ilya in the arcade and even more of Nicky and Ilya on the ice. Someone had even gotten a photo the hug that Nicky had given him after they won at the racing game. 

Ilya was in Nicky’s photobook. 

Ilya was officially a part of the story of Nicky’s life. 

Chapter End Notes

Nicky getting a new wheelchair that lets him have more control over who can help move him is a big milestone for kids who use wheelchairs, as is him learning to do a wheelie.

Chapter 8: october

Chapter Notes

me showing up to the worst writer pacing competition but actually rachel reid isn't there because it's 6 months later actually heeheee

CW: discussion of eating disorders and specificially food rules. Ilya also comments on Shane's food habits without knowing he's in eating disorder recovery, mentions of child abuse, perinatal mood and anxiety disorders

October 2017 

Shane had never stayed up overnight with The Baby. Most of the time, Shane went to bed at 10 o’clock so he could be up in time to do yoga and weightlifting and get used to moving again. Shane was less sore than he had been the days after he’d given birth, when it felt like someone had shredded his cunt with a chainsaw, when he’d been bleeding everywhere and exhausted and miserable. Shane usually let his parents take care of The Baby overnight. 

Dad was a pro at the night shift according to Mom and apparently, when Shane was first born and Mom decided to end her parental leave early because she wanted to go back to work, Dad had decided to be a stay at home parent and he’d done all of the night shifts and had apparently even remembered to wake Mom up to pump. 

There was no pumping for The Baby. The Baby had been fed with donor since he was 13 days old. Shane had, in hopes of initiating labor, expressed a little bit of colostrum into a syringe while pregnant. The entire experience had been humiliating but apparently colostrum was good for The Baby. 

The Baby whimpered and Shane swore he could feel his heart rate pick up like he’d just gotten off a particularly hard shift. This had to be the scariest part of all of it, the fact that Shane’s body was tuned to another person without his consent. 

Shane swore he could hear The Baby crying at night even though The Baby slept in Shane’s parent’s room downstairs. During the day, the slightest whimper could make Shane’s heart race, even if he wasn’t holding or paying attention to The Baby. 

Shane had tried, because he knew his parents would want him to try, to take care of The Baby. He’d tried making bottles and holding him and feeding him and looking like he actually liked The Baby instead of what he wanted to do which was hide in his room just like he had during his pregnancy and not think about the tiny human that had nearly ruined Shane’s life, that still had the capacity to ruin Shane’s life. 

Because what if Shane wouldn’t be as good at hockey? That was what everyone said about women athletes who had children. If you had a baby, your career was fucked. You wouldn’t be as strong again, and sure, Shane could attribute it to age to the press, but Shane would fucking know. He’d know that The Baby had ruined his hockey career.

The Baby whimpered again, and Shane’s heart rate picked up. Shane had no idea why he was sitting with The Baby overnight except for some bizarre reason he felt like he needed to explain to The Baby even though he couldn’t understand anything, even though he barely knew Shane even though he seemed, irrationally to prefer Shane to others.  

The Baby scrunched his nose and looked so much like Ilya that it hurt. It wasn’t fair that this baby could be so blonde and look so much like Ilya when Ilya wouldn’t even talk to Shane. He probably would, if Shane told him that the time they’d fucked without a condom  in a hotel room had resulted in something with fingernails and hair and eyes and a heartbeat instead of vaguely asking to talk, but Shane couldn’t make himself do that, not over text message, probably not at all. 

Ilya wanted to focus on hockey, which was such a bullshit excuse for why he’d broken things off that it made Shane rage. Ilya didn’t love hockey like Shane loved hockey. Ilya could live without hockey. Hockey wasn’t oxygen for Ilya like it was for Shane. 

Hockey wouldn’t be worth leaving your child for Ilya. 

The Baby fussed and Shane forced himself to look at The Baby who had Ilya’s hair and the color of his eyes and still, somehow, looked just like Shane. The Baby needed a name. Mom and Dad had given Shane 28 days without forcing him to name The Baby, but they were starting to get frustrated. Shane had half hoped that Mom and Dad would just take it out of Shane’s hands and name The Baby the same way that Mom’s orphanage had named her, even if her parents changed her name after she was brought to Canada. Shane sometimes wished he was out of the equation entirely, that he didn’t feel this odd pull toward this tiny, dirty blonde human who looked like Ilya when he sneezed. 

Shane had never been good at naming things. He’d never had a pet that was a living thing and Shane wasn’t someone who named skates or sticks or anything like that. Shane hadn’t even named the stuffed animal he’d had as a child that he’d slept with until major juniors, before he stopped because he knew the bullying would be relentless. Dad had, in an effort that Shane presumed was to convince him to name The Baby, started calling The Baby by increasingly ridiculous hockey related nicknames. Yesterday had been Goalie, and that’s when Shane knew he needed to pick a name less his child grow up to become a goalie because that was briefly his name as a baby. Shane had heard Dad use Goalie with Mom when he’d come home from the gym and collapsed into an exhausted heap on his parent’s couch. 

The Baby needed a name. 

The Baby needed a name so the guardianship paperwork could be submitted to the court. Shane had already signed away custody. He’d done that the day that he’d had ice time for the first time in almost 2 months, but to actually submit the paperwork, The Baby needed a name. 

The Baby needed so much more than that, more than Shane was actually able to give. 

And The Baby deserved to hear it from Shane. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered because it had been fucked up that this tiny human had come out wanting Shane and Shane had barely been able to hold him. “I don’t know how to be your dad.” 

The Baby snuffled in his sleep, probably content. Mom had been the one to put him to bed. She was always the one to put him to bed. The Baby usually slept in Shane’s parents’ room but tonight, Shane had offered to sit with him. Shane knew his dad was watching on The Baby monitor, probably ready to swoop in at a moment’s notice. 

“This is not your fault and it’s important you know that. You’re just a baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

It wasn’t The Baby’s fault that his embryo had attached itself to the lining of Shane's uterus and Shane hadn’t known about it for six months. 

“I haven’t been very fair to you,” Shane continued. He’d barely acknowledged The Baby, hardly ever gave him a bottle, and could barely tolerate holding The Baby when he cried. Shane hadn’t even fucking named him. 

Shane was a fucking selfish fuck.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Shane continued. “But it’s okay if you do.” Shane was sure his son would grow up to hate him. That one day he’d want to know the story of his life and he was going to find out that Shane left to go play hockey, but Shane would rather have The Baby hate him than hate The Baby for taking hockey from him. Because Shane would’ve hated The Baby for that and would’ve resented him, and that wasn’t fair to The Baby. None of this was fucking fair. 

“I’m not… supposed to be doing this, having a kid I mean. I’m not… meant to-“ 

Shane wasn’t built for sacrifice unless it was for hockey and that was the truth. 

“I’ve been playing since I could walk, or skating at least. Mom wanted a hockey player but I think Dad wanted a figure skater. Hockey won.” Shane laughed. “I think it was because it was the first place I really felt like I wasn’t any different than the boys. All the padding and the helmets and the cages and you couldn’t really tell. So I was good and everyone assumed I was a boy and I liked that, a little too much I think. That’s not what made me trans,” Shane added needlessly. It was especially useless because The Baby was a baby who probably didn’t even know what trans meant, nor would he think that Shane was trans because he’d liked hockey as a child. 

The Baby’s lips twitched and then he started whining. Shane looked immediately for his parents before he remembered that he’d asked to do this. 

Making a bottle wasn’t easy, even with the ridiculously expensive bottle making appliance that Mom had bought and Dad had rolled his eyes about. 

As Shane made the bottle, The Baby’s cries ticked up. Shane breathed slowly. They were so shrill and piercing and overwhelming and… The Baby quieted when Shane stuck the bottle in his mouth. 

He looked up at Shane and his eyes were so blue and he was so small and Shane desperately needed this tiny human to understand even though Shane knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t even know why he needed The Baby to understand, and he hated that his brain cared about that. 

“Hockey is everything to me,” Shane continued. “It’s the one place I could just be a boy. I came out to my parents because my mom found out my teammates were calling me he and him and Shane and she thought they were bullying me and I told her I felt like a boy inside and that I wanted to be a boy. Mom was in the feminist club in college and she knew a trans guy and she called and asked him if it was possible for me to know that young. Next thing I know, I was getting a haircut and Dad was practicing calling me Shane. Mom got it pretty quickly though, and I think she was excited about the prospect of a boy hockey player.” 

The Baby had finished some of his bottle. When Shane looked at him, he noticed how beautiful he was. He looked like Shane and Ilya and it was fucking crazy, how his body had made a person with so many features of Ilya? 

“And then hockey was really fun,” Shane continued. “I got to be a boy. My coaches didn’t really know what transgender meant, and we mostly stopped telling them. My birth certificate was considered a clerical error. And then there was major juniors. I don’t know what Mom had to do to make sure I was drafted in Ottawa, but we would’ve moved anywhere so I didn’t have to do billeting. I roomed with the same guy. He was a goalie and I guess his sister is gay or whatever so he didn’t mind. Major juniors wasn’t easy. I’d just started testosterone.” [Mom and Dad had paid a ton of fucking money to travel to Boston and Boston Children’s Hospital and take Shane to the gender clinic once every three months for a year before he’d started testosterone.]  

Testosterone had changed Shane’s life. He’d gotten taller and stronger. His voice had gotten deeper and had more bass and he didn’t sound like a 12 year old anymore. 

“I was smaller than some of the guys and they knew I was trans. They also knew I was good and some of them really hated me for that. Because some of them saw me as a girl and they hated that a girl was better than them. I had a really good coach, though. Dad played hockey with him at McGill, so he really cared about making sure I felt safe. The fact that I was trans was an open secret. It was mostly a rumor more than anything unless they knew me but when people did find out on other teams. Well, let’s just say my friends on the team got into a lot of fights.” 

The Baby was almost done drinking the bottle, and then Shane had to burp him so he didn’t get an air bubble trapped in his stomach. Mom had explained that to him the first time he’d given The Baby a bottle. 

“I know I’m probably not selling hockey but you probably won’t be trans in hockey. Well, if you are I don’t know if it’s better on the women’s side. I hope it is; I think there’s some queer women on Team Canada so maybe it is better. It’s not bad. My teammates don’t care. Half of them have forgotten, I’m pretty sure. Stanley Cups have a way of doing that. That’s the biggest award in the NHL and I’ve won it three times for Montreal. You were actually there for the last one. There’s nothing like it.”  

The Baby finished drinking and Shane tried his hand at burping him. Mom made it look easy, so did Dad. 

“Hockey is so important to me,” Shane said to him. “And I wasn’t expecting you and I don’t know how to become a dad.” 

Shane knew this was probably supposed to hurt more than it did, that Shane wasn’t supposed to want to leave his son two weeks earlier than he’d planned, that this decision was supposed to hurt the way having your heart torn out would hurt and not in the way that cleaning out an infected wound hurt. 

(Shane was positive he was supposed to feel something primal about walking away from his four week old. Dogs and cats and fucking raccoons stayed with their young for longer than that. Shane was giving his son less time with him than backyard breeders did with dogs. Not that Shane had been all that present the past few weeks.) 

Shane was supposed to care. He was supposed to dread the moment that he would walk out of the door of his parent’s home and return to Montreal to get ready to travel with a team he couldn’t even practice with. He was supposed to lament the fact that he didn’t have longer with The Baby. This was supposed to hurt. Shane was supposed to be in agony.  

Instead, Shane mostly felt like an asshole and a terrible father for putting The Baby in a situation that he hadn’t asked for and  it was more proof than ever that Shane was making the right choice. He was selfish and he wasn’t ready to put the needs of a baby he’d never intended to have before hockey.  And Shane was being so unfair to a fucking baby who hadn’t asked for any of this. 

Shane didn’t feel like he was having his heart torn out, he mostly felt relief that he’d stop hearing phantom cries, that his body and brain would go back to normal and he’d be able to skate again and he’d be fine. 

The Baby burped, startling Shane. 

“That was good, right?” Shane asked as he carefully changed the position of The Baby, like Mom had shown him the second time he’d fed The Baby. “Your Halmi and Pepe, they’re really good at this. They did a pretty good job with me.” Shane quantified his upbringing with the words pretty good because he wasn’t exactly sure if the fact that Shane had abandoned  his son to go play hockey reflected on his parent’s parenting.

Shane wished he had something poetic to say. He wished he could muster an I love you and actually mean it. 

The Baby needed a name. 

That was something Shane could give. 

Shane stared at The Baby. He’d had a short list for a few days but one name had stuck out for more reasons than one.  It was the only one on the list that could be easily pronounced in Russian. 

He looked at The Baby.  

“Hi, Nicholas.” 

* * *

This was the conversation Shane had to have every year. 

Summer was good. It meant that Shane got to spend more time with Nicky. Montreal had missed the playoffs this year and that meant Shane got more time at home with Nicky. (It fucking sucked missing the playoffs and Shane hoped that they’d actually get deep into the playoffs this year, even if it did mean less time with Nicky.)

As Nicky got older, he got more aware of what hockey season starting meant, and Shane knew one day he would realize what all of this meant. Shane knew his son could grow up to hate him for choosing hockey every season. Shane figured if that happened, he deserved it. 

Shane’s first regular season game was tomorrow and it was against Chicago.  Their home opener was the following week and Mom and Dad would bring Nicky. The game would be against Ottawa, which meant that it was the first time that Nicky would get to see Ilya play and know that his other dad was playing too.

“Nicky,” Shane said.  

They’d prepped Nicky for this weeks ago, like they did every summer, but part of their routine was this, bed time and laying together and talking about it the night before Shane left. 

Nicky was older and understood now what was going on. 

Shane crawled into bed next to his son. 

Nicky winced and Shane’s heart cracked. 

“So, Nicky, we talked about how I’m going to have to go back to work soon,” Shane opened. 

“Tomorrow,” Nicky whispered. He sounded sad. “Amber says you’re going to go to Chicago with her dad.” 

“My first game is in Chicago,” Shane said. “But next week you and Halmi and Pepe can come see and Mr. Ilya and me play hockey.” 

“Does Mr. Ilya play for Montreal?” Nicky asked. 

“No, he plays for Ottawa,” Shane responded. “So we’ll be playing against each other.” 

“I want Mr. Ilya to score 3 goals when he plays against you,” Nicky decided. “A hat trick!” He clapped his hands. 

Okay, weird way for Shane’s son to announce he wanted Shane to lose his home opener. “Maybe,” Shane said. “But Nicky, me playing hockey again means I’m going to be gone more often.”

Nicky looked dejected and then he smiled a little which made Shane’s heart feel tight. “I know. Halmi and Pepe told me when I was four. You are working very hard playing hockey.” 

Shane pushed back his son’s bangs that had fallen into his eyes. He needed a haircut soon. “I’m going to miss you, and we can talk on your tablet every day, okay?” 

“And you can show me your hotel room?” Nicky asked. 

For some reason, Nicky was obsessed with hotel rooms and he liked seeing the different ones Shane went to. He also liked staying at them. 

“Yes, I will show you the hotel rooms. You know, we are staying at a really cool hotel in Chicago.” Shane talked about the hotel rooms in Chicago until Nicky fell asleep. 

Once Nicky was asleep, Shane stepped out of his room. In the morning, Shane would say goodbye for the next week and he’d enter the season where he saw Nicky every other weekend and sometimes during the week if they had a home game. This season was going to even harder given all the changes in Shane’s life. 

Shane was surprised by how much harder leaving Nicky had become. The very first time Shane had left Nicky had probably been the easiest time. Shane had been drowning in the overwhelm of the aftermath of a pregnancy he’d never asked for and a newborn that needed things Shane didn’t know how to give. Leaving for the first time had been necessary, but each time felt like it hurt a little more. 

As Nicky got more social and verbal and realized how present everyone else’s parents were, he had questions. 

Why did Shane have to leave? Why couldn’t he play hockey only in Canada? Why did he have to go on a plane so much? Why could they only see each other on FaceTime? 

Eventually, Shane knew that Nicky was going to get old enough to realize how truly odd his family situation was, and Shane had no idea what he was going to do. The, ‘Nicky is confused about what daddy means’ lie would only work for so long for the public. And worse yet, at some point, Nicky was going to realize that he was a secret, and Shane, who was a professional at keeping secrets, didn’t want his son to have to carry that weight. He couldn’t let his son carry the weight of keeping so much of himself and who he was a secret. 

Shane was going to have to make a choice if he wanted to protect Nicky from pain. Nicky would start school soon the following year and the idea of telling Nicky that he wasn’t allowed to talk about Shane as his dad made Shane’s heart race. Shane hadn’t been fair to Nicky. He’d chosen hockey over being a custodial parent but Shane didn’t want to choose hockey over Nicky’s wellbeing. Without question, Shane had made the right choice about custody and his parents home was the best place for Nicky, but keeping Nicky a secret was getting less and less feasible. Anybody that met Nicky and saw how comfortable he was with Shane knew that Nicky wasn’t some secret cousin. 

Shane had been weighing his options recently, especially now that Ilya was aware of Nicky. Shane’s biggest fear after having Nicky was that the news of his pregnancy would impact how his teammates and coaches would see him. His biggest fear was that he’d be written off and that someone would decide that gestating a baby had made him irredeemably weaker as an athlete. Shane had been terrified he would be sent down to the AHL and no one would call him back up, even if he absolutely deserved his spot on an NHL roster. 

But Shane had given birth five years ago and in those five years, he’d performed better than he had during the beginning of his career. He’d made the top 3 in points last year and his goals weren’t far behind. He’d won a Stanley Cup since then. No one could say that having a baby had impacted his performance, but that didn’t mean that Shane wouldn’t get traded and sent down to the AHL for the sole fact that people were uncomfortable with the fact that Shane had had a baby. Shane tried not to think about what fans would say or how blogs and newspapers would take the news that he’d unknowingly played and practiced while pregnant. Shane wasn’t even sure his team would respond well. 

And all of that was without getting into the most glaring issues: if the world knew about Nicky, it would only be a matter of time before they deduced the other father was Ilya. Sure, Shane could lie but people would scrutinize Nicky’s every feature and compare it to every other hockey player in the league and it wouldn’t be hard to recognize the similarities between Ilya and Nicky. 

And if that happened, Shane’s entire world would detonate.

It was one thing to be a trans guy who was gay and occasionally enjoyed taking it in his cunt and ended up having a baby because of it, it was something entirely different to be a gay trans guy who occasionally enjoyed taking it in his cunt and the person he enjoyed taking it from, the only person he enjoyed taking it from was his fucking arch rival.

Shane had no idea how he was going to protect his career and his family, and the idea of choosing between those terrified him, but the idea of not having a choice terrified Shane even more.  

* * * 

Ilya stared at the picture on his fridge with pride. Nicky had drawn it. It was them playing sled hockey, although it had quite a bit of glitter that hadn’t been present. Apparently, he’d worked on it in physical therapy. 

It made Ilya want to cry every time he looked at it. It was the first picture that his son had ever drawn of them. Ilya had been drawn in purple and Nicky had been drawn in blue. The goal was in the background and there was a vaguely puck shaped object on the ground. 

Nicky’s physical therapist had helped him write the word: GOAL. He’d been very adamant that he’d wanted to give it to Ilya as soon as he could, which resulted in Ilya going to the Hollanders’ house for dinner even though Shane was in Chicago. 

It was a little awkward having dinner at Shane’s parents’ house without Shane but Nicky chattered about everything he’d done in physical therapy. 

Afterward, David had talked to Ilya about Nicky’s disability.  

Ilya had asked if there was any possibility that Nicky would walk. 

“It’s unlikely,” David explained. “Walking is hard for him and it hurts.” 

“His surgeries did not help?” Ilya asked. 

“His surgeries were to reduce the pain he was in and to hopefully improve his mobility and make when he transfers to his chair easier for him.”

“But he will not walk?” Ilya asked. He was surprised his voice held.  

“No,” David said gently. 

“Okay,” Ilya whispered. 

“It’s not easy,” David said. “To know that your child will have limitations.” 

All of this was so hard but- “Shane is so much better at being okay with this,” Ilya pointed out. 

“Well, Nicky still has hockey so as far as Shane is concerned, all is well,” David responded. He smiled a little but then got more serious. “For Shane, I think his biggest question when Nicky was first diagnosed was if he would be able to play hockey. He always said he wouldn’t force his kid to play hockey but I think he wanted to be sure Nicky could have the opportunity.” 

Of course Shane would be okay with Nicky’s disabilities when he realized Nicky could still play hockey if he wanted. Ilya was happy Nicky would still play hockey, but he also hated that Nicky was going to have a harder life.  

Ilya had a lot of questions about Nicky and Ilya wanted to ask David about them since he was the one that had put together the photo books for Ilya. 

“What was Nicky like as a baby?” Ilya asked. “I saw the photo books but I want to know what he was like.” 

Ilya looked at the photo books every night, trying to memorize the memories that he would never get to have, trying to forgive Shane (and himself) for not being there, trying to understand what the first part of Nicky’s life had been like. Ilya had noticed one thing, Shane was barely in any of the earliest pictures of Nicky but he was in the later ones, which was weird, because Shane had taken a month off after Nicky was born and in the only two photos of him with Nicky, Shane looked utterly exhausted and was barely looking at him. 

“Nicky was an easy baby,” David answered. “I did the night shift and it was a breeze. If he was being held, he barely cried. Shane was a challenging baby and not very social, but Nicky’s always been pretty social. He loved the sound of running water so I’d put him on my chest and do the dishes and vacuuming put him to sleep.” 

Ilya smiled. That was cute. He imagined David with a tiny Nicky on his chest and it hurt. 

There was another question on Ilya’s mind. He’d read the page about Nicky’s name over and over again. 28 days. 4 weeks. That was a long time for a baby to go without a name and it seemed like there was a reason for it. But Ilya also wanted to know more about what Nicky was like. 

“So he was a good baby?” Ilya asked. 

“No, he was a very bad baby. He got arrested for embezzlement when he was three months old,” David replied with a wink. 

Ilya laughed. 

“He was a social baby and that made things easier than it was with Shane,” David explained. “And he was really curious about the world. Oh and he loved when you talked to him. He liked baths and being in the water and baby water safety lessons and he was a really pleasant baby.” 

Ilya didn’t get it. If Nicky was an easy baby, then why had Shane had such a hard time? Ilya knew some babies cried for hours and didn’t let their parents sleep and were restless and that made the newborn stage difficult but it sounded like Nicky wasn’t any of those.  

“I liked the pictures you gave me,” Ilya said. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” David said. 

“And thank you for including the parts that were hard,” Ilya added. “It was hard to see but good to know what happened to Nicky. Thank you.” 

“You missed a lot,” David noted. “I wanted you to have at least some part of that.” 

Ilya looked down at his hands. 

“I am angry sometimes, about what I missed,” Ilya admitted. He didn’t know why he was saying this, to David of all people, but it was something he’d been holding in. 

“That Shane didn’t tell you?” David asked. 

“That I didn’t know,” Ilya answered because it wasn’t the same thing. “Shane and me, we both made mistakes. I can forgive Shane for making a mistake. I don’t know how to forgive me for making a mistake.” 

Because Ilya hadn’t known, of course he hadn’t known, and he’d told Shane to leave him alone and Shane had already been pregnant and neither of them knew. And Ilya imagined that Shane must’ve been terrified, to not find out until he no longer had a choice, to know that the father of your child told you he wanted nothing to do with you, even if Ilya hadn’t known about the baby. Shane must’ve been fucking terrified. 

Ilya remembered the text that Shane had sent the a few days  before preseason in 2017.  

Jane 

Can we talk next time you are in Montreal? 

Ilya hadn’t responded. He’d wanted to, but he knew it was going to be a bad idea, that Ilya was going to fall into a pit of despair and if he responded he was going to drag Shane along with him. Except, Ilya hadn’t known that not responding meant that he wasn’t going to know about the best person in the world for almost 5 more years. 

Ilya was angry at the fact that he wasn’t even sure that he would’ve been a good parent to Nicky then. Ilya had been angry and impulsive and he drank too much so that he didn’t have to think and back then Ilya feared he would be more like his father than his mother. He still feared he would be more like his father than his mother. 

Ilya was angry because if he’d responded and Shane still hadn’t told him, Ilya could be angry at Shane. If he’d answered Shane’s text when Shane found out about Nicky’s cerebral palsy and Shane had cried in his arms and still hadn’t told Ilya, Ilya could be mad at Shane. But Shane had tried reaching out and maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough but how could Ilya have expected Shane to reveal something as vulnerable as their child over text message when Ilya may as well have been a brick wall?

And Shane had been struggling. Ilya could not stop thinking about the two photos of Nicky’s first four weeks that had Shane in them. 

In both of them, he was holding Nicky. In both of them, Shane wasn’t smiling. In both of them, Shane looked hollow.  

“I have a question about the books,” Ilya said. It wasn’t really about the books. 

“What is it?” 

“Nicky’s name.” Ilya tried to figure out how to ask. “Shane said it was hard for him to pick one.” 

David’s face changed and something sad crossed his face. So Ilya was right, something had been very wrong when Nicky was first born, and it hadn’t been because of Nicky’s cerebral palsy. 

“Shane had a bit of a hard time after Nicky was born,” David said quietly. “It’s never easy having a baby, especially when you weren’t expecting it. It was hard for Yuna and we had planned and tried and waited for Shane. It took him some time to…” David trailed off. He looked like he was thinking about how much he could say. 

“Is okay, I understand,” Ilya said. 

“Nicky was an easy baby,” David said. “It was everything else that made things difficult for Shane.” David’s eyes seemed wet. “I used to call Nicky random hockey terms when he was first born, still do sometimes, until he got his name. It made Shane smile. I’m pretty sure he decided on a name because I started calling him Goalie.” 

Ilya smiled at that. Ilya would’ve chosen a name if someone called his son goalie too. “Nicky is a good name. I looked it up. It means victory for the people.” 

David smiled. “He is a victory for the people indeed.” 

* * *

“You’ve been skating like crap,” Hayden complained. 

“Thanks, Hayden,” Shane snapped. Hayden was right. Shane was skating like shit. Practice had been rough, and Shane had failed to manage even a shot during their scrimmage. 

“Hey, I know you’re dealing with…” Hayden paused briefly. “But whatever it is, whatever you need to do.” 

They’d won their first few games and had even won handily the week befor , but only because they’d played Ottawa and Ottawa still sucked, even with Rozanov. 

Shane hadn’t seen Nicky after the game. It had been a late start because of stupid network shit and the only reason Mom had let Nicky stay the whole game was because it was Nicky’s first time watching Ilya play. 

Dad had sent pictures of Nicky. Ilya had even given Nicky a hockey puck during warm ups. Nicki had probably fallen asleep in the car and Dad probably carried him inside the house like he’d done with Shane when Shane had been little. 

Mostly though Shane couldn’t stop looking at the photo of Ilya giving Nicky a puck. He’d looked so delighted. Ilya smiled wider than Shane had ever seen him. 

Shane had spent most of the last five years trying not to think about Ilya Rozanov. Hell, he’d spent most of the last fifteen years trying not to think of Ilya Rozanov. 

It was hard not to. Besides Rose, and that had been a disaster, ilya had been the only person that Shane had had sex with and now that he was a regular presence in Shane’s life in a way he hadn’t been before, it was fucking with Shane’s head. It had been one thing to keep seeing him on the ice four times a year but something totally different to see him day to day, playing with Nicky, interacting with Shane’s parents, and generally being a fixture in Shane’s life. 

The worst part of everything was that having Ilya so close had forced Shane to reconcile with the fact that his attraction to Rozanov hadn’t really gone away, especially that Rozanov had gotten a little more muscular and seemed a little harrier. Rozanov’s eyes were still intense, but Shane had started feeling something intense when he saw them soften around Nicky. 

“Hollander,” JJ interrupted Shane’s thoughts. “What are you doing for Halloween? We don’t have a game that day.” 

“Oh, I’m going to…” Shane trailed off. They’d made plans for Halloween. Mom, Dad, Nicky, and Ilya would drive up from Ottawa and they’d go trick or treating in the neighborhood that Shane owned his condo in. 

Shane was a littler worried that the two of them together, even costumed, might be obvious, but hopefully no one would think twice, especially with it being night as busy as Halloween and in a different neighborhood than the one Shane’s parents or Ilya lived in. 

“I’ll be busy,” Shane answered. “With family .” 

“Ah,” JJ said with a glint in his eye. “Visiting your parents and Nicky then?” 

Although Shane and JJ had never actually talked about the fact that Nicky was Shane’s, JJ constituted the fourth professional hockey player that knew about Nicky. Well, technically, there were five because now Ilya knew. 

“Yeah, he asked me to take him trick or treating,” Shane answered. 

“Then you have to help me pick my costume then,” JJ continued. “If you can’t come, you have to help.” 

It didn’t sound like there was going to be a debate even though Shane did not want to go costume shopping with JJ. 

They ended up going right after practice, with Shane’s car because JJ had hitched a ride with the rookie who lived across the street from him because he’d been too hungover to drive. 

In the car, JJ turned to Shane. 

“You are skating like shit,” JJ said in French. 

Fuck. 

“I know, and Hayden told me in case I didn’t know.” 

“Is everything okay with Nicky?” JJ asked point blank. 

Shane considered his options for answering. 

“Yeah, Nicky’s fine. I’m just stressed about other things.” 

“Liar,” JJ said, and then he got serious, very serious: “Is something wrong? Is he okay?” 

“Yeah, he’s fine, I mean, I guess.” 

“Shane,” JJ said firmly. 

“Yes?” Shane responded, glad he was driving so he had an excuse for JJ not to attempt to torture Shane with eye contact. 

“Shane, I know Nicholas is your son. If it’s something that’s about him, you can tell me.” 

Shane drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, aware that his non response was confirming to JJ that this was about Nicky and that it was serious. 

“Is he sick?” JJ asked. 

“No,” Shane answered. 

“Does he need a surgery or something or did…?” JJ trailed off. He wasn’t around Nicky as often as Hayden was because Shane was protective of his time with Nicky, especially during the season. Hayden usually came with some of Nicky’s closest friends so it was different.

“No, it’s just,” Shane didn’t think he could say it. It was one thing for Hayden to know, and Hayden had Jackie and the better part of 5 years to get over it. JJ had none of that.  

“Shane, this seems serious. I have never seen you skate like this. If you keep it up, we will have a worse streak than Ottawa.” 

Shane doubted that could happen, even if Shane dropped dead, which was starting to feel like a better end to this conversation than telling the truth. Shane could lie, could say he was worried that Nicky was going to need surgery and that was true, Shane was worried about it, but that was months from now. Right now, Shane was worried about the whole world finding out his secret. 

He told JJ the truth anyway. 

He started off slowly. “Nicky’s other father is a hockey player.” 

JJ was quiet for a long moment and then he said, jokingly: “It’s not Ilya Rozanov is it?” 

Shane didn’t answer. Why was that everyone’s first guess? 

“It’s fucking Rozanov?!” JJ asked in English. “That cute little kid? He’s fucking Rozanov’s? Pull over.” 

“I’m not pulling over,” Shane responded, still in French. He wasn’t switching languages and adding to this rollercoaster. 

“You have to be fucking with me, Hollander,” JJ whispered, thankfully back to French. 

Shane didn’t say anything. He also didn’t pull over. 

“Rozanov,” JJ repeated slowly, like Rozanov was one of the ghosts that Vincent Lemaire carried around with him and might be summoned if he repeated Rozanov’s name too many times. 

“Nicholas is so cute, I do not believe Rozanov could make someone as cute as that.”

“Well, he didn’t make Nicky; I did,” Shane pointed out. 

“Yes but Nicky is half of him, yes?” JJ asked. 

“Only the good half,” Shane joked, trying to diffuse the tension. 

Shane could imagine that JJ was probably scowling. 

“Rozanov?” JJ said again. “You and Rozanov were dating?” 

“No,” Shane answered immediately. “We were just…” 

“Fuckbuddies?” JJ suggested. 

“Pretty much,” Shane answered. 

“Is that why Rozanov signed with Ottawa?” JJ asked. “To be closer to Nicky?”

Shane gripped the steering wheel. “He didn’t know.” 

JJ was totally silent and then, “Hollander, you didn’t tell him he had a child?” 

Shane didn’t answer. 

“Hollander, that is fucked up.” 

“I know!” Shane snapped. “Okay, I fucked up.” 

“How did he even find out?” JJ asked. 

“He saw my mom at the Ottawa rink with Nicky. He was skating with Elkins’ family.” 

“And he figured it out?” 

“Nicky looks like him and he knows that we…” Shane trailed off. “Look, he figured it out.” 

“I see why you are skating like shit, Hollander. This is… a lot.” 

“It’s not even half of it,” Shane grumbled. 

“What else is wrong?” 

“How far away is this costume shop?” Shane asked because he did not want to rehash the whole: Ilya is working on his ableism because Russia, conversation. 

“Ten minutes, Hollander,” JJ responded, looking at Shane’s GPS. “Is Rozanov trying to sue for custody?” 

“No, no, and he’d never win. There’s a reason Nicky is being raised by my parents.” 

“So what else is there? Is he trying to tell people about Nicky?” 

“No, it’s not that it’s-” 

“Is it because he is not happy about Nicky being… different?” JJ asked. 

Shane blinked as he merged to his exit. “How did you know that?” 

“My nephew he is, how you say, the one with the… he is like Nicky when he flaps his hands and lines up hockey pucks.” 

“Autistic?” Shane asked. 

“Yes, but he doesn’t talk at all and he is six. My sister’s husband says that there is nothing wrong with him. I don’t think he knows how to handle that his child is different.” 

Shane swallowed. He hated airing Ilya’s business like this but JJ had brought it up, and it wasn’t like JJ was going to talk to Rozanov any time soon. 

“He’s having a hard time,” Shane answered.  “It’s different in Russia.” 

“Haiti too. My brother in law only moved here eight years ago. It’s not easy for people to accept that their kids are different. He will probably come around, not like my brother in law.” 

“Rozanov is trying,” Shane said. This was so fucking weird. Ten minutes ago, JJ was whispering Rozanov’s name like a curse and now he was being encouraging to Shane. It was weird. 

Shane pulled up to the costume shop. He was suddenly fucking exhausted, too exhausted to go costume shopping. 

JJ noticed. “I’ll call a car,” he said. “But you can call me if you ever want to talk. And I can’t believe it took you this long to tell me Nicky was yours.” 

“I figured you knew,” Shane shrugged.  

“I did, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tell me. Good luck with Rozanov, Hollander.” 

* * *

David Hollander 

Nicky wouldn’t go to sleep without his owl and the puck you gave him. It’s fitting because Hockey Puck was actually one of the first nicknames i had for him when he was born.  Oh and he was very happy to know that “Mr. Ilya can actually score goals!” He had a lot of fun. 

The photo attached was of Nicky, asleep with his owl in one hand and his hockey puck in the other and a pacifier in his mouth. He looked adorable. 

Ilya Rozanov 

He will probably sleep good, yes? 

David Hollander 

He fell asleep in the car and didn’t even wake up when I put his braces on. Probably no daycare for him tomorrow if you want to come visit during the day. 

Ilya Rozanov 

I would very much like that. I have practice in the morning and a video session but should be finished at 3 

David Hollander 

If he’s up for it, you two can go outside on the swings. See you tomorrow, just text before you come over 

Ilya tried to see Nicky as often as he could when Nicky was in Ottawa. Apparently, he split time between Ottawa and Montreal. Ilya still wasn’t allowed to take Nicky out by himself. There were a lot of things about taking care of a disabled child that Ilya didn’t know yet, and there was still the fact that Ilya was working on his ableism. 

Ilya had been getting better. He’d finished the resources from Ekaterina about the history of disability in the Soviet Union. He’d started reading a book that Shane had recommended about having an autistic child that was written by an autistic parent. David had showed Ilya more about Nicky’s braces and how they helped, and they’d talked about Nicky’s goals in physical therapy. 

David Hollander 

What type of ice cream do you like? Nicky’s favorite is vanilla. 

Ilya didn’t love vanilla, but he didn’t want to inconvenience David who had already invited him too see Nicky. 

Ilya Rozanov 

Vanilla is good 

David Hollander 

I’ll get a spread of Moo Shu so you can try all of them and then we’ll know your favorite. 

Ilya Rozanov 

You don’t have to. Vanilla is good for me. 

David Hollander 

Nonsense. Everyone deserves their favorite ice cream! See you tomorrow 

Shane had such a good father.

David had been nothing but welcoming to Ilya, which was sometimes more than Ilya felt like he deserved. It was a little overwhelming to have someone be so kind and care about little things like what flavor of ice cream he wanted.  

David was so calm and so patient with Nicky. When Nicky cried because he decided it was too hard to put his fork and plate in the sink, David had gently said, “you can do hard things,” and eventually Nicky realized he could put his fork and plate in the sink. 

David would get on the floor and crawl after Nicky so that they could play, even though David was almost sixty and Ilya couldn’t even remember if his own dad had done that, even though he’d been a few years younger than David when Ilya was born. 

That was the other thing. Shane’s parents were in their fifties, only a few years older than Ilya's dad when he’d had Ilya and the thought of someone like David having a child with someone as young as Ilya’s mom had been made Ilya sick. Everything about his father made Ilya sick. 

Ilya couldn’t imagine hitting Nicky or even wanting to. He couldn’t imagine hitting Shane or throwing him against a wall or punching the wall next to him until eventually he punched Shane because that’s what happened when you punched things next to people you love. He couldn’t imagine beating Shane so badly that Nicky felt like he had to start punching Ilya and pulling him off of Shane at 9 years old. 

Ilya also doubted that Shane would allow that even if Ilya did fear he was capable of it. It would sooner turn into a no holds barred fight rather than Shane sitting there and taking it. Mama didn’t have a choice. There was nowhere for her to go if Father divorced her, and she wouldn’t have been able to take Ilya and Alexei with her, and they would’ve been left alone with Ilya’s monster of a father. 

Ilya didn’t understand his father. He didn’t understand how his father could hurt someone he loved, except, Ilya had never heard his father say that he loved him, and Ilya wanted Nicky to know that Ilya loved him in every single language that Ilya knew. 

Shane had a good father and Yuna had said that David’s father wasn’t kind and that meant that Ilya didn’t have to repeat his father’s mistakes or his violence. There was a path forward for Ilya to be a good father. Ilya just had to figure out how. 

* * * 

Ilya arrived at the fundraiser at Lacey’s gym early. The fundraiser was to purchase new sleds and equipment and rent accessible transportation for the Montreal Sledgehammers for their upcoming hockey season. Ilya had arrived early so basically no one there, which was good. It meant that Ilya would get to spend a few minutes with Nicky without prying eyes. 

Ilya peered around the mostly empty room. Lacey was dressed as an astronaut and there was a cardboard box over her chair that looked like a spaceship and was sitting next to a short man with dark hair and dark eyes. He had fingers in his mouth and Lacey was holding his other hand. 

Nicky was sitting next to Lacey and Ilya immediately walked over. 

“Mr. Ilya!” Nicky yelled. “Daddy is going to help me put on my costume! I’m so excited!” 

“What is your costume?” Ilya asked. 

“I’m gonna be a hockey player!” Nicky yelled cheerfully. 

“Hockey!” The man next to Lacey yelled when Shane entered the room. 

“Hi Fyo,” Shane gave one of his genuine smiles. 

“Hockey!” Fyo said again, this time to Ilya. 

“Hello,” Ilya said. 

“Hi!” Lacey said 

“привет!” Fyo added. 

“This is my brother, Fyo,” Lacey explained. 

“привет, привет, привет,” Fyo repeated. He started rocking. 

“Fyo,” Lacey said. Fyo turned immediately to her voice. “новый друг.” 

Fyo looked at Ilya, really looked at him.  He squinted.

And then said: “Ilya Rozanov,” as clear as day. 

Lacey looked shocked and it took her a second to say anything else. “Yes, that is Ilya Rozanov.” 

“Ilya Rozanov!” Fyo repeated. “хоккей! гол!” 

“He likes to watch NHL player interviews in Russian,” Lacey explained. “So he knows who you are.” 

“Hi, I’m Ilya,” Ilya greeted Fyo. 

“Ilya Rozanov,” Fyo said. 

“You won’t even say my name or our sister’s,” Lacey commented. “But of course, you know Ilya Rozanov’s,” Lacey said to her brother. 

Fyo grinned. “Ilya Rozanov,” he repeated. 

“Ах ты, мелкий гад,” Lacey muttered. 

Ilya snorted. That hadn’t been particularly kind but they were siblings and that seemed to be par for the course, even when siblings liked each other. 

Fyo responded with: “Ilya Rozanov!” 

“Fyo’s favorite thing is hockey and he speaks mostly Russian,” Lacey explained. 

“Ah,” Ilya said. “Is nice to meet you, Fyo.” 

Fyo had already wandered away. 

“Don’t take it personally,” Lacey said. “He can get easily distracted.” 

Ilya took a deep breath. David had warned him that he was going to meet a lot of people with different disabilities. He was still learning about intellectual disabilities and it was hard to see it in person. He didn’t know why it made him so uncomfortable. 

Shane had taken Nicky to a back room to help him with his costume so Ilya wandered over to where Hannah was setting up food. 

“Oh good!” Hannah beamed. “You can help.” 

Hannah made Ilya wash his hands and then had him set out the snacks. 

Fyo was walking in circles in the middle of the room while Ilya was setting out popcorn balls. He was on his tip toe and whispering to himself in Russian. Ilya tried not to stare and wasn’t sure how successful he was because Fyo walked over. 

“яблоко,”Fyo said, looking at the spread of gluten free snacks that Ilya was setting out. 

Ilya looked at the food on the table. None of the treats were apples or even seemed apple flavored. 

“Oh, uh, I don’t have apples,” Ilya said quietly. He looked around for Hannah or Lacey but they were nowhere to be seen.  Shit shit shit. 

Fyo looked at Ilya like he was speaking German before Ilya remembered what he’d read in Fyo’s mom’s article that Fyo mostly spoke Russian. 

“У меня нет яблок, сожалеющий,” Ilya did feel genuinely bad that he didn’t have anything sole flavored for Fyo. 

Fyo turned to the table of snacks. “яблоко,” he repeated firmly, pointing at the snacks. 

Ilya turned to look for Hannah or Lacey. He didn’t see them. 

“Я могу поискать яблоки.” Ilya could look for apples. This was a fall event. Something had to have apples.  

“яблоко,” Fyo repeated, this time more urgent.

“Oh boy!” Hannah said when she walked back into the room. She walked quickly over to the table. 

“Ты можешь получить перекус,” Hannah said to Fyo. 

Ilya winced. He couldn’t help it. Hannah’s Russian was terrible but Fyo listened anyway. 

“яблоко,” Fyo said and he grabbed a popcorn ball off the table and walked away. 

“He was asking for a snack. He uses apple to mean snack because that’s his favorite snack,” Hannah explained. 

“Sorry, I did not know.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Also, sorry for butchering your mother tongue.” 

Ilya smiled. At least Hannah was aware that her Russian was not very good. 

“Is a hard language to learn,” Ilya said. 

“I’ve been working on it for when Fyo gets to come live with us.” 

Right, because Fyo had an intellectual disability and couldn’t live by himself. But it was interesting that Hannah used the language of get to, like it was positive that Fyo would need to stay with them for the rest of his life or at least that it wasn’t a bad thing. 

Ilya finished setting up the snacks and then went to find Shane and Nicky, who was in his costume. 

He was wearing his signature Team Canada jersey but that’s not what caught Ilya’s eye. Nicky was wearing large pads on his legs and there was a large fake net affixed to the back of Nicky’s wheelchair. Nicky was dressed up as… 

“A goalie?” Ilya hissed at Shane once Nicky had wheeled himself away to show Hannah and Mila his costume. “You let our child dress up as a goalie, Hollander?” 

Shane laughed. “It was not my idea,” he said defensively. “All Nicky, and probably Paul the Wall and my dad.” 

“Your dad wants Nicky to be a goalie?” Ilya asked. Nicky adored his Pepe and thought very highly of his Pepe and his opinions. 

“My dad was a goalie,” Shane responded, looking sheepish. 

And to think Ilya had thought that David Hollander was a good man only to find out he was a goalie. “Hollander, you did not tell me that this… genetic disorder was in your family.” 

Shane laughed so hard he snorted and then said: “I know. It scares me so much that there’s nothing we can do to potentially change the outcome.” He paused. “We should probably get ready for our stations.” 

Since this was a hockey themed fundraiser, Ilya had an excuse to be there, which was that Elkins had invited him to participate in the dunk tank. Pay $50, dunk Ilya Rozanov. It was Montreal. It was going to be a very busy afternoon. 

* * * 

The fundraiser had gone well. They’d raised enough to cover most of the transportation and gear fees, and everything would be covered once Shane and Elkins finished splitting the cost of matching the donations. Nicky had had a blast and had been absolutely delighted when Lacey had given him special permission to press the dunk tank button instead of throwing balls like the other kids and adults were doing. 

Ilya for his part had looked absolutely spectacular when he was soaking wet and Shane had to pretend he wasn’t staring. Thankfully, Shane’s parents weren’t there or it would’ve been fucking obvious that he kept sneaking glances. 

They’d gotten Nicky to bed, which had taken longer than planned, and now they were sitting at Shane’s kitchen table eating candy. Ilya was on his third piece of chocolate and Shane was working his way through a small bag of sour candies. 

“I’m surprised you’re eating candy,” Ilya said to Shane. It was late, they’d gotten home from the fundraiser early that day and Nicky had wanted Mr. Ilya to help put him to bed. 

Shane looked up from where he was eating a pack of organic, allergy friendly sour hard candies with sugar that Shane had convinced himself would be fine to enjoy after a pretty difficult bedtime. 

Shane had Nicky for the weekend so his parents could have some alone time. Nicky had had a meltdown because he’d had too much fun and apparently that was a reason for a meltdown. Shane had laid on the floor next to Nicky for the better part of an hour, trying to coax him into bed. It had been a long night and Shane had decided he was going to eat some candy, which was a big decision and one his nutritionist and therapist would be proud of even if it was the candy crunchy moms bought with organic cane sugar and rice syrup. But he probably wasn’t going to eat it if Ilya was going to comment on it and make it a thing. 

“Can you, um, not comment on me eating?” Shane asked calmly. “Just in general.” 

Ilya’s face changed. He looked apologetic. “Oh. Sorry, Shane I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s fine, it’s just-” Shane made his face go carefully blank. 

“I’m sorry. You do not have to explain. I should not have said it.” 

But Shane did have to explain, because this was something that impacted Nicky and something that Shane’s co-parent needed to know. “Nicky used to ask why I would never eat ice cream or pizza or candy with him,” Shane said. “Not even when it was a treat. I’ve never been great with food; I’ve always liked specific things but after Nicky was born, I was trying to improve my performance so that people wouldn’t notice anything was off and that list of food started getting shorter and shorter and I got fixated on what was healthy and unhealthy. And our trainer referred me to an eating disorder specialist.” 

“Eating disorder?” Ilya looked confused. 

Shane knew why. The NHL’s player health education that was mandated by the NHLPA did discuss eating disorders but it was pretty much limited to anorexia and bulimia and it didn’t really get into the eating disorders most likely to affect male athletes at Shane and Ilya’s level. 

Shane took a deep breath. “It’s called orthorexia. It basically means I was, am, obsessed with foods being healthy to the point that I made up a bunch of ridiculous rules about food and what counted as healthy or not and those rules got more and more specific and less logical.” 

Ilya still looked confused. 

“At Nicky’s first birthday, which was just dinner with the Pikes and my parents, my dad convinced me it would be okay if I had a bite of Nicky’s cake and I did have some. I had a panic attack over it.” Dad had asked what had caused it and Shane had just said that it was overwhelming to think Nicky was a year old.

“Oh,” Ilya said softly. 

“But it didn’t get bad until I couldn’t stop obsessing over what Nicky was eating. With his cerebral palsy, it was even worse. I kept looking what diets would help him the most with building up muscle and gaining weight and I’d get upset when my parents wouldn’t follow it. I don’t think my dad got it at first but he knew there was something wrong when I would let him give Nicky ice cream every day because it helped Nicky meet his calorie goals but that I yelled at my dad for giving Nicky celery as a snack.” 

Ilya looked truly lost now. “Why was celery bad?” 

“It would take him almost as much energy to digest it as there are calories in it so it wasn’t good for him because he wasn’t benefitting enough,” Shane explained. Now, after almost two years with his therapist, it sounded illogical. Celery had other benefits besides calories. 

“But ice cream was good?” Ilya asked. He scrunched his eyebrows. 

“Nicky had a higher calorie requirement than other kids,” Shane replied. “So anything for him to meet that goal was more important than how he did it. It doesn’t make sense, I know that, but it made sense to me at the time. I got so obsessed with Nicky’s diet that it made some of my own stuff more obvious to my dad so he encouraged me to talk to our trainer about it, and I had to go to therapy.” 

“That must’ve been hard. I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “I didn’t know that you. I’m sorry I said that about you eating skittles.” 

“I’m a lot better than I was,” Shane admitted. “Therapy helped a lot.” 

“Therapy helped with me too,” Ilya stated. 

Ilya had gone to therapy? 

“You went to therapy?” Shane couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. 

Ilya laughed. “My assistant coach made me go.” 

Shane was pretty sure there were rules about that in the NHLPA but he decided not to mention that.

“I’m glad it helped,” he said instead. “It can be kind of intense.” 

“It is intense. I liked mine and she spoke Russian and that helped a lot.” 

“That’s good that you had someone.” 

“I am looking for someone now, that speaks Russian, to talk about Nicky and… my father.” 

“Because he died?” Shane asked. He swallowed hard. 

“Because he was not a kind man,” Ilya answered. “He hurt me and Alexei and our mother and I never want to be like that.” 

“You won’t be,” Shane promised. 

Ilya shrugged. “I promise I won’t hurt Nicky or you. I’d rather die than be like him.” 

“I know,” Shane said because he did know. Ilya wouldn’t hurt either of them, not on purpose at least. It was so clear how much Ilya cared about Nicky and by extension, Shane, that Shane had no doubts that Ilya was going to do his best to never hurt either of them.  

The monitor that Shane used so that Nicky could alert Shane when he needed help beeped. 

Shane answered it: “Yeah, Nicky.” 

“I had a scary dream,” Nicky whispered over the intercom. 

“Okay, buddy. I’ll be right up.” 

Shane turned back to Ilya. “Are you okay letting yourself out? I should check on him.”  

“Of course,” Ilya responded. “Have a good night, Shane.” 

“You too.” 

* * * 

“So what did you think of trick or treating?” Shane asked. 

“Is a lot of walking,” Ilya answered. “I am so tired. Nicky is lucky he gets to roll.” 

“Yeah, but even he needed dad to push him because his chair is heavy with the costume.” 

“Is your dad’s fault, he’s the one who wants Nicky to be goalie,” Ilya joked. 

Shane grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. 

They’d just finished a few hours of trick or treating in the same neighborhood that Shane had bought the condo in in Montreal. It made for a good home base and decreased the chances of Ilya and Shane being recognized underneath the masks they wore as part of their costume. 

They’d gotten back to the apartment, sorted through Nicky’s candy. David had taught Ilya about: dad tax which basically meant Ilya was allowed to take a few pieces of Nicky’s Halloween candy. Then, David and Yuna took Nicky back to Shane’s actual house in Montreal while Shane and Ilya had stayed behind to clean up. 

Now, they were standing in Shane’s clean condo and Ilya wasn’t ready to leave. 

“Did they have trick or treating in Russia?” Shane asked. 

“No,” Ilya answered. “Halloween was… too western, too American. Some people celebrated but they did not trick or treat.” Ilya knew a few people who did Halloween things quietly but overall no one really acknowledged it as anything significant. 

“So what is your favorite holiday?” 

Ilya couldn’t really say he had a favorite holiday. “New Years, I think. It is like American Christmas. We have trees and decorations. We have like Santa but his name is Grandfather Frost.” 

“You’ll have to celebrate it with Nicky this year. He likes any excuse for more presents.” Shane smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled and Ilya’s stomach dropped. 

Ilya had never denied that he was attracted to Shane Hollander. It had simply been that Hollander had always been off limits, even now, especially now. 

“I think he will like it,” Ilya agreed. “It will be good. It will not be like when I was young.” 

Shane winced. “You didn’t like celebrating holidays when you were younger?” 

Ilya looked away from Shane. “My father made holidays not fun, sometimes very bad.” 

“Oh,” Shane said quietly. “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m more terrified I will become him,” Ilya admitted. 

“You won’t,” Shane whispered. 

“I don’t know that. I don’t want to ever hurt Nicky… or you.” 

“Hey,” Shane said, and then he reached out and touched Ilya’s chin and it was electric. “Hey,” Shane repeated. “You won’t hurt us.” 

Ilya could hardly breathe. Shane’s hand was warm and he didn’t move it. 

Fuck. 

Ilya wanted to kiss Shane. 

Shane needed to leave. Ilya didn’t want him to. 

They kept breathing. 

This was a bad idea, but they’d always been a bad idea, and really how much worse was this? Ilya wouldn’t do anything unless and Shane did something and surely Shane wouldn’t- 

Shane kissed Ilya, hard, and pressed him against the refrigerator. Ilya protested for half a second before he was kissing back. 

This was such a fucking bad idea. His hands found Shane’s hair, longer than he remembered. 

This was such a fucking bad idea. Ilya let Shane make the next mood, which involved Shane stripping his shirt off first.

Ilya took off his shirt too. 

This was such a bad idea. Shane kissed him again and then fumbled with Ilya’s belt. 

This was such a fucking bad idea. 

Shane got Ilya’s belt unbuckled and then shoved his pants down. Ilya knew if they talked about what they were doing, if either one of them stopped to ask if they should, they’d stop altogether. They had Nicky, and that was reason enough for them not to rekindle whatever they had been. 

The problem was that Shane's kisses were drugging, consuming, and made Ilya stupid. It was a bad idea. Someone should stop them. Shane was supposed to be the smarter one. The more mature one. The one who said, 'This is a fucking bad idea.' out loud.

Ilya knew Shane wouldn't though because Ilya was Shane's worst mistake and Shane never managed to stop sinking into Ilya's skin. So how could either one of them stop this when both of them needed this as much as they wanted it? 

This was a bad fucking idea. Ilya should stop this. 

But Ilya had only ever been able to say no to Shane once, and he didn’t think he had the strength to do it again. 

Shane was taking his own pants off. 

This was such a bad idea. 

Ilya had never wanted Shane more, never needed him more, even before their first time, Ilya hadn’t felt like this. 

He followed Shane to the bedroom even though he could probably get to this bedroom blindfolded.

“Condoms?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes,” Shane answered. “In the nightstand.” 

Ilya didn’t ask why Shane still had condoms in his nightstand. Instead, he pushed Shane on the bed. 

They really shouldn’t. One of them should stop this. It wasn’t going to be Ilya. 

He opened the nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom and a small bottle of lube. 

Shane had impatiently gotten out of his underwear and Ilya took time to catch his breath as he shuffled back over. 

Shane was breathtaking and Ilya was reminded why and how he fell in love with Shane in the first place. 

“You gonna fuck me, Rozanov?” Shane teased.   

Ilya tried not to think about the fact that the one of last times they had done this, well, not exactly this but one of the last times they’d been anywhere close to this had been when Ilya had put a baby into Shane. 

Not that Ilya was planning on sex that way, Shane hadn’t asked, and it had taken years for Shane to allow Ilya to have him there, and also, Ilya fucking loved fucking Shane Hollander’s ass. 

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “I’m going to fuck you, Hollander.”

He took his time drinking Shane in and tried to breathe. There weren’t many signs that Shane had been pregnant and Ilya would’ve missed them had he not known what he was looking for. But Ilya was, he couldn’t help it. 

The proof was subtle enough that Shane could easily cover it in the locker room or blame it on muscle growth. There was an expanse of stripes on his hips, curved around from the back like lightning strikes. 

He was fucking stunning and Ilya desperately wanted inside of him. 

Maybe that was Ilya’s real problem. Shane wanted Ilya and Ilya wanted to be chosen and to be chosen by Shane of all people altered his brain chemistry. It turned Ilya into some feral creature hungry for intimacy, to be close to Shane and to touch his warm skin and to breathe in every ounce of Shane. Ilya wanted to sink in that deep, hot place, hear Shane's ragged pants, and know he was the only one that got those dark, hungry eyes underneath all the soft, polite bullshit façade Shane wore for everyone else. 

This was a bad idea, Ilya thought one last time as he uncapped the lube and got ready to prep Shane. 

It was a bad idea, but that never stopped them before and it wasn't going to stop them now. 

Chapter End Notes

:)

Chapter 9: november

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya process the aftermath of hooking and vow not to do it again. Nicky Hollander expands his love of hotels. Ilya makes a mistake with Nicky and learns some painful truths. Nicky Hollander is mostly just into hotel rooms the whole time, hockey hotel rooms.

Chapter Notes

I continue to take liberties with the NHL and how it works. If this isn't how it is in real life, i am sorry

 

Shane has some strong feelings about being pregnant and they are very negative. As a reminder, he is a transgender man who is dysphoric, undiagnosed autistic, living with an eating disorder who has no choice in being pregnant. He is living in his childhood home, unable to play the sport he loves and is going through emotional hell. This is compounded by his perinatal mood disorder.My guy is going through it.

Most of these warnings only apply to the flashbacks.

Warnings

Warnings

CW: perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, dysphoria, discorded eating traits exacerbated by pregnancy, infertility trauma and mention of stillbirth (Yuna) and recurrent miscarriage, recreational drug use, body safety conversation with a child. Most of these except the body safety convo are only in the flashback. The body safety convo starts when Nicky says, "This is too fuckin' hard."

August 2017

Every single day of the pregnancy felt the same. 

Wake up to the shift of the thing that was currently head down in Shane’s abdomen, try to figure out which part of its body was shifting inside of Shane, get too grossed out by the idea of a thing with identifiable body parts being inside of him, go downstairs for breakfast, work out in the gym and ignore the shortness of breath that was the result of his uterus compressing his lungs because there was a thing inside of him, sleep and try to ignore the restlessness in his abdomen because there was a thing inside of him, google ways to induce labor that don’t involve black market pitocin, lunch, watch his teammates do various drugs via Snapchat, work out in the gym and try to ignore the fact that there was currently a thing inside of him, watch his teammates do drugs via Instagram, dinner, work out in the gym and try to pretend that the day hadn’t reduced him to tears, cry himself to sleep and blame it on anything but pregnancy hormones, rinse, repeat. 

Sometimes, they met with the lawyer and sometimes Mom asked Shane questions about what he wanted to do when… Shane usually ignored them and went back upstairs to sleep or to turn off the lights and shut the blinds and play with the flashlight until the thing inside of Shane got tired enough to sleep. The internet said that fetuses could perceive light and you could play a game to see if they would kick in response to a flashlight. The internet said it was good for bonding. The internet did not say that it was a way to get the thing inside you to get tired enough to stop moving and go to sleep. 

Mom would probably frown about Shane antagonizing the fetus with the flashlight. Granted, Mom frowned about a lot of things and Shane knew why. Shane was having, by all accounts according to the midwife he’d fired three weeks ago, a dream pregnancy. 

It was a stark contrast to mom’s pregnancy with him, which was very difficult and came at the end of a long stream of miscarriages, including one that happened at 21 weeks, which made Shane feel guilty about the fact that he’d felt immense relief at the nightmare he’d had where he’d miscarried before he ever found out and had woken up relieved until he’d felt the shift of the fetus in his abdomen. Shane also doubted his mom would appreciate his fantasy about eclampsia making it so that they have no choice but to get the baby out, and the only reason Shane didn’t wish for this outcome even more was because of the risks of a c-section and of long term complications. Mom would be horrified to know this. She wouldn’t say it and that would be the worst part; she would understand where Shane was coming from and why it was so hard. 

Mom had, after all, been witness to Shane’s epic meltdown where he’d destroyed every single one of the hockey trophies he kept in his childhood bedroom and begged her not to make him stay pregnant. She would be so understanding and Shane would feel worse. 

Shane still remembered when he came home from school when he was 7 and his parents weren’t there. The neighbor was, and she’d explained that his parents had to go to the hospital. 

Shane, who at 7 was old enough to have been told that his mom was pregnant had asked, “is there something wrong with the baby?” 

The neighbor, whose name escaped Shane because she was not a very kind lady and the only reason they left her with Shane was because Mom had apparently been bleeding profusely, though Shane wouldn’t know this until later, when Shane’s midwife (the one he fired before he fired the second one before realizing that he should probably stop firing midwives because even with medical privacy laws, each one compounded risk) asked about Mom’s pregnancy history and Mom had quietly informed the midwife that she’d had 7 pregnancy, one live birth, Shane, who had been sandwiched in the middle of those, conceived only a few months after she’d lost a pregnancy at 22 weeks. 

Shane had to bury his instinctive reaction, which was to wonder how the fuck he’d been so fertile that his body had quietly carried a pregnancy to the third trimester  with Shane knowing when his mother had had a loss that was desperately wanted and devastating to lose during her second trimester. 

But at seven, Shane had no idea about this. He just knew Mom was supposed to have a baby, and when Mom and Dad got home and Mom could barely walk and she was crying and Dad was crying and Shane knew that Mom wasn’t going to have a baby anymore. 

Dad was the one that told Shane. Shane had cried but had mostly tried to be brave and after that, Mom and Dad stopped trying. Once, when Shane was 15 and looking for his birth certificate for a tournament, he’d come across a card with the tiniest set of handprints and footprints he’d ever seen. 

The date is what chilled Shane to the bone. He’d had a sister, if the name on the card was anything to go by, and she was 366 days older than Shane. 

Shane had wondered, in a way that was probably too old for a 15 year old boy, if his Mom had held another little girl 366 days after she held her first and been terrified she’d feel like she was raising a ghost; he’d wondered years later if Mom had felt relief when Shane had come out so young and the ghost of a daughter that never got to become started to disappear, Shane wondered now, in a way that perhaps wasn’t quite old enough for his 27 years, how Mom felt about the fact that in a few months, she’d be raising a ghost anyway. 

Shane could still put them up for adoption, give them to a couple that used to be like Mom and Dad, and wanted a child so badly, except Shane knew that people could hide things, could look good on paper and be terrible in real life and even if Shane didn’t feel positively toward the thing inside of him, he didn’t want them to be hurt, and Mom and Dad had been great parents. They’d be good to a baby.  

Ilya might forgive Shane, if Shane never told Ilya and he found out, if Shane made sure that their baby went to the safest place he knew. 

The fetus had stopped moving enough for Shane to feel comfortable lying down, having sufficiently been bullied enough by Shane and the flashlight. 

It was time for Shane to check Snapchat and watch his teammates and other players do drugs. Shane hated how drugs made him feel. He hated when his brain started moving too slow for Shane to know when he was making a good decision. But Shane wanted some fucking drugs, good fucking ones, the ones you weren’t supposed to do when you were a human incubator. 

JJ and Hayden were smoking a blunt on JJ’s private Snapchat story. They were in one of JJ’s cars at some lake house. They looked like they were having fun. Shane hadn't talked to either of them in a few weeks. Shane has told Jackie, only because she’d texted incessantly to check on him and had stopped by the house when she was visiting family in Ottawa and even though Mom hadn’t let her see Shane felt the need to poke his head out and say hi. Shane wasn’t really showing, one reprieve from this entire ordeal. At least he didn’t look pregnant. He just looked… vaguely out of shape. 

“Don’t let Coach see this,” the JJ in the video joked. It was JJ’s private story but that didn’t mean there were no coaches on it. 

Shane swiped. 

Drapeau was drinking alcohol off the stomach of a woman so scantily clad Shane wondered if it violated Snapchat’s Terms of Service but then decided it didn’t matter. 

One of the rookies was making jungle juice with far too many gummy bears for Shane to have consumed that without a headache, if he’d been allowed to consume it at all. He wanted a drink and at this point would’ve settled for a dick beer that he’d heard about from his teammates that had been on other major juniors teams. 

Shane swiped. 

Winston, Shane’s teammate from Texas, was filming himself going 120mph on a back highway.  Thankfully there was no alcohol or drugs in the picture. Shane wondered if going that fast on the highway would make the fetus be still. 

Shane swiped. 

Marly, a player from Boston Shane knew from major juniors, one who was actually halfway decent if not a little too into coke in the off season was drinking Tito’s on a boat. The camera panned, and Shane clicked the lock button on his phone. 

What the fuck? 

Shane unlocked his phone. 

Rozanov was snorting a line of coke off the breast of a woman who was reclined on a deck chair.

Shane unlocked his phone and watched it. 

Once. Twice. Three times. Four times.

“Fuck you,” Shane growled. Because fuck Rozanov. Fuck him for telling Shane he needed to focus on hockey when he had his face buried in a woman’s tits and was partying with Marley of all people, of all fucking players to spend your break with. 

Rozanov didn’t fucking care about hockey, not if he was doing fucking coke in the middle of the ocean. Unless there was a hockey puck buried in the ample bosom of the woman Rozanov was snorting a line of coke off of, he clearly hasn’t been telling the truth. 

The thing shifted, like it was trying to get comfortable. Shane swore he could feel a foot somewhere behind his rib cage and was pretty certain that there was a hand up near Shane’s pelvis. 

Shane watched the video again. His stomach did a somersault and for once it wasn’t because of the fucking thing occupying his uterus. 

The woman was unnaturally blonde and unnaturally tan and beautiful and Shane felt like a fucking idiot. 

Because of course Rozanov hadn’t actually cared about Shane. The excuse about hockey was just because Shane had made everything fucked up and weird and Rozanov had only wanted someone to fuck… except… except… sometimes it didn’t feel like that. 

Shane had fucked up and fallen in love and Shane had been so sure that maybe it wasn’t as unrequited as Shane thought but maybe it was. Maybe Rozanov had a fucking conscious and felt bad that Shane trusted him, that he was in love with him. 

The fucking thing moved and Shane, for some reason pressed a hand to his stomach. 

He felt like he should say something to it, but what? “I just saw a video of the guy who creampied me and created you doing cocaine off of some woman’s tits so you can imagine why I haven’t told him.” 

There was that; and the fact Shane had no idea how to tell Ilya. Was he supposed to text him? 

Jane 

I know you don’t want to talk to me and want to focus on hockey but I saw you snorting coke off someone’s tits on Instagram and just wanted to let you know I found I was pregnant 48 days ago. It’s yours. Congratulations Daddy! It’s a boy! 

Was he supported to attach one of the ultrasound photos that Shane didn’t even want to look at? He’d have to ask Mom for them, assuming she kept them. She probably did; Shane tried not to think about why.  

Shane swiped out of Snapchat. He opened it up again and went directly to Marly’s story. He watched it again and again and again. 

He watched it until the video started to get blurry. He watched it until a fat teardrop fell on the screen. 

Fuck. 

The thing kept moving, maybe flexing its feet. Maybe just… maybe just… 

Fucking hell. This wasn’t fucking fair. Shane was sitting in the dark in his room dealing with the consequences of Ilya’s dick creating life, creating a thing, a fetus, a baby, and then Ilya telling Shane he didn’t want to talk to Shane, that he wanted to focus on hockey when in reality he had his face buried in a woman’s tits in the off season doing fucking cocaine. 

Shane couldn’t even do drugs because he was fucking pregnant and it was Ilya’s fucking fault and- 

Shane was so stupid to fall in love with his fucking rival. He’d been so stupid to believe that he’d been anything more than a convenient fuck for Ilya. At least Ilya had been kind enough to end it when Shane made it basically clear that he had feelings. 

Shane was such a fucking idiot. 

He pressed a little bit into his stomach, where the fetus met Shane’s hand with his foot.  It was weird. Shane forced himself not to pull away. It wasn’t the fetus’ fault that Shane was so fucked up, that he’d fucked his rival off an on for almost seven years and then somehow in the aftermath of that missed that his body was growing an entire fucking human. If he hadn’t been so fucked up after Ilya broke things off, maybe he would’ve noticed something was off, but instead, Shane had thrown himself into hockey. He’d made it to the Stanley Cup Finals, and they’d fucking won, and Shane hadn’t noticed that the reason he’d felt off balance in game 5 and 7 was because his center of gravity was shifting to accommodate the end of the second trimester of his pregnancy. He might’ve had options, if he’d found out in April or May, if he hadn’t been locked onto hockey so that he could forget how badly his heart hurt, maybe Shane would’ve known and he could’ve gotten rid of it before it was viable, even if the recovery time would’ve probably cost the Metros a Cup. 

Fuck. 

The fetus moved against Shane’s hand and Shane wondered if it could feel him. He was pretty sure it could. When he looked on Reddit, on the forums full of glowing and excited parents and not any parents that were in Shane’s situation: pregnant and miserable and wishing sometimes that they were dead, the parents all said that their fetus was responsive to their or their partner’s hands and would occasionally push back. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane said. “It probably fucking sucks to be inside of me. Probably got flipped around and shit during the finals. And your other father is..” Shane trailed off as more tears fell. Stupid fucking pregnancy hormones. “I don’t know,” Shane cried. 

This poor fucking baby was going to be stuck with Shane and it wasn’t fucking fair.  

The fetus kept moving, kicking its feet, and Shane let more tears fall. 

Then he took a deep breath and reached for the flashlight. 

* * *

Present 

Shane couldn’t deny how much he’d needed that, even if that had been a terrible fucking choice. Sex with Ilya had been inevitable. They’d been in each other’s orbit for too long, and they had too familiar patterns and Shane could stay from Ilya. 

They were two planets with the same gravitational pull. Somewhere, in the haze of high school memories that Shane has buried, he remembers something in science class about how two things with the same gravitational pull will rapidly contract together until they explode. Shane could be wrong because he got mostly As and Bs and one C his first semester of major juniors and got beat up so badly after the game where they acknowledged that Shane had the best GPA on the roster that Shane had stopped paying attention in class and instead worked on writing out the stats of every retired NHL player in his notebook while his teacher talked about the big bang and explosion. 

He’d failed every test that semester but fucking Nathan Jones had told Shane that he knew Shane was a girl because only girls cared about school and it was just a sign that Shane would ever be a girl and Shane had shoved him and he’d gotten a black eye and had told his mom it was because he’d gotten into a scuffle during practice over who had assisted whom. 

All of that had been before Ilya, before Shane needed to remember his science class so that his metaphors felt like they fit the situation. Shane had problems bigger than the metaphorical universe. 

Mom had made some tea by the time Shane got back to his apartment. 

“Did cleaning up with Ilya go okay?” Mom asked. 

“Yeah it was fine,” Shane answered, trying to sound the right mix of bored and annoyed. 

“Your dad and I wanted to talk about Nicky,” Mom said. 

Your dad and I, meaning that Dad would join the conversation because this was about Nicky’s development, probably about school, which they’d all agreed to hold off on. Nicky wasn’t quite ready for it. 

Mom was studying Shane’s face. 

“What?” Shane asked. 

“Nothing,” Mom replied. And then she scrutinized Shane. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me about cleaning up.” Mom narrowed her eyes. And then: “Shane…” 

“What?” Shane asked, feigning nonchalance and knowing he failed when Mom’s jaw dropped. 

“Shane,” she repeated. 

There was something profoundly embarrassing about your mom being able to instantly tell that you’d fucked your former rival and current father of your five year old. Shane’s five year old, and the thought managed to compress his lungs the same way that his uterus had compressed them, back when Shane was still pregnant and miserable and unable to muster any sort of affection for the fetus inside of him and- 

“Shane,” Mom said again. 

“It was an accident,” Shane said. 

Mom raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You accidentally had sex?” She asked. 

Shane shrugged. 

“It was consensual, right?”

“Of course!” Shane said quickly. “Ilya would never. I would never. It was all; we’re both adults.” God, this was embarassing.” 

“You’re adults who share a five year old,” Mom responded. “He should be your primary concern.” 

“He is,” Shane said automatically. “We just needed to get it out of our system. We’re not going to-“ 

It had been a mistake, a one off, a decision that Shane had made because he’d had his testosterone shot two days before and that had made him horny and it was fucking Ilya and it was unfair he was still that hot. 

Mom didn’t know, because Shane hadn’t told her, that Shane’s relationship with Ilya was something that was longer than a few nights or a season or two. Mom had no reason to know that Shane had a habit of being unable to say to Ilya. They weren’t fucking again. 

They weren’t. 

“You cannot do that again,” Mom said. 

“We’re not going to. There’s too much at stake with Nicky. It was one time.”

“Okay,” Mom said.

“Alright, Nicky is out like a light,” came Dad’s voice. He didn’t even complain about putting his braces on.” 

“Maybe it’s because they’re helping,” Mom suggested. 

“Maybe,” Shane said quietly. He leaned back in his chair. “What did you two want to talk about? 

It was dad who spoke. 

“Shane,” he said, in the same tone of voice he used when he wanted to address a parenting concern regarding Nicky. 

“What?” Shane asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“Your mother and I were talking about Nicky starting school next year,” Dad said. 

That was it? They wanted to talk about Nicky going to school?

“What about it?” Shane asked. “There’s some really good schools in Ottawa and they have good programs for him. Lacey even started an adaptive PE program at one of the schools. Registration opens in a few months, right?” 

“That’s not what we were going to discuss although that’s coming up soon.” 

“Then what?” Shane asked. “Do you he needs… like… disability classes with other disabled kids.” Shane was pretty sure that Nicky would do just fine in a classroom with typically developing kids. He might need a little help, probably an aide in the classroom, but he was brilliant and social and would do well in a typical classroom as long as he had accommodations. 

“No, Shane,” Mom said. “We need you to think about what’s going to happen if Nicky goes to school and starts telling people that Shane Hollander is his father.” 

“We can tell them he’s confused-“ Shane started but paused at Dad’s steady glare. 

“At 6?” Dad asked with a raised eyebrow. “I think most kids that age are not confused about who their dad is. It’s going to be very transparent very quickly. It’s one thing when it’s a half day at daycare and preschoolers just say things. Maybe it won’t be an issue in kindergarten, but…” 

Dad trailed off and Shane knew what he was saying. He’d spent much of the last two weeks thinking about it. It might not be an issue in kindergarten but Nicky would get older and if someone didn’t confirm the truth, it could lead to bullying or teachers or other kids calling Nicky a liar. Even if Nicky didn’t get bullied, someone might see the Hollander name, hear Nicky’s story and sell it to a tabloid. And once the news had a story, it was only a matter of time before they went digging and realized that timelines lined up.

Fuck. 

“But even before that. Shane, with how many people know, you might need to start looking at what happens if the press finds out.” 

“How would they find out?” 

Shane was careful; he always was, especially out in public, even when it broke his heart to do so.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Dad said. “If they find out, it is going to be rough. They are going to analyze every angle of Nicky. They are going to make up stories about his disability, how it’s your fault-“ 

Shane winced. 

“We know that’s not true, but the media is going to run with that. They’re going to run with you being a neglectful parent-“ 

Shane snorted. When dad eyeballed him, Shane said, “I’m a more present father than half my teammates.” 

“Well, given your teammates, the bar isn’t exactly high,” Dad snarked then softened. “But you are a good father. However, you should’ve heard how people talked about your mom-“ 

“I’m not a mom,” Shane interrupted tersely. 

“I did not say that,” Dad responded quickly, looking offended that Shane would assume that he was leading into that. “But people are going to call you that and because of that, they are going to judge you like one.” 

“Your dad isn’t wrong,” Mom added. “My boss called me a callous shrew with no maternal instincts and then fired me during what would’ve still been my maternity leave because she didn’t like that I left maternity leave 6 months early.” 

Gross. 

“And I was still going home to you every day,” Mom continued. “I just also went to work. But with you being gone all the time and Nicky having cerebral palsy…” 

Shane leaned back in his chair. “They’ll say it’s my fault because I practiced and I played in the playoffs. They’ll say it’s my fault he had a stroke inside me.” 

Shane blamed himself for causing it even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing Shane could’ve done to keep a blood clot from traveling to Nicky’s brain. 

“Shane,” Mom said softly. She reached out and placed a hand on Shane’s.

“So what the hell do we do?” Shane asked because he didn’t want to think about the entire world speculating on if he’d caused Nicky’s disability or not. 

“Well, we have to make a game plan.” 

They got to work. 

* * *

Ilya smoked three cigarettes in a row. 

He hadn’t smoked in 10 days, a record that Hayes had noticed when Ilya hadn’t taken a single smoke break during a road trip. Ilya was doing better because he knew it was healthier for Nicky if he didn’t smoke. However, Ilya needed something to do with his hands and drinking was worse than smoking in the grand scheme of things. 

He hadn’t intended three cigarettes but he had fucked up. He was terrible at saying no to Shane Hollander and Ilya had desperately wanted him. 

This wasn’t good and it needed to end. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. They had Nicky to think about; they couldn’t get tangled up in the messy, fucked up thing that was them fucking each other in hotel rooms and in the apartment Shane bought for them to hide their secret. 

They had to end this. There was too much at stake, too many risks, too many ways that it could make it more likely that the world would find out the truth about Nicky. Even without the press, they couldn’t compromise their relationship because it could negatively impact Nicky. But fuck, the sex had been amazing. 

It had been so long since Ilya had been with another man. He’d had a lot of sex since he’d been with Shane, sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to risk it with a man that wasn’t Shane. And he liked women well enough. 

There had been a phase, when he’d been depressed and tried to hide it, where he’d done nothing but have sex with countless women and do anything to take his mind off the crippling sadness he felt. He’d been miserable and the sex hadn’t helped, neither had the drugs he did during the sex, and part of therapy had been identifying why sex hadn’t helped with his depression. 

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Ilya needed to go back to therapy and be reminded that sex didn’t solve problems, except, that hadn’t been what sleeping with Shane Hollander had been. 

The sex they’d just had was unlike any sex Ilya had ever had, even with Shane. Ilya had almost cried; he’d wanted to. It felt like a release that Ilya had been chasing for more than half a decade. It had felt like coming home. It fucking terrified Ilya. 

Even if the sex with Shane hadn’t been about running from pain like it had been after his father died, Ilya knew he was right about one thing. 

He needed a therapist. And soon. 

* * *

Shane called his agent. 

“Hello,” Farah answered. 

“I had a baby,” Shane said as an opener. He’d decided that telling Farah and weighing his options was going to be one of the first steps in navigating how to tell the world about Nicky. 

“What?” Farah said. 

“In 2017,” Shane opened before he started rambling: “I told you it was personal mental health instead of a shoulder injury, I was lying. I was lying about the shoulder injury. I found out I was pregnant over the summer and-”

“The statement you had me prepare around your parent’s adopting your cousin’s baby,” Farah said slowly. “That’s your son.” She paused. “That’s why you’re so involved with sledge hockey.”  

“I’m involved in it because I like hockey,” Shane said quickly, defensively, and he made a mental note to, if he decided that he was going to tell people about Nicky, to also make sure that he made it clear his support of sledge hockey had been inspired by Nicky but bolstered by it being a great sport. 

Fuck, this would change everything. 

“You have a 5 year old,” Farah said slowly. “That’s a tough age. They ask a lot of questions.” 

At least Sarah understood some of Shane’s reasoning, which was terrible because she probably wouldn’t try and talk him out of it. If this all went the way Shane feared, Shane would try and make sure she got a contract with a good player with a good future. Before everything went down, he could probably pull some strings and get Farah a rookie or two, assuming she’d want to take on a rookie while captaining what would probably be a sinking ship. 

“If I told people about him,” Shane said. “What do you think would happen?” 

Farah was quiet, and then she said, “I’m not saying this because I want you to tell me. I’m saying this because it’s gonna matter to people. It depends on who got you pregnant.” 

Shane gulped. “It’s another hockey player. Probably the worst possible other hockey player for it to be.” 

Farah did not guess like JJ or Lacey. She said: “It’s Ilya Rozanov.” 

“Is it obvious?” Shane asked. 

“It’s not obvious but it’s the worst case scenario. I’d rather you’d have told me he was a happily married family man with five kids,” Farah sighed. “Well, I think that that changes your odds. If they found out you had a child, I think most of the time you could stay with Montreal. Some people would be grossed out by it. Most won’t care because you’ve won a couple of Cups since then and the year that you were out earlier in the season you went deep in the playoffs and lost to the Admirals because you had to use a terrible second string goalie, so they can’t put that on you.  The father being another hockey player would be awkward and probably messy if it were anyone but Rozanov. But Rozanov? Shane, I understand why you want to tell people but there is a possibility, one that’s higher than I like, that this will end your professional career.” 

At least Farah was honest. 

“Nicky is old enough to know he’s a secret,” Shane said. If you told Shane five years ago he would one day feel like this, he would’ve laughed in your face. If you told Shane he’d weigh his options, nevermind actually consider telling the world about Nicky, he wouldn’t have believed you. It wasn’t like it was a done deal. Shane wasn’t ready to give up his career if Farah actually thought this could end things. “Do you really think they’d send me down to the AHL?” Shane asked. 

“It’s a possibility. Or they’ll bully you out of the league, trade you to a team that would completely ice you out or a coach that wouldn’t give you ice time. They might send you back to the AHL, but I think they’d just want to make you miserable enough to quit.” 

“I wouldn’t quit,” Shane responded firmly. “They’d have to make me.” 

“That is the risk. And there’s another thing: your defenders stop defending you.” 

Fuck. 

“And then?” Shane asked. 

“Best case scenario you can have an injury that could end your career and you decide to quit. Worst case scenario it’s so bad that someone else makes that decision for you.” Farah sounded sad and resigned. 

Terrible as it sounded, if some transphobe did a dirty hit on Shane and it ended Shane’s career, it would be better if that was the result of Shane making a decision to come out. Because then it wasn’t Nicky who took hockey. It was Shane who chose to keep playing and to accept the outcome of being honest about his family without fear. 

Except, all of that sounded noble, more noble than Shane figured he was. Someone  else, someone who wasn’t the first trans man to play in the NHL could do it. Except, Nicky was only going to get older and he was going to know and then Shane was really going to have to choose hockey or Nicky. 

“What’s the best case scenario?" Shane asked, not very optimistic about his options. 

“Rozanov leaves the league,” Farah said plainly. 

“What?” 

“I’m not being serious. I’m just saying, you have better odds of staying if Rozanov wasn’t also playing. Part of the tension is going to be that you two are still playing together. The best case scenario is that you have a few seasons where you get hit a lot more but you have good defenders and you get into a lot of fights. Eventually, you get good again, win a Cup so I can get my bonus again, and people don’t exactly forget you and Rozanov have a child, but they’re not reminded every time they hear his name or see him on the ice. But that’s not going to happen. Speaking of, is that why he moved to Ottawa? We might be able to use that. I could think of-“ 

“He didn’t know,” Shane said. 

Farah didn’t say anything for a long time and then she said: “That complicates things. It’s not going to do you any favors.” 

“It’s not like Ilya is going to quit anyway,” Shane said. “No way am I even bringing it up to him as an option.” 

Shane didn’t say it was because he was pretty sure that Ilya would do it, and that it wouldn’t be entirely because of Nicky, and that terrified Shane.  

“Then, it’s a coin flip, Shane. I want to believe that the league will protect you or that they’ll at least try and that it’s a storm you can weather and keep your career.” 

“But there’s a possibility I can’t,” Shane whispered. 

“I wish I had better news, Shane. This probably sucks to have confirmed. And I guess I should say congratulations, five years too late. If I’d known he was yours, I would’ve got him a birthday present or something. What does he like?” 

“Hockey,” Shane answered. “And weirdly hotel rooms.” 

“I’ll have to get to stay at one of the hotels where they have all the rooms decorated like hockey rinks.” 

“You’ll have to make sure he can use his chair,” Shane said. “Or his trike.” 

“I didn’t even think about that.” 

Shane used to not think about accessibility either. Nowadays, he noticed it everywhere. He noticed when the doorway to a locker room wasn’t accessible. He noticed when the walk from the locker room to the rink was long and thought about where sledge hockey players would have to leave their mobility devices before they used a scooter or cart to actually get to the rink. He thought about it when he was in a hotel room and the shower didn’t have a grab bar. He thought about it when he went anywhere, did almost anything. Could Nicky be here? Could he be here if he was bigger and older and we couldn’t carry him and his wheelchair? 

“He also likes hockey jerseys,” Shane added. “It’s all he wears, especially the para ice hockey jerseys and especially for Team Canada, but Ottawa’s sledge hockey team got extra jerseys so Nicky could get a few and he was over the moon.” 

“Wow,” Farah said. “I’m just… I’m still feeling.  Not about the hockey jerseys, that’s cute. How did I not figure it out?” 

“He’s been a pretty well kept secret,” Shane said. “But he’s five now.” 

And he was old enough to know. 

* * *

Lacey Vokolva Elroy 

I would just like to say that you owe me one because I had to physically go to two NHL websites to check your schedules but it looks like both of you don’t have a game next Saturday and both of you play at home the day before and a couple of days after. I was thinking of doing a private wheelchair skills day for Nicky and you two. 

Shane Hollander 

My condolences! I will have to check with Ilya but that would be great! You are the GOAT 

Lacey Volkolva Elroy 

I know 

Lacey Volkolva Elroy  

Speaking of GOATs, my sis and BIL are coming down to play a show with Hannah. Can I invite Val to the skills day? She can provide insight with his cerebral palsy but I know you’re keeping information about Nicky very private 

Shane Hollander 

She can help Nicky and I know you trust her, so I trust her 

Lacey Volkolva Elroy 

Awesome! Also you’re invited to their show in Montreal if you want to come. It should be very loud but fun 

* * * 

“This is too fuckin’ hard,” Nicky dropped two of the pieces of the puzzle he was working on and then covered his mouth, eyes wide. “Oopsie! I said a bad word! Pepe says I can only say one bad word a week and I already said fuckin’ yesterday.” 

“Is okay,” Ilya reassured him. “I won’t tell. We can keep it secret.” 

Nicky’s eyes went impossibly wider and he pressed the button on his baby monitor. “Pepe!” He yelled. “I need to tell you something.” 

Oh no. What had Ilya done wrong? 

“I’m coming, Nicky,” David said. He came rushing into Nicky’s playroom. “Yes, buddy?” He said. 

“Mr. Ilya said we can keep something secret,” Nicky said with a frown. 

“Oh!” David said. “What did Mr. Ilya say you could keep secret?” 

Shit. Ilya didn’t even know why it was wrong for him to say that they’d keep Nicky’s bad words a secret but Nicky seemed concerned.  

“‘Cause I said fuckin’, but I already used my bad words for this week,” Nicky explained. “So, Mr. Ilya said he wouldn’t tell you and we could keep it secret.” 

“I see,” David said. “Nicky, you did a very good job telling me that Mr. Ilya asked you to keep a secret. Thank you for telling me.” 

“I don’t think Mr. Ilya knows the rules,” Nicky said. He turned to Ilya. “I’m not allowed to keep secrets, only happy surprises that we always tell.” 

“Okay, I understand,” Ilya said. But he still didn’t get it. He figured it wasn’t a good idea for a five year old to have secrets but he didn’t know why it was such a big deal that he’d told David immediately. 

“That’s right,” David responded. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Ilya about your body safety rules, okay?” 

“Okay!” Nicky said cheerfully. 

David turned to Ilya: “Can you come help me dry some dishes before the housekeeper gets here? We can watch Nicky on the baby monitor.” 

It didn’t sound like Ilya had a choice. 

Ilya followed David to the kitchen, where Nicky’s dishes, mostly toddler plates and cups with soft straws, were drying in the rack. 

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said immediately as he grabbed a rag to dry the dishes. “I did not mean to- I did not know that Nicky is not supposed to have secrets.” 

“We should’ve told you,” David said. “Honestly we probably should sit down and discuss parenting and how we parent Nicky.” 

“Secrets are bad, yes?” Ilya asked. “But not surprises?” 

“We taught Nicky that if any adult ever asks him to keep a secret, he was to tell me or Yuna or Shane as soon as he could because sometimes when adults ask children to keep secrets it’s because they’re hurting a child, and so we want Nicky to tell us, even if it’s something harmless like hiding that he said fuckin’ or that you gave him extra ice cream. But we try not to frame those as secrets.” 

Shit shit shit. 

“I’m sorry, I did not realize that it was not safe,” Ilya responded. He was so fucking stupid. 

“Hey, we’ve all done it,” David responded gently. “When you’re not thinking and you don’t realize how secrets can come across, it’s easy to slip up, and we haven’t talked to you about body safety and Nicky.” 

“Body… safety?” Ilya asked. 

“Why don’t we sit?” David suggested. 

They finished the handful of wet dishes anyway. 

They sat at the table and David turned the baby monitor to face them. 

“Because Nicky is disabled, he is at an increased risk for being sexually abused,” David said calmly. 

The words hit like a brick of concrete to the gut. 

“All disabled kids are at a higher risk but Nicky didn’t talk until he was almost 3 and he still struggles to communicate sometimes,” David continued. “ I’m very proud that he told me you asked him to keep something a secret.”

“He is very smart,” Ilya noted. Smarter than Ilya apparently. He was good at knowing what was safe and no safe for him. 

“He is,” David agreed, “but he can still struggle with how adults are supposed to behave and we can’t always use the same things that we would say for kids who aren’t disabled. Nicky needs help in the bathroom still. He can’t transfer independently and he struggles with the balance he needs to wipe himself, which means adults have to help him even though he’s five and that means that sometimes adults are looking at his swimsuit parts.” 

“Swimsuit parts?” Ilya asked. 

“Yes, the parts of the body that are usually covered with a swimsuit,” David answered. “We use that instead of private parts because private parts include more than just what’s usually covered up.” 

What private parts did Nicky have besides his penis and bottom? 

“For example, his eyes, ears, and mouth can also be private parts,” David explained. “Those are places that he shows but that adults might touch inappropriately. But his penis, testes, and butt especially are places that we have to explain some adults might need to wipe or clean so that he can stay clean and safe, and we also talk about how adults can help him in the bathroom and what that looks like.” 

“You said it is more likely for him to be abused, yes? Because he is disabled?” Ilya asked. He knew from Ekaterina’s articles that the children in orphanages were abused but he hadn’t realized that it could still apply to Nicky.

David’s Adam’s Apple bobbed when he swallowed. “Because adults like to target kids that they think won’t speak up or that they think other adults won’t listen to or kids that need help with tasks other kids don’t need help with, like going to bathroom.” 

It felt like someone had punched Ilya in the stomach. People would target Nicky because he was disabled, because they thought he was weaker, because they thought he wouldn’t say anything, because… 

“That is fucked up,” Ilya whispered. Fucking hell. 

“It is,” David agreed. “So we do everything we can do to keep Nicky safe. That means no keeping secrets, just happy surprises that we always tell. Although, he can’t keep a surprise either. Last year we took him to get Shane a Christmas present and he came home and immediately told Shane about his surprise.” 

“Christmas might not have been very surprising for Shane then.” It sounded adorable and also not very surprising. Ilya couldn’t wait to share Father Frost with Nicky. 

“He faked surprise pretty well,” David grinned. “But yeah, surprises are good things that make people happy. Secrets are not good things and they can make people feel sad or scared.” 

“That is good to teach him and good that he knows he can go to you for help.”  

“Yes, and I’m very proud that he told me immediately.” 

Ilya swallowed. 

Shit. 

Something popped into his mind. 

“Nicky is a secret, yes?” Ilya asked. 

David was quiet for a few seconds and then he said. “We teach Nicky that some information is private, not secret. Secrets are usually only kept between two or three people whereas private information is shared with people who need to know. For example, Nicky’s doctors know that Shane is his dad because that’s important medically. His nanny knows. Hayden and Jackie know. It’s private, not a secret.” 

That made sense, but Ilya wondered how long it would be before Nicky put together that it was a little weird that he had to keep who his dad was, who his dads were private. 

He wondered how long that information would be able to stay private. He wondered how the world would react to Shane and Ilya’s happy surprise. 

* * * 

Ilya brought up the question that had been on his mind ever since one of his teammates came to practice pissed that a judge had upped his child support payments, after dinner with the Hollanders, sans Shane, one day. “I would like to pay child support for Nicky,” Ilya announced. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” David said carefully after the silence started to feel a little too long. “Nicky is very well taken care of.” 

“Then he could have it for later, for when he’s older and needs different stuff,” Ilya said. “My teammate, he told me about the Canada child support calculator. It says I should be paying you-“ Ilya read off the number that he’d written down when he’d been researching how much he owed Shane and the Hollanders for Nicky’s care. 

“There is no way we can accept that much money a month,” Yuna said plainly. 

“It is not yours,” Ilya pointed out. “It is Nicky’s. He can decide when he is older if he wants it.” 

“We can’t accept that. Nicky has a trust fund.” Yuna said. 

“Then I will put it in there,” Ilya responded. Nicky could use it when he was older or if he needed expensive treatment.

“You can’t-“ Yuna repeated. 

“I am going to anyway, it is his money.” It didn’t matter if they didn’t want it, it was Nicky’s money. 

“No, I mean, Ilya, you can’t give us money for Nicky,” Yuna said. 

“Then I will give it to Shane,” Ilya said. Shane would take it if Ilya explained it was to help Nicky. 

“Yuna is right,” David said like something was donning on him. “You’d get investigated,” David said after a minute. 

“Investigated? For what?” Ilya asked. 

“Sports betting,” Yuna said. “Regular transactions of that volume from an NHL player to family members of another NHL player will likely get flagged.” 

Ilya leaned back in his chair. “This is not good,” he said. 

“Nicky is taken care of,” Yuna repeated. 

“But I am not taking care of him,” Ilya responded. Why did they not understand there was something wrong with Ilya for not taking care of his son? That he was a bad father for it? “He is my son, it is my job. I have to take care of him because that is how I can actually be his father.” 

“Ilya, you are still his father-“ David said. 

“But not a good father!” Ilya responded and then he felt bad for yelling, but they didn’t get it. “I am not good because I do not take care of my son.” 

“You do take care of him,” David said. 

“How?” Ilya asked. Because he hadn’t taken care of Nicky, not really. “I am not safe to be alone with him and I asked him to keep secrets. I do not see him every day, only some days when I am home. I do not provide for him. Even my father paid for me to have food and clothes and a home.” 

Ilya knew he was getting angry but he couldn’t help it. He was a terrible father and he wanted to be better. How he even call himself a father when he barely saw Nicky and the very first time he’d ever been alone with Nicky he’d asked Nicky to do something that could’ve made him feel not safe? How could he call himself a father when he’d never tucked his son in bed? Or helped him brush his teeth? Or help him use the bathroom like David said he needed help with? All he had was money. It was all he had to show for almost five missed years.  He had to give Nicky something, somehow. 

“There is more to taking care of a child than money,” David said. “You started learning about disability. I know you’re working very hard on that.”

That was another thing Ilya wasn’t good at, another reason he wasn’t a good father. He was barely getting good at being okay with his son being disabled. He was still learning. He was still scared he was going to say the wrong thing and upset Nicky. 

“You read with him,” David added. “And play with him.” 

“But I don’t know how to take care of him,” Ilya’s voice cracked and he had to take a deep breath so he didn’t start crying in front of Hollander’s parents. Once, in front of Yuna, was enough. 

“We can work on that,” David said. “It can be hard, trusting new people with certain parts of Nicky’s care.”

Ilya swallowed hard. He was a new person to his son who was 5 years old. Ilya didn’t even know what Nicky’s day to day needs were. He only knew his child for a few hours a day where he barely got to be alone with him because he was a stranger. 

“But you are his father,” David continued. “So, we can talk about it. Can you send me a copy of your whole schedule and we can find some days where you can come learn about Nicky’s routine and that way we can work to get some parenting time with him alone?” 

“Really?” Ilya asked. 

“Of course,” David said. “You are his father, and if you want to, then I would be honored to teach you to take care of him.” 

* * * 

“Okay, Daddy. I need to see your hotel room.” 

Nicky’s face was, per usual, too close to his iPad. He was probably lying on his bed on his stomach with a pillow propping him up. 

It was late in Ottawa and Shane still had a game to play in San Francisco. Shane didn’t have a ton of time and he was definitely going to have to make up for it by getting videos of the hotel for Nicky. He could probably also convince Hayden to film his identical hotel room so that Nicky would have more data. 

“How many lamps are there?” Nicky asked. 

Apparently, Nicky decided that the ideal number of lamps in a hotel room was 4, except for when there were two beds, then those could have eight. 

“There’s five,” Shane answered. 

“I don’t like five,” Nicky frowned.

“Here, I’ll keep it turned off,” Shane offered. He turned off the lamp on the desk. 

“Does your room have a spinny chair?” Nicky asked. 

“Yep,” Shane said, turning his camera. “It’s green.” 

“Hmm, I like the green one. It’s like my new wheels.” 

“Can I see the bathroom?” Nicky asked, getting so close to the camera he was practically licking the screen when he spoke. 

“Do you want me to throw you on the bed first?” Shane asked. 

“Yes!” Nicky yelled. 

Shane threw his phone on the bed. 

“Wee!” Nicky yelled from Shane’s phone. 

Shane grinned and then grabbed his phone. Nicky loved being “thrown on the bed” and acted like he was actually being thrown on the bed every time, down to the time that when Shane, only once, missed the bed and his phone accidentally hit the bed frame, Shane heard a tiny little “ow” from where his phone had hit the floor. 

Shane took his phone toward the bathroom, stopping to show Nicky the mirror and the closet and to count the hangers. Then he entered the bathroom and showed Nicky the sink, the shower, and the toilet. Nicky was delighted it had energy efficient buttons. 

Nicky went through the rest of his checklist and Shane spent much of the next thirty minutes showing Nicky the details of his hotel room. 

“Guess what?” Nicky asked when Shane finished. 

“What?” 

“Mr. Ilya is going to help me buy a lamp for my room and he’s going to help me make my room look like a hotel.” 

This was news, something Nicky hadn’t shared. He was remodeling his room. It sounded like it was going to be expensive, but it would probably turn out pretty cool. 

“That sounds really cool, buddy,” Shane said. 

There was a knock on Shane’s door. It was probably a teammate asking to borrow something. Either way, his short time with Nicky was going to be cut short. 

“I have to go, Nicky. I love you. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Yay! I love you too, Daddy!” 

Then Nicky signed, “I love you” with his hands. 

Shane signed it back. 

* * *

Lacey had set up part of her gym to look like a hotel themed obstacle course. Nicky was delighted. 

Ilya had spent much of the last week and a half helping Nicky design his new room. He decided he wanted it to look just like a hotel, a process that would involve adding a queen sized bed (Ilya wanted to get Nicky a king sized bed but David was worried about it fitting Nicky’s wheelchair around it) and would also include buying some new hotel style furniture. Nicky still wanted his hockey pictures up, so it would be a themed hotel room. 

True to his word, David had started teaching Ilya Nicky’s routines. He’d come over early one morning and David, after asking Nicky’s permission, let Ilya in to explain how Nicky’s morning routine worked. It ended up being the first time Ilya had ever seen his son’s legs in person without braces. They were small, like they were in the pictures, and Ilya could understand what Shane meant by foot drop. 

Nicky had decided he hadn’t wanted Ilya’s help in the bathroom, so Ilya had waited outside during that part.  

They had breakfast and David showed Ilya Nicky’s medication and explained how it worked and how it helped it. 

Nicky very helpfully informed Ilya that, “it tastes like strawberries!” 

Then Nicky got dropped off at his half day learning program at a preschool for disabled kids like him, and David took Ilya through the tasks he got done while Nicky was at school, like scheduling appointments with specialists for Nicky’s knees, picking up refills of Nicky’s medication, and then going to Costco to pick up a giant bag of chicken nuggets and get a pretzel and hotdog from the food court before it was time to pick Nicky up. 

Ilya had spent the rest of the day playing with Nicky until dinner when Nicky decided that he wanted Yuna and only Yuna to put him to bed, which was a problem because Yuna had been in Toronto for a fundraiser for a project that Shane and Elkins were working on. 

Nicky’s second preference was Shane, who was in San Francisco, and then Nicky had something that Ilya thought was a tantrum but that David later explained, after Nicky eventually went to bed, was called a meltdown. 

“His brain goes into sensory overload. It’s sometimes like when you hear a noise that is really frustrating and then it starts hurting your ears.” 

“Hurting your ears?” Ilya asked. “Because it’s loud?” 

“No, because it’s, you know, like the sound of metal scraping metal hurts.” 

Ilya nodded even though he was confused. Maybe there was a language barrier and the sounds didn’t actually hurt, they were just very irritating. 

“When he has a meltdown, everything he’s feeling gets magnified by 100 and he gets overwhelmed.” 

It had taken David more than an hour to get Nicky to bed and while David hadn’t said it, Ilya was pretty sure it was because Nicky had cried until he fell asleep. 

“Ilya,” a voice said. 

It was still strange for Ilya to hear his name pronounced correctly in North America. Ilya turned his attention to Lacey. 

“You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?” Lacey asked.  

“No, sorry,” Ilya said sheepishly. 

“It’s okay. I was saying that I need you to help spot Nicky when he practices going up the ramp with no railing. He’s usually pretty good at rolling straight but it’s a narrow ramp.” 

“Of course,” Ilya smiled. 

Wheelchair skills practice looked like fun. Or at least, Nicky made it look fun. He went up and down the narrow ramp three times. Ilya watched him like a hawk, ready to catch him if he tipped and Shane did the same for the other side. 

Val, which is what Lacey’s sister Vlada went by, helped Nicky put on gloves that had a special cord in them that helped Nicky’s fingers stay straight so he could grab the rims of his wheelchair to push. 

Nicky also practiced tight turns and spins and looked delighted at doing it. He learned how to move from tile floor to carpet and tried it three times and then, Lacey finally taught him to do a wheelie. 

Apparently, Nicky’s wheelchair had gotten its anti-tippers removed. David had temporarily added weight to the front so that Nicky could get used to it but Lacey removed the weight and then started teaching him. 

Apparently, it involved a lot of falling, because Lacey explained that Nicky needed to know how far he could lean back during a wheelie without tipping over which Nicky loved and insisted that Lacey and Val both try falling backward onto the cushioned service. 

Then Nicky made Shane and Ilya try from a standing position which felt a little unfair but it was pretty fun and it put a smile on Shane’s face. 

Then, Lacey explained how to do a wheelie. It took Nicky a few tries to get his wheelchair off the ground. 

“This is too fuckin’ hard,” Nicky said after his fourth try. 

“You can do hard things,” Ilya said encouragingly, like he’d heard David say. 

Nicky looked at Ilya and then he nodded and said, “I can try again.” 

This time he lifted his wheels a little bit off the ground and he cheered while doing it. 

He tried again, and it worked! 

“I did it!” Nicky yelled. “I did it!” 

“You did it!” Shane said. “You kept doing it even though it was hard.” 

Nicky smiled. “I can do hard things!” 

Nicky had done a wheelie. Ilya didn’t think he’d ever been more proud of anyone in his life. 

* * *

The venue was small, and it meant that Shane and Ilya were at a table with Lacey, one of Lacey’s friends from the PWHL, Kiara Devins, and two men that Lacey introduced as wheelchair rugby players. None of them, not even Kiara, who had her own terse rivalry with a Boston player that played out weekly in the PWHL, seemed surprised that Shane and Ilya were hanging out. Maybe it was because they’d been pictured together for fundraisers lately and this was another fundraiser, albeit smaller, and for Montreal’s school that worked with Blind kids. 

One of the wheelchair rugby players Mikey was engaged in an animated conversation with the other player and Ilya couldn’t help but eavesdrop given that it was his favorite topic. 

“You’re telling me that you can rig up something in a hotel room without equipment?” Mikey was asking. 

“Yes,” Oliver responded. “I mean besides the obvious which is that you can always have your girl ride you.” 

Mikey snorted. “Sophie would probably kill you if she heard you suggest that. She hates cardio.” 

“Okay, well then, here’s what I do. I just a towel, tie it around Genevieve's waist and stomach. And then I bunch it up in my hand like a handle.” He held up his hand, which was bawled into a partial fist. “And then-“ he jerked his hand back and forth repetitively. “You just hit.” 

“And to think I just dropped $400 on a sex swing,” Mikey complained. 

“Only four hundred?” Lacey said as she wheeled up. “We spent $800 on new one in January.”

“You know a towel is like 10 bucks, right?” Oliver asked. “Or one of those silk wrap things that are all fancy for when you…” he trailed off. 

“Towel doesn’t work as well if you don’t want to hit from the back,” Lacey pointed out. “And trust me when I say it’s worth every penny considering everything that it can do in the bedroom. There’s a function where you-“ 

Ilya agreed it was worth $800 based on Lacey’s detailed description that made Shane turn red and Ilya’s cheeks heat. 

“You could spend $800 for missionary or have your wife do all the work for cowgirl and you still get the eye contact,” Oliver said. “Win win for me.” 

“Wow, I should tel Genevieve you said that,” Lacey said. “Women really have to do everything. ‘Course, we always do it better.” 

Mikey snorted. 

It wasn’t like Ilya didn’t know that disabled people had sex. Obviously, there were disabled people who had children and disabled people were people but Ilya hadn’t ever thought of the logistics of it. Ilya had also only ever met Lacey when Nicky was there so he’d never heard her be so raunchy. 

Before Ilya could think any further on it, Val tapped the mic. 

“Good evening girls, gays, and theys, and any other punks joining us. My name is Val. My guitarist and backup singer is Nathan, and our drummer is Hannah. We’re The Assisted Devices. We hope you enjoy our show.” 

The show was good. It was a little loud for Ilya’s tastes as well as some of the lyrics being hard to understand. They were mostly yelling a lot but what actual singing there actually was sounded nice. Val had a beautiful voice, so did Nathan, and Hannah was great on the drums. 

Their songs were interesting and mostly about being disabled but there were a few about sex, breakups, relationships, and one that Nathan and Val dedicated to the joys of being teachers who were also child free, which made Ilya laugh. 

They finished their set by thanking everyone for attending and telling people where they could donate more.

Shane and Ilya had ridden together since Ilya was planning on sleeping at Shane’s Montreal rental and driving back to Ottawa in the morning. 

When they pulled up to the rental, Ilya made a choice, one he knew he shouldn’t, but one that he made anyway. 

“Did you want to come upstairs?” Ilya asked. He was going to offer Shane something before he remembered that it was Shane’s property and technically-

“Yes,” Shane answered. 

They needed to stop doing this. This couldn’t become a habit. 

This had to be the last time they did this. 

It was going to be. It had to be,

Chapter End Notes

also I bit the bullet and made a fandom twt so follow @transshollander for updates, insights, and me being sometimes funny

Chapter 10: december [auld lang syne]

Chapter Summary

The holidays bring up intense grief for Ilya and Shane in different forms, David is probably banned from showing Ilya Pixar movies, Nicky has a new name for Ilya, and Nicky gets the best Christmas present ever.

Chapter Notes

Content Warning: This chapter depicts the aftermath of a suicide and a horrifying reality of a 12 year old child finding his mother dead from an overdose and trying to give her CPR. I cannot stress this enough. Please take care of yourself when engaging with the material.

Also, huge emetophobia trigger for the scene with regards to overdose and specifically an attempt at rescue breaths.

There are additional breaks between the italicized scene and the flashback does not need to be read to continue the story.

The flashback for this is italicized and written under December 2003.

Beyond that: child abuse mentions, child neglect, perinatal mood and anxiety disorder, sibling loss mention, suicide discussion throughout, parenting with a background of child abuse, racism

Merry Christmas! (I promise this chapter ends on a fluffy note but there is a lot of pain in between.)

December 2017 

Shane was exhausted. He’d finally, finally been given approval to return to full play and he’d finally gotten some ice time in an actual game, only five minutes, and it was against Boston, and Shane couldn’t breathe during the one face off he took with Rozanov, but it was ice time. 

Rozanov hadn’t chirped him, hadn’t even looked at him, just aligned their sticks against the puck. 

Shane won the faceoff. 

Montreal won the game. 

They would be going into January on a hot streak, hoping to win an unprecedented fourth Stanley Cup. Shane wasn’t sure it would happen, with Scott Hunter and his Admirals looking stronger than ever and Shane missing the first part of the season. Shane could think about that later. He’d try to get ice time twice a day during the short Christmas break, and he’d hit the gym and the rower and the bike to make sure that he was ready to hit the ground running in the new year. 

But first, there was Christmas to deal with. 

Christmas was Dad’s favorite holiday, and he made it an all out affair, or at least he’d tried, until Shane got old enough to realize that Christmas meant the NHL was on a break and therefore Shane would spend that short period moping about the fact that it was hockey season and no profession hockey was on.  It was still fun, since Dad tried to design the holiday around distracting Shane from the fact that his favorite thing in the world wasn’t on television. 

Dad also got really into Santa and still made Shane, at 27 years old, pretend to believe in Santa because, “if you don’t believe, you don’t receive.” 

Apparently, the presence of a new human that Dad could probably indoctrinate into loving Christmas meant that Dad was going overboard once again. Shane had, in the midst of training and games and being in Montreal, received an unending stream of texts from Mom about being concerned that the house was going to be turned into the Polar Express for an infant who couldn’t see more than 12 inches in front of his face. 

Dad had apparently purchased: three Christmas trees, enough lights to cause Mom to send Shane daily screenshots of their rising electricity bill, popcorn strings (choking hazard, Mom said; Dad, who Mom had “accidentally” added to the text thread,  had pointed out that Nicholas couldn’t even crawl yet so it wasn’t like he could eat the popcorn), a giant inflatable Santa and reindeer for the yard, and a million other things for Christmas. 

“I just want it to be special for him,” Dad said. 

Mom had said: “He isn’t going to remember.” 

And Dad had responded, “but we will.” 

As Shane walked into his childhood home, he could almost understand the reasoning behind his dad’s whimsy. It was gorgeous. 

Based on the texts from Mom, Shane had been expecting a tacky, gaudy mess, but Dad had created a winter wonderland. 

Shane took a moment to stare at the garland wrapped tactfully around the door frame of the entry to their home. Dad probably hadn’t been this excited about Christmas since Shane was a little, too small to remember and to have preferences about what should be done in December (hockey, it was always, always hockey) and small enough that he could be put into an endless array of costumes. 

When Shane looked at the few baby pictures that look like him, most of them were set around Christmas. Dad used to dress him up as Santa, beard and everything, with a stuffed reindeer toy to match. There were no pink ruffled Christmas dresses or Mrs. Claus outfits. No, Dad had decided that he was going to dress his little girl up at the big man himself. It was a gesture that worked out and, sans a handful of other photos where Shane was wearing neutral clothes, his Santa photos were the most consistent proof of his existence as a baby and toddler. 

There was a familiar whine coming from the living room. 

Nicholas. 

Shane’s heartbeat picked up as the whimper rose around his ears. 

Fuuuuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

“Oh you heard the door shut didn’t you?” Mom cooed. “Say, uh oh!” 

Nicholas stopped crying, just like that. 

Shane swallowed. He could do this. He was fine. Nicholas was just a baby, so why did it feel like someone was going to set his brain on fire? 

“What do you think, Nicky? Should we go see Daddy?” Mom asked. 

Daddy. That’s what Mom and Dad kept calling Shane to Nicholas. Shane wasn’t Daddy. He was hardly a consistent presence in  Nicholas’ life but Mom had decided that she was going to be Halmi (because Shane’s aunt, who Shane had only met twice because she’d moved to Korea more than 30 years ago called herself Halmi) and Dad had decided he was going to be Pepe and that left “Daddy” for Shane apparently. 

Shane preferred to be called Shane, all things considered, but Mom was insistent and Shane didn’t want to see the look on her face if he told her that he wasn’t Nicholas’ daddy. He was, biologically if nothing else, and still technically legally despite the custody paperwork he’d signed. 

Mom came into view, arms cradling a tiny Nicholas. 

“You’re home!” Mom said. 

“Hey,” Shane said awkwardly. 

They stood there, and Shane missed when there wasn’t a tiny, eleven pound wall between them.  He realized he should probably greet the wall, Nicholas, and he said: “Hey, buddy.” 

Nicholas turned instantly at the sound of Shane’s voice, just like that. Shane had been right. Nicholas did miss Shane when Shane was gone. Shane couldn’t say the same. 

“Your dad is finishing dinner,” Mom said. “Why don’t you go wash up?” 

“Okay,” Shane responded. 

He shuffled up stairs, where he was treated to garland and hundreds of tiny lights wrapped around the railing and bannister. Dad had really gone all out. 

It must be nice to have a reason to look forward to Christmas again. 

* * * 

“I have to show you what Joseph did yesterday,” Boodram said. 

Practice was over and a handful of Ilya’s teammates were lingering in the locker room, talking. 

Bood pulled out his phone and found what he was intending to share. He turned his phone to face where everyone was gathered.

The grinning, brown skinned toddler on the screen was covered in flour and wore only a diaper, which was also covered in flour. 

“Say hi to Daddy!” A voice presumably behind the camera said. 

“Hi Daddy!” Joseph yelled. 

It reminded Ilya so much of Nicky. There was no volume control. 

“Wait, my wife sent me something because Pierre,” Lambert held out his phone, “Decided he was going to be a Picasso with all of Sarah’s makeup.” 

“Avery started smiling,” added Milo, and he fished his own phone out of his pockets. 

Ilya couldn’t help the way his own smile tightened, then faltered. He wanted nothing more than to show pictures of Nicky, tell his teammates that this was his son, that he was incredible, that he’d just learned how to do a wheelie and Ilya was very proud of him. 

But he couldn’t. 

“What, Rozy?” Hayes said. “You got baby fever?” 

Ilya hesitated. 

“Don’t worry,” Lambert piped up. “It’s only a matter of time before you find your own ball and chain and then the little ones will be on the way." 

Ilya locked eyes with Elkins over the group. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible but sympathetic look. 

“Soon,” Ilya said, hoping no one else noticed the way Ilya’s voice cracked, and then he retreated awkwardly back to his locker. 

He tried to tune out the discussion of Christmas presents and kids and nephews and nieces and took his time packing his bag. He didn’t even have a picture of Nicky in his locker, not like Ilya’s teammates, even his divorced teammates, had of their kids. Ilya had plenty of pictures of Nicky on his phone, but he kept them in a private photo and could only look at them when others weren’t around. 

Ilya felt selfish for it but he wanted more. He wanted to spend more time with Nicky. He wanted to tell people, at least his teammates. He was so proud of Nicky, and he loved Nicky so much and it hurt not sharing him, but Ilya knew he couldn’t. 

Even if the circle of people who knew about him was growing, he was still a secret and a risky one at that. All it took was one person noticing his kid was also the kid occasionally pictured with Shane Hollander and they would put everything together. 

Ilya understood why the secrecy was necessary, but it was starting to hurt. 

Hayes must’ve noticed that Ilya was lingering, however, because afterward he caught Ilya as he was leaving the locker room. 

“Sorry about the kids thing, man. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject.” 

Ilya hadn’t realized his heartbreak had been made that plain on his face. Hayes was perceptive, sure,  but Ilya was under the impression that his face hadn’t given anything away. 

“Is fine,” Ilya moved to say, but then his face got hot, a lump formed in his throat that made it hard to breathe, and tears were starting to fucking well up. God, this was fucking embarrassing. What was wrong with Ilya? 

“I get it,” Hayes said. “Well, maybe I don’t, but I get that the kids thing m can be difficult. I shouldn’t have-“ 

“It’s fine,” Ilya repeated, a little more forceful than intended. 

A tear escaped when Ilya blinked. 

“I’m sorry,” Hayes said, and his voice was steady and sincere. “I shouldn’t have pried. That’s personal.” 

Ilya felt terrible. “It’s, you were trying to be a good,” he paused because he wasn’t actually sure what word to use, “friend,” he decided. “Kids are very complicated for me.” He paused and figured it couldn’t hurt to have another teammate know, one that Ilya could actually possibly have a conversation with. Ilya wouldn’t tell Hayes about Shane, but he could tell him he had a son. “I have a son; I only found out about him a few months ago. It’s… private. I can’t share about him.” 

“Oh,” Hayes said. “That must be difficult.” 

“He is amazing,” Ilya said. “It hurts that I cannot share him with everyone.” 

“Rozanov!” came a familiar voice from down the hall. 

It was one of the social media interns. Ilya had forgotten their name. 

“I have to go,” Ilya said, grateful for the reprieve but also absolutely not in the mood to be asked to name a female athlete. 

Ilya turned without waiting for a response from Hayes and walked quickly down the hall. 

* * * 

“I think I’m going to make two,” Mila said. “One for Mom and one for Mommy.” 

“I’m gonna make two!” Nicky decided. “One for Daddy and one for Mr. Ilya!” 

“Is Mr. Ilya your daddy?” Mila asked. 

Nicky shook his head. “Daddy is daddy.  Mr. Ilya helped make me.” 

“But that’s what daddies do,” Mila said. “Or mommies sometimes like my mommy. Do you have a purple crayon?” 

“Daddy said Mr. Ilya isn’t Mommy,” Nicky responded and he handed Mila a crayon. 

“Is he your Papa?” Mila asked. 

Nicky didn’t know. “I don’t know.” 

“Does he play with you?” Mila asked. 

“Yes!” Nicky and Mr. Ilya played so many games together like hockey, and stuffed animals scoring goals, and putting all of Nicky’s pucks in a straight line. 

“Does he help read you books at bedtime?” 

“He reads my hockey book!” Nicky said. 

“Does he show you his hotel rooms?” Mila asked. 

“Yes!” Nicky responded. “He had one with three lamps.” Nicky didn’t like it, so Mr. Ilya turned one of them off. “And he threw me on the bed!” 

“Then he’s your papa,” Mila said. “If he helped make you and he takes care of you and reads your books and plays with you, that’s your Papa.” 

“I don’t want to call him Papa,” Nicky said. “That sounds like Pepe.” 

“Yeah, your Pepe is Pepe. What about Poppy?” Mila asked. “That doesn’t sound like Pepe. My friend River has a Daddy and a MaDa and a Poppy!” 

“Poppy? I’m going to call him Poppy.” Nicky liked how that sounded. He wondered if Daddy and Mr. Ilya would like it too. 

* * *

Shane usually hated business lunches but he was in good company with a good cause and well, no one expected him to actually talk business. It was more a debrief from an investor meeting more than anything. Summer, who was married to Elkins and was decidedly more talkative than her husband, was the one who kept the conversation going. 

Lacey liked Summer, and they were both youth sledge hockey coaches, which meant that two of them were happy to trade small talk while they waited for water. 

“How do we think that went?” Summer asked when the appetizers arrived. 

“It’s always nice to be reminded why I don’t want to work for Hockey Canada,” Lacey said. 

Elkins choked on the beer he was drinking and his wife tapped his back firmly. 

That was an understatement. Shane hoped that his current project would be something Shane could work on after retirement but even if that didn’t work out, he wasn’t working for Hockey Canada. 

“All things considered, better than expected. He seemed surprised by the numbers you presented from earlier this year,” Lacey pointed out. “Viewership was good. I’m impressed that your stunt worked.” 

Shane had taken a risk and skipped media after a game because he’d gotten on a plane to Beijing to go to the Paralympics. It had generated a lot of interest in the Team Canada vs Team USA para ice hockey game. The league had amplified it, and Montreal had made a big show of paying Shane’s media fine, saying that they proudly did it to support Team Canada’s para ice hockey. In reality, the owners had complained when Shane suggested it and they’d only agreed because it performed well in focus groups. 

Shane hated the politicking part of this project. Luckily, Summer was a corporate lawyer and exceptional at it. 

“They seemed receptive to a para ice hockey league,” Summer pointed out. “I agree that four teams is low but we can figure out funding for two more to start.” 

They spent most of the lunch talking about the league and their pending investment. By the time Elkins and Summer left to head back to Ottawa, Shane was done with socializing professionally. Still, he and Lacey headed to Lacey’s car. 

Lacey was coaching a sledge hockey practice at Montreal’s Skate Zone and Shane was going to make an appearance for media purposes. It would be quick, and Shane genuinely liked seeing the Montreal kids practice, but Shane was already low on energy. 

“How are things with Rozanov?” Lacey asked. 

Oh, so they were going there. 

Shane felt his cheeks get hot for some reason and then he tried to say, calmly, “Fine. My dad’s been involving him more with taking care of Nicky. He’s been-” Shane waved a hand and tried to ignore how hot his cheeks felt. 

“Oh my god,” Lacey said. “You two have been ‘coparenting without the baby’.” 

“What?” 

“It means you two have been hanging out without Nicky,” Lacey explained. 

“No we haven’t,” Shane said quickly. 

Lacey smirked. 

“Okay, we have,” Shane relented, “But it’s only been like twice.” 

“Twice, so I’m guessing it was good then.” 

Shane didn’t think his cheeks could get hotter but they did. 

“It doesn’t matter if it was good,” Shane said. “It’s not happening again.” 

Lacey looked skeptical and then she shook her head. “You two need to be careful.”  

Shane leaned back in the seat. “I know, that’s why we’re not having sex anymore.” 

“Have you told your parents?” Lacey asked. 

“Why would I do that?” Shane responded. 

“Because they have custody of your child,” Lacey responded. “And I don’t know, it’s kinda relevant that you two are…” 

“My mom knows about the first time,” Shane responded. “But it’s not happening again so it doesn’t matter.” 

“Okay, Shane,” Lacey said with a smirk. 

She did not look like she believed Shane, which was fine. Shane didn’t need anyone to believe him, because it wasn’t happening again. 

“Just be responsible,” Lacey said. 

“Oh my god.”

“You are such a prude,” Lacey complained. 

“I’m not a prude,” Shane snapped. “And we’re using condoms. Besides I’m like, spayed, and everything.” 

“Spayed?” Lacey asked. 

“What? They went and like, you know, made it so the egg can’t-“ 

“I know what you’re talking about Shane. I’m saying, spayed is how you choose to describe that?"

“It’s better than sterilized,” Shane responded (it wasn’t by much). 

Lacey rolled her eyes. “Men,” she said. “Why do I like a sport with so many weird men?” 

Ironically enough, Shane found himself often asking that question. 

* * *

“Daddy,” Nicky whispered, actually whispered, into the dark when Shane was tucking him in. It had been a long day. He hadn’t had practice or a game, so he’d make the long trip down to Ottawa to spend some time with Nicky, and he still had to drive home to Montreal in less than an hour. 

“Yes,” Shane responded. 

“Is Mr. Ilya my Poppy?” 

For a moment, Shane’s heart caught in his chest. Fuck. 

“Your Poppy?” 

“Well, he’s not Daddy because you’re Daddy, and he helped make me and he plays with me and helps me and tucks me in. Mila said that’s a Poppy.” Nicky’s eyes were wide and he looked so much like Ilya that it hurt. 

Shit. 

“Yes,” Shane said after a beat. “Mr. Ilya is your Poppy.” 

Fuck. 

Nicky looked like he was thinking about this information. “Do you think he’ll like it if I call him Poppy?” Nicky asked. He clutched the stuffed owl Mom and Dad had gotten him in Aruba. He looked anxious. 

Ilya would love it, actually. He would probably cry or try not to. “Yes, buddy,” Shane said. “I think Mr. Ilya would like that very much.” 

“I’m happy he’s my Poppy,” Nicky said with a sleepy yawn. “He plays with me more than you. Good night, Daddy! I love you!” Nicky smiled sleepily like he hadn’t just pulverized Shane’s heart. 

“I love you too, buddy,” Shane said and he escaped the room before Nicky could see the look on his face. 

He plays with me more than you.

It had barely been five months since Nicky had met Ilya (and whose fault was that? his brain reminder him like a fucking traitor) and Nicky had already decided that Ilya was his favorite, or, at the very least, that Ilya played with Nicky more than Shane and play time was everything to Nicky. 

It was hard for Shane to play with Nicky and not just because of time constraints. Nicky didn’t do very much imaginative play (a trait, according to the developmental psychologist that had diagnosed Nicky, that was a result of his autism) but what play he did do was repetitive, strict, and orchestrated totally by him. 

For example, he liked making his stuffed animals play sledge hockey, but he wanted to dictate the exact path that every stuffed animal took toward the goal. He’d liked to line up hockey pucks but got frustrated if Shane tripped over them, even if it was accidental.  

Shane tried when he was home but often he let Nicky play alone unless they were playing hockey. Apparently Ilya played with Nicky though, and of course he did, he’d just met Nicky and everything was fun. But how would Ilya handle when Nicky was screaming and melting down because he’d had a good day and his legs hurt and his shirt hurt and for some reason his teeth hurt and he just needed to yell and Ilya couldn’t help? 

Hell, how would Ilya have reacted to not finding out he was pregnant until he was 27 weeks along and was suddenly bustled into doctor’s appointments with midwives who couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop being shell shocked that Shane Hollander was in front of them and pregnant and miserable? 

How would Ilya have handled attending team meetings and fundraisers and practices while there was a goddamn 6 pound baby doing summersaults inside of him? 

How would Ilya have reacted to a newborn hijacking his brain all the while in pain and bleeding and being unable to look at a tiny human who hadn’t done anything wrong? 

Of course Ilya loved playing with Nicky. Of course Ilya was excited to do it, because Nicky was a novelty to him and Ilya had been able to fall in love instantly and Ilya had never known what it was like to look at their son’s face and feel nothing but hatred. 

Of course it was fucking easy for Ilya to come in and get the title of Poppy, to feel like Nicky’s dad in a tangible way because he never had to earn it from scratch.  

Ilya had loved Nicky before he’d even known Nicky’s name. Shane had waited 28 days to give Nicky that. 

Ilya never would’ve treated Nicky like Shane had. He wouldn’t have called Nicky a thing or wished something horrible happened to the pregnancy just so that it was over with. He wouldn’t have left Nicky when Nicky was 4 weeks old, when he’d barely been cleared for ice time much less playing. 

Shane knew he should be happy that Nicky was comfortable enough to call Ilya Poppy, but that didn’t change the fact that it was infuriating. 

It didn’t change the fact that Shane had been there from the beginning, that Shane hadn’t even loved Nicky, that he’d hated Nicky when he was born and blonde and blue eyed and Mom knew and Shane could hardly look at a baby without blaming him for potentially taking hockey from Shane. Shane could hardly look at him without blaming him for looking like the man who wouldn’t talk to Shane. He’d looked like the worst mistake Shane had ever made, getting entangled with Ilya. It had taken Shane so long to love Nicky, so long that it hurt when he remembered how long. 

And Nicky had turned to him the entire time. He hadn’t known, and that part broke Shane even more. That maybe Shane was only Daddy because Nicky was still too young to understand to stop turning to Shane because Shane couldn’t stop choosing the sport he loved, playing it the way he loved, over Nicky. 

Would Shane still be Daddy when Nicky was old enough to know what that meant? Or was Ilya being the one who played with Nicky more the first stop on Nicky realizing how much Shane didn’t do as a father. 

Even if Shane was doing his best, had been doing his best since Nicky was three months old, even if that best meant he wasn’t there everyday and that sometimes, Shane didn’t miss that. He loved Nicky, of course he did, but parenting was more intense and more exhausting than anything Shane had ever done and Ilya, besides the disability thing, which he had gotten so much better about, was good at it. Already, he was so fucking good at it. 

So good that he was Poppy and he played with Nicky more and he was helping Nicky make his room into a hotel room.

Shane knew he wasn’t being fair, that all of this was happening because Shane hadn’t been fair. He’d been so heartbroken after Ilya had broken things off that he hadn’t been able to see anything else but hockey, and then there was the pregnancy that became the thing that became The Baby and then Nicholas and then Nicky. 

Ilya got to be Poppy five years too late and Shane had the audacity to be angry about it. Angry because Ilya got to love Nicky instantly. Angry because Ilya got to love Nicky without ever having hated him. Angry because Ilya got to love Nicky without Nicky having been the thing inside of him or The Baby. Ilya got to love Nicky without resenting him for months because of what he represented, because of who he represented, because of what Nicky had done to his body, and it wasn’t fucking fair. 

It wasn’t fucking fair. 

* * * 

December 2017 

Shane wanted to do one thing on his first night home after his first game. 

Nicholas was asleep. Dad had just put him down and Shane risked waking him up by going into the room, but Shane had barely been able to look at Nicholas at dinner. Dad had asked if Shane wanted to feed him and Shane had shrugged so unconvincingly that Dad had done it anyway. 

Dad had worked on the scrapbook for Nicholas, the one with the two photos of Shane after Nicholas was born, the one where Shane’s eyes looked empty, the one where he looked like he sometimes still felt.  Dad had added the photos of Nicholas’ first game already: the Boston vs Montreal game. It had been Dad’s idea, and Mom hadn’t been sure it was her place to tell Dad about Ilya Rozanov. 

Ilya Rozanov, who was still doing coke if Marly’s private Snapchat that Shane constantly blocked and unblocked was to be believed. Ilya Rozanov, who Shane saw every time Nicholas sneezed. Ilya Rozanov, who Shane still hadn’t told and probably would never tell. 

Shane twisted the doorknob and winced when it creaked. There was a whimper from Nicholas. Shit. Already? 

Dad usually slept in the room with Nicholas or Nicholas slept in Mom and Dad’s room, so Dad would probably be back later. 

Nicholas fussed some more, and it sounded like he was about to start crying and Shane had no idea what he was going to do or how he was going to explain it to his dad if Nicholas started actually crying. 

Shane stepped fully into the room, which had a nightlight but was otherwise totally dark. 

Nicholas was staring at a mobile above the crib, his little arms flailing in his sleep sack. 

“I didn’t realize you were awake. I thought Dad put you to sleep but guess not. Hi-“ 

It was like Nicholas was laser focused on Shane’s voice, like he knew, even only seeing Shane every other week at best. 

“You had your first hockey game,” Shane said. “What’d you think?”  

There was more flailing of his little arms. Shane agreed. 

“Number 81, for Boston, he’s uh, he’s your other father. I haven’t told him about you. I don’t know what I would say. I don’t-“ 

Shane couldn’t help but notice that even though Nicholas flailed his arms, he didn’t really kick his legs, not like Amber Pike did at that age. Maybe Nicholas was tired. 

Nicholas kept staring at him. Shane wondered how much of Shane’s face he could actually see. He wondered if he should pick him up and then decided against it. 

“You’re pretty quiet, huh. Your Halmi says I wasn’t quiet.” Shane paused and then he decided to get on his knees so that he could see Nicholas better. “Can I tell you something?” 

Shane had no idea why he was asking a three month old this. It wasn’t like Nicholas could confess anything to anyone. 

“I don't know why Mom picked the name Halmi for grandma. She usually doesn’t do that, Asian stuff I mean, and really not Korean stuff either. Her dad was Japanese and he was in the Canadian military so, mom’s never really. I don’t know, if you’re expecting that we… I don’t even really know.” 

Shane didn’t know. They didn’t talk about it. Besides the conversations him and Mom had after Major Things, like a parent yelling a slur at Shane after he scored a goal when he was six or a coach saying he was surprised “someone like him” could be good at hockey or when Shane got made fun of for having good grades and he went to his mom to ask her why, they didn’t talk about the fact that they were Korean and Japanese. 

Shane knew from barely paying attention in world history that there was tension between Korea and Japan. He knew it was very bad and that it had to do with war and violence. He was pretty sure that that was why Mom was adopted, because she was Japanese and Korean. Shane had read an article on a plane once, or most of it, because he’d gotten distracted by a conversation about the Drillers’ offensive game, but the article had been about the history of Korean adoption, and they’d used words to describe children like Mom that hadn’t been particularly kind. 

“My aunt lives in Korea, but she’s lived there my whole life. I don’t think her and Mom really talk. She came to visit a few years ago. Mom has a brother,” Shane added. “But you probably will never get to meet him. I never have. Mom says that her parents and grandparents didn’t make it easy for them to be siblings, so they don’t talk anymore. But I’m friends with him on Facebook; so is Mom and Dad. He seems pretty cool. He lives in Ireland.” 

Nicholas was still staring at Shane so Shane kept talking. 

“I guess, you look like me, Asian, I mean, and well-“ Shane trailed off. “People who look like us; we have a harder time on the ice. It’s okay if you don’t want to play hockey because of that.” 

Nicholas flailed his arms again and not his legs. Were babies this age supposed to kick their legs? Shane had read a book, just one, about babies and how they were supposed to develop. He was pretty sure that Nicholas was supposed to be kicking his legs at three months but the book said babies developed on their own time but also that Shane should be concerned, but it was probably nothing, except if it was something it could be catastrophic. So Shane should worry but not too much because it was probably nothing unless it was something. 

Shane reached into his duffel bag, so maybe there was a reason Shane was in here. He pulled out a puck. Hayden had labeled it; Shane wasn’t sure he would’ve used that wording, but he hadn’t changed it either, even though he had nicer tape and marker in his trophy room. 

“Here,” Shane said, “I got this for you.” 

He placed it on the bed next to Nicholas. 

Nicholas' eyes went to track it. So that was good. That was developmentally on track. 

“That’s yours,” Shane said. He knew that Nicholas didn’t understand it, that this was more for Shane than it was for Nicholas, that it was Shane’s way to try to explain why hockey was so important to him, to give Nicholas something tangible to explain why Shane couldn’t stay. 

Shane couldn’t stop staring at Hayden’s messy handwriting. 

Goal For Nicky 12/23/17 Raiders vs Metros From Your Dad 

* * * 

Ilya wasn’t even planning on acknowledging it. 

It hurt so badly every year. He could feel it coming like storm clouds rolling it before a flood. It sat in the air around him like sticky humidity, like the time he’d gone with one of his teammates to Houston, Texas and the air felt like hot soup. It was suffocating and each breath Ilya drew felt like he was inhaling fire or at least smoke. 

Ilya wasn’t even planning on acknowledging it. 

He was happy, he was going to spend the day with Nicky. He didn’t want to waste the precious few hours he got with his son dwelling on something horrible that had happened nineteen years ago.  

Ilya wasn’t even planning on acknowledging it. 

Instagram, it seemed, had other plans. He was using it on his private account, not the one he used because the team required it. 

The post, was on Hannah’s private Instagram. 

 It was a picture of a younger Hannah standing next to a child the same age as her. They were grinning and hugging.  Ilya swiped, and the two of them were older. They both looked a little bit sadder but they were smiling. Ilya swiped and Hannah was sitting in a hospital bed, bald and missing a leg. The boy was next to her, barely smiling. Ilya understood why. It must be terrifying to see what Ilya guessed was the boy’s sister in so much pain. The last photo in the set was Hannah standing next to the same boy at a graduation. She was beaming as the boy, now a man by the looks of his build and beard, held up a diploma. 

Nothing could’ve prepared Ilya for the caption.  

@hannnah.bananna 

Happy birthday in heaven, Josh! Ka-wî-miyo-tipiskên! 

Eight birthdays without you and it still feels like I lost you yesterday. Sometimes I really can’t believe that you’re not here anymore. Mila drew you a birthday card this year and we went to visit you. I miss you so much. 

Ilya was crying because of course. Of fucking course. Ilya could try to ignore the recognition that the day demanded but it seemed like the world always had a way of reminding him. At least this was a kinder reminder than the year that Dad’s dementia first started showing and he forgot that Mama was dead. He’d slapped Ilya when Ilya had told him that Mama was dead and scolded Ilya for crying. 

Ilya didn’t know why he kept reading the post but he did. 

Josh, my big brother was the biggest advocate for mental health and mental health awareness and I carry that legacy every day.  Suicide is still a great taboo in our society and too many people believe talking about and talking about the people we lost to it will lead to contagion when in reality suicide thrives in silence. 

In honor of his birthday, and because I know I never feel like I can talk about Josh enough, I want to ask people who have lost to suicide to share something about them. 

Ilya commented using his private Instagram, whose username was probably a little too unserious for the topic but it was the only one that Ilya felt was private enough. (Besides, this was on Hannah’s private Instagram account which had less than 50 followers.) 

My mom was a wonderful mother. And she lost  her battle with depression 19 years ago today. I feel very sad she will never know my son. When I was 10, she let me watch the Stanley Cup and got our neighbor to fix our satellite. It was one of the happiest hockey memories I have. I miss her. 

But that wasn’t the memory Ilya was thinking about. 

**** 

December 2003

Ilyusha knew he wasn’t supposed to be home. He was actually supposed to be spending the night at Ivan’s but Ilya didn’t like Ivan because Ivan thought it was funny to try and look at girl’s skirt when they played outside and Mama had taught Ilya that that was rude to do, so he told Ms. Vankanov that his Mama was sick and he wanted to be home with her. 

Mama wasn’t really sick, even though she slept a lot and Father yelled at her and called her lazy, and Ilya thought maybe she was sick, but it was like, Maksim’s baby brother who didn’t know how to talk even though he was only two years younger than Maksim and Ilya. Maybe whatever was making Mama sick was something that Father and Ilya couldn’t see. But Father said not to talk about Mama needing to sleep and being so tired, and Mama wasn’t tired all the name. 

She would still play hockey with Ilya on the rink by their house. They would skate around. Ilya didn’t even really shoot the puck. He liked racing and more than anything, he liked when Mama beat him. Ilya never let Mama win, so when she beat him, she would smile so wide and she would be so happy.  

Ilya pushed open the front door. It was late. Ivan’s mom wanted to drive Ilya but Mama always said Ilya’s friends did not have as much and Ilya and Alexei did and that sometimes their friend’s parents offered nice things because they were too proud not to, even if they didn’t have the money for it. Ilya knew that the Vankanov’s car did not work well, and he’d told Mrs. Vankanov that he liked to walk. She’d been worried because the sun was going down, but Ilya had assured he was fast, and he would run home, and he did. 

For some reason, Ilya couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was like the American horror movies the older kids at school knew how to watch, the ones one of the other plants on his hockey team had shown him, where the music built and went too fast and then too slow and then BAM! The scary clown jumped out, you laughed, and all your friends said you screamed like a little girl. 

It felt like that, but different. 

The house was quiet. 

Alexei was gone and he’d been gone a few days. Dad had said it was good for a boy to get away from their family sometimes. Mama had said that sometimes didn’t mean for days on end. 

But Mama should still be up making dinner even if Father was still at work. He worked a lot these days, and he wouldn’t be home until after the sun went down. Still, Father expected Mama to have his dinner ready with a warm plate when he got home and Mama liked to cook when there was sunshine in the kitchen so she always cooked in the afternoons. 

It wasn’t sunset yet. She should still be making dessert. Mama had explained that her Mama had taught her how to stretch sugar and eggs and flour and milk to make amazing desserts. Chocolate was still expensive and it was Mama’s favorite. One time, they’d even made brownies.

The house was quiet and dark. 

Ilya’s heart started beating faster. 

The house was quiet and dark. 

Where was Mama? 

She wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t in the living room. Dinner wasn’t made. Ilya checked. 

Maybe she was gone, maybe she’d gone to the market and gotten delayed or she was out with her friends except father never let her see friends and mom never wanted to see them these days anyway. 

Something was wrong. 

The house was dark and quiet. 

Ilya wasn’t supposed to go into his parents’ bedroom. Mama always locked the door every night and told Ilya if he ever needed help to go to Alexei first. Mama said never to come in, even if sometimes she was screaming, even if Ilya knew that Father was hurting her. He listened to his Mama. 

He hadn’t listened now, when Mama told him to go to the sleepover and behave. He’d come home and the house was dark and quiet. 

“Mama?” Ilya called slowly. “Mama! I came home early!” 

The house was still dark and quiet. 

Something was very wrong. 

Mama and Father’s door was locked, but Alexei had shown Ilya how to pick locks once and the one on their parents’ door was easy. 

The first thing Ilya saw was his mother’s hand. 

Something was wrong with it. He’d never seen it look like that. Her wedding ring was off, and she never took it off, because Father would beat her for it. He would accuse her of being unfaithful. Mama would cry and she would wear it even if she said it was too small sometimes. 

“Mama!” Ilya yelled. 

He ran over to the bed. 

Mama was curled up like a baby. There was vomit all over the bed and in her hair and on her clothes and on her lips and cheek and: 

“Mama!” Ilya yelled. He tried to shake her. She was so stiff, and she felt so cold. Mama had never felt so cold, not even when she put her hands on Ilya’s face after skating outside at the rink. “Mama!”

Mama didn’t respond. Ilya put his head next to her heart, it wasn’t beating. 

Ilya had seen this a couple of times in the American movies the older players on the team would watch. He made it that so that Mama was on her back and then he got on top of her. 

He remembered in the movies that they put their hands on someone’s heart and pressed down.  

So Ilya did that. He pressed down. Over and over and over again. 

“Mama!” He would say between breaths. It made Ilya’s arms ache, and every so often, like Ilya had seen in the movies, he would lean down and try to breathe air into Mama. Her lips tasted like acid and spit and food, but Ilya was going to save her and she was going to wake up and Ilya would brush his teeth and then they would laugh and- 

Someone was pulling Ilya off of Mama. 

“I’m saving her!” Ilya yelled. He fought whoever was trying to hold him. “She’s going to die. Let me save her. Let me save her.”

He fought and fought and fought. He scratched and punched and hit and kicked and whoever was holding him, whoever was trying to keep him from saving Mama didn’t do anything. He just held Ilya, tight, so that Ilya punches didn’t land just right and his he couldn’t figure out where to bite and- 

“Ilyusha,” Father said, and his voice was kinder than Ilya had ever heard him. He was the one holding Ilya, keeping him from moving. Ilya must've been so tired if he couldn’t even beat Father. 

“Ilyusha, your mother is dead.” 

Ilya shook his head. Mama wasn’t dead. She wasn't. Ilya could still save her. 

And then Ilya realized that Father had called him Ilyusha and he never did that, ever. Only Mama called him that. 

“Father, please,” Ilya begged. 

“She is too far gone,” Father said. “There is nothing you do to help her, Ilyusha. You tried to help, Ilyusha, but you couldn’t. She was already gone, okay?” 

Ilya stopped struggling and he and Father sat quietly for what must’ve been hours. And then Father said: 

“I have to call this into work,” Father’s voice was firm. “When the police come, you tell them it was an accident, understood?” 

“What?” Ilya asked. 

“It was an accident,” Father repeated. 

What? 

“Your mother took too many pills for her headache. Say she forgot how many she took. Understand?” 

What?

“If they saw she did this on purpose, that she swallowed all those pills on purpose to die, they would want to take me to jail. They will take me to jail because your mother cannot handle being a good wife.” 

What? 

What? 

“Mama swallowed them on purpose?” Ilya whispered. “To die on purpose?” 

“Ilyusha,” Dad snapped. “You have to say it was an accident! Understood?” 

“Yes,” Ilya answered. “I understand.”

PRESENT

Sometimes, when Ilya closed his eyes, he could taste the sick on his mom’s lips, the way she had been cold, so cold, too cold. 

He could still remember when his father’s coworkers came, when someone covered up Mama’s beautiful body, when another officer, a blonde one, a woman, took Ilya to the bathroom and made him shower. 

They asked Ilya a lot of questions and some of them were not nice. Ilya had explained he was supposed to be at a sleepover, that he found Mama sick and cold, that he tried so hard to help and Father made him stop and… 

Ilya was suddenly shivering and hot tears were prickling at his eyes. 

Fuck, he wanted to have a good day with Nicky and instead he was crying in bed before he’d even started his day. 

He took a deep breath. He was going to see Nicky today and that, above all else, was a reason to smile. 

* * *

Ilya didn’t get to spend enough time with Nicky. It wasn’t just that he’d missed almost five years. He felt like he was missing everything else. They only got to spend a few hours a week together and sometimes not even that if Ilya was on the road. 

He was glad he got to spend time with Nicky today, especially because Nicky was very excited about the fact that he and Ilya were going to watch a movie. It was called Coco and it had been all Nicky would talk about since he watched it with his class. It was a musical, apparently, about a holiday in Mexico that was a little bit like Halloween. 

“Mr. Ilya,” Nicky said very seriously. He was sitting on Ilya’s lap while David fiddled with the DVD player. 

“Yes?” Ilya responded. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. 

“Why?” Ilya asked, and then Nicky stuck three fingers into Ilya’s mouth and Ilya had to fight the urge to bite down. 

“Ouch!” Ilya said as his little fingers scratched his mouth. 

“Nicky,” David said softly. “We talked about putting our hands in people’s mouths.” 

“But I didn’t put my hand in his mouth, just my fingers,” Nicky said triumphantly as Ilya tried to gently extract the fingers from his mouth. 

“Okay, how about we keep all of our body parts out of other people’s mouths,” David suggested. 

“But I love Poppy,” Nicky said. 

David froze. So did Ilya, when he realized what Nicky had said.  

Poppy. 

“Poppy?” Ilya whispered and his voice barely held. 

“You’re Poppy!” Nicky said with a smile. “Mila says because you helped make me and you play with me and you tuck me in and I love you and Daddy is Daddy so you’re Poppy.” 

Poppy, Ilya was Poppy.

***

“Poppy, I have a question,” Nicky said around a mouthful of chicken nugget. 

Ilya’s mind was still whirring from the movie they’d just watched. He hadn’t been expecting a children’s movie to make him cry but the movie had been about grief and loss and was about a father in the afterlife who desperately wanted to see his daughter again. Ilya was also still getting used to being called so Nicky said: 

“Pahhhhhh-ppyyyyyy.” 

“Yes?” Ilya responded. He blinked quickly. 

“Do I have another Halmi and Pepe?” Nicky asked.  

At first, Ilya didn’t understand the question. Nicky wanted another Yuna and David? And then-

“Where’s your mommy and daddy?” Nicky asked. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

“They, uh,” Did 5 year olds even know what death meant? Did Nicky? They watched a movie about it, but did that mean Nicky realized what it was? He might’ve just liked the colors and songs. 

Ilya looked helplessly to David. What did he say? 

“They are not here, my mama,” Ilya’s voice broke. “And my father.” 

“Where are they?” Nicky asked. “Can they come visit?” 

“Um, no…” 

David caught Ilya’s eye again and held his gaze for a moment. He must’ve realized, Ilya crying at the movie would’ve been a clue and the fact that Ilya wasn’t really answering Nicky’s question was the other one.

Ilya gave a small nod and then David turned to Nicky before he said. 

“Nicky, your Poppy’s Mama and Father died,” David said. 

Nicky frowned. He turned to Ilya. “What happened to them?” He asked. 

Ilya couldn’t open his mouth. 

“Nicky buddy,” David said. “Why don’t we get ready for rest time?” 

“But I want to know what happened to my other Halmi and Pepe,” Nicky whimpered. 

Ilya couldn’t talk. 

“Come sit,” David said to Nicky, who was starting to cry. 

Nicky made grabby arms and David lifted him from his chair into David’s lap. 

“What happened to Poppy’s mommy and daddy?” Nicky cried into David’s shirt. 

David rubbed Nicky’s back gently. “I’m right here, buddy. I got you. You’re safe.” 

“I want another Halmi and Pepe,” Nicky continued wetly. 

Ilya wished he could give Nicky that, or at least give Nicky Mama, but she would never get to meet the most amazing person Ilya knew. 

That was the other part of becoming a parent that hurt. Ilya couldn’t imagine what could drive him to choose to leave Nicky, but Ilya knew that his mom’s pain must’ve been unbearable, for her to leave him and Alexei, and Ilya… Ilya felt his throat closing up. 

David kept rubbing Nicky’s back. Ilya couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even reach out his arms for his son. 

Everything today had undone Ilya. It was too much. It was too much. It was… 

Ilya pushed back from the table too fast and his chair went into the wall, which startled Nicky and made him look frantically at Ilya with wet, teary eyes and Ilya couldn’t handle it.  

He fled to the porch. 

* * *

“Is he upset?” Ilya asked an hour later. He’d smoked two cigarettes before he’d been ready to go back inside. When he’d gotten inside, David had taken Nicky to his room to sleep. “I did not mean to upset him.” 

“He’s worried about you,” David said. “I explained that the world felt a little too loud for you, like it does for him sometimes and that you needed a break. He wants to make you cookies when he wakes up from nap, to help you feel better.” 

Nicky was so sweet. 

“Do you want some lunch?” David asked. “Nicky has chicken nuggets but I ordered some Chinese food that should be here in a few minutes. If you like orange chicken and beef and broccoli.” 

Ilya did like those things and he was starving. He hadn’t expected today to feel so draining. 

The food arrived a few minutes later and David made a plate for Ilya with a healthy portion of each dish. They sat on the couch. 

“You want to watch tv?” David asked. “I can put on some Restoration Garage.” 

Ilya shrugged. He didn’t really want to watch tv, not after watching that movie, even if he did love cars. 

David put down the remote and started eating quietly. 

Ilya ate too. It was something he could distract himself with. David had yet to be wrong in his restaurant recommendations and this one was no difference. It was even better than his favorite takeout in Boston, which balanced what Ilya actually wanted from takeout with ingredients that his teammates with “more refined” palates wouldn’t complain about. Ilya devoured the plate in front of him and then asked for seconds. 

David just smiled and said: “Of course.” 

They continued in silence, Ilya still trying to process what had happened over the last hour until Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. He had to tell someone. 

“I was the one who found my mother,” Ilya said quietly. 

David stilled and he looked immediately up at Ilya. 

“Ilya,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry.” 

“She died today,” Ilya continued. “Nineteen years ago.” 

David looked a little terrified. 

“Oh, Ilya I’m sorry. We would not have watched Coco if I had known what today was for you.” David looked genuinely apologetic. 

“The story, it made me sad,”Ilya explained. “My mom chose to leave too; I don’t know if she would’ve tried to come back. When I was a child and my father told me she did it on purpose, I was very angry at her. When I got older I understood why she did it and that maybe she didn’t want to leave and wished she could come back.” 

David was quiet but he had stopped eating so Ilya kept going: 

“I found her,” he said, and then he said the thing that he’d struggled to say out loud, even in therapy, because it was hard to say. “I tried to save her, but she was gone.” 

“That must’ve been very hard at 12 years old,” David said gently. 

Ilya stared at his now empty plate of food. 

“My father, he was police, he made me tell his friends it was an accident. He told me it was because she could not handle being a good wife.” Ilya shook his head fiercely. “She was a good wife. My father did not deserve her. She was not weak.” 

“I would never think she was weak,” David said after Ilya paused. 

“She was wonderful. She was so smart and so funny. And my father… he was so cruel to her.” 

“It is not easy growing up like that,” David said. “And to lose your mom that way at 12 is unimaginable, Ilya. I’m so sorry.” 

Ilya hated this part of English, the way that there was only one word to express regret. It wasn’t David’s fault and the words didn’t seem to convey the weight of the pain in his eyes, pain Ilya was sure his own reflected. 

“I don’t have very many good stories for Nicky,” Ilya said. “Some of the ones with my mom are good but with my Father…” 

They were quiet and then David said:

“Shane, when he was little and Yuna explained that my father hadn’t been very kind, Shane asked if there was anything nice about him. He was just curious and I think, well, Yuna’s parents weren’t very close to us and I think he just wanted to know more and I had one good story. He taught me to use hot water to make a spoon warm enough to scoop ice cream. It wasn’t much of a story and I’m pretty sure he probably knocked me around that night but it was one thing I could tell Shane. Not because my dad deserved it but because Shane had asked and I had one good thing I decided to tell him. With my mom, there was more, a lot more.” 

“My mother was wonderful,” Ilya said. “I wish I had more time with her and I wish she could meet Nicky. She would love him so much.” 

She would love Nicky so much it would hurt. She would spoil him, take care of him, bake for him. She would love to learn to play sled hockey with him, like Yuna had at Nicky’s birthday. And Nicky would’ve loved her, Ilya was sure of that. It broke his heart that Nicky would never get to know her. 

“I know she would want me to be a good father to Nicky. It is so important to me, and it is so hard.” 

“It is,” David agreed. “And I’ve been doing it for 32 years now. You get used to the challenges, and being a parent is probably going to bring up some hard things for you. It did for me.” 

Ilya knew what David meant. He knew what his increasing nightmares meant. He knew what the fact that he couldn’t focus at work meant. Because the more time he spent with Nicky, the more questions he had. 

Because how could his father have hurt him? Who the fuck hurt a little kid? Who the fuck would look at someone Nicky’s age and hit them with a belt? Or scream at them until they cried? 

Ilya’s father had been evil, and there was no wonder that his mom couldn’t tolerate living in that house. She took the brunt of it for Alexei and Ilya; Ilya knew that. 

Ilya also knew that his Mom had been young when she’d married his father. She’d been 20 and his father had been 44. They’d had Alexei almost immediately, and then, a four year gap, and then Ilya. It was disgusting to think of being 44 and marrying someone who was 20 years old. 

“I did not think becoming a father would make me so angry,” Ilya said. 

“I’ve been angry about it since we held our first baby,” David said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve gotten less angry at my father for it, just less angry at everyone else for it.” 

“In Russia, what my father did, it was okay. They said, ‘your husband hurts you because he loves you and wants you to be a good wife;’ and ‘your father hits you because he loves you and you should be a good child and listen.’ That wasn’t right; I know that.” Ilya breathed out slowly.  “Because you are a good father.” 

“It took a lot of work,” David said. “It took therapy, and back then, I didn’t know anyone who went.” 

“I’ve been but it was to talk about, mostly, why I was sad then but not about before, about my father or my mother.” 

“Might be a good time to think about it again,” David suggested. 

Ilya knew David was right. He knew that while therapy had helped him get a handle on his depression at present, he was going to need a lot more help going forward. Ilya hadn’t had much luck finding a therapist on his own, so he took a deep breath and sent a text to Shane’s friend. 

Ilya Rozanov 

Hi, Lacey. I don’t know who else to ask but do you know any therapists in Ottawa or Montreal that speak and do therapy in Russian? 

* * *

Nicky loved Christmas! It was his favorite holiday because Daddy was home and because it was Pepe’s favorite and this year Poppy was going to be here too and it was going to be the best Christmas ever! 

Halmi helped Nicky write a letter to Santa, who was someone who Nicky and Halmi and Pepe and Daddy pretended brought Nicky presents with reindeer. Halmi had explained to Nicky that some kids did believe Santa was real and it was very important not to tell them that he was a man from a story that lived a long time ago. 

Nicky was happy Santa wasn’t real because a long time ago, when Nicky was 4, he was scared that Santa was going to come into their house at night and he couldn’t sleep because he was so scared and then Daddy came home and Nicky told Daddy he was scared of Santa coming into their house at night and Daddy told Nicky Santa was just pretend and he was a story from a real man that lived a long long time ago. 

But Nicky had asked pretend Santa for: new hockey sticks and a sticker for his sledge and new hockey pucks and tape so Nicky could draw pictures on his hockey puck and new hockey pads and hockey pictures with Poppy for his room because he already had hockey pictures with Daddy. 

Nicky woke up when Halmi made pancakes and juice and chicken nuggets and Nicky dipped his pancakes and chicken nuggets in the syrup. Poppy dipped his too and then Daddy dipped his chicken nugget in the syrup too and they ate their sweet chicken nuggets. Daddy didn’t like it, but Poppy did. 

Then they got to open presents. Poppy helped Nicky hold the special loop that Halmi helped put on Nicky’s presents so he could unwrap them, and Nicky got to see all his presents. 

He got so much hockey stuff! 

Santa brought him new pucks and pretty green tape for his sticks. Daddy got Nicky a new helmet and face cage and new pads and Nicky was really excited. 

And then he got the best present ever! A new sledge for hockey!!! 

And then he got the bestest bestest bestest present ever. Auntie Lacey called Daddy and Daddy put the phone on video so Nicky could talk. 

“So, Nicky, remember how I said when you were bigger you could be like Maddeline and play hockey on a hockey team with friends?” Auntie Lacey asked. 

“Yes! And you said it would be a lot of fun but I wasn’t big enough yet!” 

“Well, guess what?” Auntie Lacey asked.  

Nicky leaned closer to the screen. 

“You’re going to get play sledge hockey on a team with friends.” And then she held up a t shirt for Nicky that Daddy said: said Otter Wall Sledge hockey. 

Nicky yelled and flapped his hands. He was going to be a hockey team! A hockey team! He fell over and then he laughed. 

“Hockey!” He laughed and Daddy and Poppy helped him up. 

“Thank you, Lacey,” Daddy said. “You absolutely made his day.” 

“Thank you!” Poppy said. 

“I get to play hockey on a hockey team!” Nicky yelled. 

Nicky got to yell about hockey some more and then they had lunch and then rest time and Daddy and Poppy laid with Nicky on his big flat swing and Poppy could barely stay on and he kept falling into the foam pit and he was silly and it was funny and then Nicky wanted to take a nap so he and Poppy went to sleep in the foam pit and Daddy stayed on the swing and went back and forth until Nicky went to sleep. 

* * * 

December 2017

“You two, under the tree,” Dad said. 

They’d just finished opening presents, where Nicholas had gotten more presents than he could possibly use in the 12 hours he was awake every day. 

“Under the tree?” Shane asked. 

“Let me take a picture?” Dad requested. 

Shane acquiesced because Dad had found Shane a vintage poster of Shane’s favorite Montreal player that would make a good addition to Shane’s guest room.  

“On your back,” Dad said, like it was supposed to be obvious that Shane was supposed to lay on his back. 

Shane turned on his back, still confused. Mom put Nicholas next to Shane. 

He started fussing until Shane looked at him and said, “hey, buddy. I want to cry about it too, but your Pepe is making us do it.” 

Nicholas stopped fussing and looked at Shane. They locked eyes for a moment and then Nicholas smiled at Shane. 

He was beautiful. Shane had to give Nicholas that. It seemed like he’d gotten some of the best parts of both Ilya and Shane. 

And then Dad turned on the lights under the tree. 

Shane looked up and it was beautiful. The lights were colorful, not white like most Christmas trees’ were and they glittered quickly around the tree. 

Shane looked at Nicholas, who was watching with rapt attention, his eyes tracking the lights with delight. 

He giggled, and it was the first time Shane had ever heard it in person. It was so musical and sweet. 

The lights continued to glitter and Nicholas watched them. Shane watched Nicholas. 

He watched Nicholas’ face light up. He looked like Ilya, but he also looked like Shane, he was made of both of them, and he was this little person and he smiled and Shane instantly wanted to see more of that. He wanted to watch his baby smile all the time. 

The lights paused for a second and Nicholas whimpered. 

“Don’t worry,” Shane said, and Nicholas turned to Shane. “Your Pepe will turn them back on. He’s the best.” 

Nicky giggled and Shane was pretty sure it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  

Oh. 

Oh. 

* * *

Dinner was the quietest part of Christmas. Nicky looked like he’d been absolutely wiped out, and David had made a spread of food that looked similar to the spread that was at the party Tanner Dillon had catered for his Christmas dinner party last year. Ilya was excited to eat. 

During dinner, Nicky hit Ilya with a question he wasn’t expecting. 

“Poppy?” 

“Yes,” Ilya said. 

“Did your mommy and daddy play with you?” Nicky asked. 

“My Mama did,” Ilya said with a smile. “She loved to play with me. We used to play hockey together.” 

“Like me and you!” Nicky grinned. 

“Yes, like me and you,” Ilya agreed. 

Ilya was worried that Nicky would ask about his father, and Ilya didn’t want to talk about him; he didn’t want to have to tell Nicky about who his grandfather was. 

“Can you tell me a story about your mommy?” Nicky asked. “So we can remember her like in Coco.” 

Ilya took a drink of water to soothe the lump in his throat and then he said: “Yes, I can tell you a story about her. When I was ten, I wanted to watch the Stanley Cup Final, but I used to live in Russia-“ 

“Like Aunt Lacey!” Nicky interrupted. 

“Yes, I used to live in Russia and it was very hard to find a way to watch the game, but my mom, she found out a way to watch, and I had to stay up all night, so my mom gave me coffee.” 

“Can I have coffee?” Nicky asked. 

Ilya wasn’t sure if Nicky could have coffee. 

“Su-“ Shane started to say before David loudly said: “Maybe when you’re ten.” 

“But Halmi lets me have some of hers when we go to the coffee store,” Nicky said. 

David turned to Yuna and they proceeded to have an argument completely with their eyes in the way only a couple that had been married for more than thirty years could.

Ilya continued his story. “So I stayed up very late, and I was running around and jumping on the bed and I was not supposed to jump on the bed, but Mama saw me and she jumped with me.” 

“Like when we jumped in the ball pit!” Nicky added. 

Yuna and David were still arguing about Nicky’s apparent caffeine consumption using solely eye contact. 

“Yes, like that,” Ilya said. “And then we watched hockey.” 

“Can we watch hockey?” Nicky asked.

David and Yuna were wrapping up their argument regarding the alleged coffee consumption so Shane said: 

“Yeah, we can watch hockey.” 

“Wait!” Nicky yelled, which brought Yuna and David out of the end of their argument. “We have to lay under the tree!” 

“You’re right,” Shane said. 

“Pepe, you have to take a picture of me and Poppy and Daddy,” Nicky said. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” David responded. 

They got under the tree and they spent some time looking at the lights, except Ilya noticed that Shane was pretty much only looking at Nicky, so Ilya did the same. It was fun to watch him smile at the light show David put on. Apparently, they did this every year and David had set up a special light show for Shane and Nicky to watch. 

After the light show, they watched Nicky (and Shane’s) favorite thing: hockey. 

Nicky wanted to watch something he called, “The Game Where He Got Daddy’s Puck When He Was a Baby.” 

Shane quietly informed Ilya that it was the Boston vs Montreal game that was Nicky’s first game.  

Nicky, Yuna, and Shane watched the game even though they all knew how it ended and Ilya watched Nicky enjoy the game. 

And then he watched Nicky fall asleep with his head in Ilya’s lap. 

On the screen, Ilya scored, and then Shane was put out at the very end of the game, and he’d scored on a faceoff off of Ilya… with the same puck. 

“Nicky has this puck, yes?” Ilya asked. 

Shane nodded. “Yes,” Shane responded. 

“He’s had it this whole time?” Ilya asked. Nicky was such a warm weight on his lap. Nicky had had a puck from both of them. 

“Yes. He’s had it this whole time.” Shane answered. “Just… don’t ask me how Hayden managed to smuggle the puck out of the arena.”

Chapter End Notes

Rest assured. Shane’s baby box is closed. Life will not find a way, and if it did, Shane would be at the abortion clinic at 5am in line like it’s Target on Black Friday (does Canada do Black Friday?). Being pregnant and postpartum was not an experience he wants to repeat, particularly because of what it did to his mental health.

He loves Nicky very much but times were hard.

Check me out on Twitter @transshollander for updates, insights, and me being sometimes funny

Chapter 11: january

Chapter Summary

The gang celebrates Russian New Year. Shane makes a major decision that will impact his and Nicky's future. Ilya's feelings around his presence as a parent lead to an arguement.

Chapter Notes

Some disclaimers here for portrayals of disability and in particular blind people.

Blindness is a spectrum and blind people have a diverse variety of experiences, preferences, and decisions around support (if they need any.)

Nathan is a beloved OC and he does not see. He actually does not have eyes and uses prosthetic eyes (mostly for the comfort of non Blind folks, but also because it offers additional protection to his eye socket and prevent debris from getting into his eye socket). His experiences of being Blind will differ from other Blind and low vision people.

Nathan is also a millenial, an athlete, a bit of a troll, and he has a very dark sense of humor. He has fun joking with Ilya over Ilya’s faux paus when interacting with a Blind person but this is by no means a guide to what a Blind person you meet will prefer for find funny.

The only thing I will say is that the majority of Blind people are totally okay with you saying things like, “did you watch that?” or “could you take a look at my essay?” They are figures of speech and Blind people can interpret what you mean. You don’t have to panic if you accidentally use look/see/watch. You might get teased a little for it but it is part of our speech and usually has a figurative meaning.

All that said, spoilers/content warnings in the end notes. It is related to a medical incident so proceed with caution.

Thank you to my new friend on twitter, who I will call J, who helped immensely with the Russian in this chapter and with some of the cultural bits of New Years.

Shane hadn’t actually been to one of Lacey’s New Year’s parties, mainly because Shane usually had a game, but because of some ridiculous league scheduling thing, it happened that neither Ottawa nor Montreal had any games the weekend of New Year’s. 

Which was good because it meant that Ilya and Shane got to celebrate with Nicky and that meant that they were going to Lacey’s party. Lacey kept hers small for reasons that she explained as, “I don’t want Russian politics to ruin dinner.” and it was the perfect place for Ilya to be able to have a full celebration with Nicky. 

Shane had asked Lacey via text if she wanted Shane to bring anything and Lacey had responded with. 

Liquor, a lot of it. Oh, and a pitcher please! 

So Shane had gotten a lot of very expensive liquor. He’d explained that he was going to a Russian New Year’s party and had no budget to the clerk and ten minutes later he had several thousand dollars worth of premium liquor. 

Shane had also brought a nice pitcher and then had driven the hour to Lacey’s house, conveniently situated between Montreal and Ottawa seeing as Lacey coached both teams and taught in Ottawa but played for Montreal sledge hockey. 

The door sprung open before Shane even knocked. 

“Fyo!” Lacey shouted. “Who is at the door?”  

“Hockey,” Fyo answered. 

“Hi, Fyo,” Shane said. 

Fyo said something in Russian as Lacey came into the room. 

“No, Fyo,” she said. “No more shots yet.” 

Fyo made a face but nodded, then looked at Nicky. “Play?” He asked in English. 

Nicky nodded enthusiastically and the two of them took off. Nicky loved playing with Fyo, mainly because the two of them could line up hockey pucks for hours. 

“You’ve been giving Fyo shots?” Shane asked. 

“Tiny bit of vodka, mostly soda water,” Lacey clarified. “But it’s New Years, the whole point is getting drunk. Speaking of: keys?” 

Shane didn’t often attend parties Lacey hosted but Lacey was strict about people not driving drunk. Again, something about playing Paralympic sports meant that she was very aware of the horrors of driving drunk for the driver, passenger, and other people on the road. 

Shane handed Lacey his keys and valet key. Hannah, who Ilya had never seen drink, would be the one to return Shane’s keys at the end of the night, provided he wasn’t wasted. 

“Oh man you got the good stuff. Hi, Shane, С наступающим!” 

Shane took a deep breath and then mimicked her pronunciation as accurately as he could. 

Lacey looked impressed. “The echolalia,” she said. 

Shane made a face because he wasn’t autistic even if Lacey insisted he was.  

Before Shane could say more, Lacey’s mom, Kat, as she’d implored Shane to call her so often that Shane no longer addressed her by name and instead stood close to her until she noticed and addressed him came into the room. 

“Shanya,” she said brightly because Kat didn’t believe in calling anyone by their full name. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Shane answered. 

“You don’t look it,” Kat said.  

Well… like mother like daughter. 

 “It’s been…” Shane trailed off and looked frantically at Lacey who had apparently decided against going against her mom. “It’s been stressful. You know, playoffs and-“ 

“You sound like Fyo, making everything about hockey,” Kat said. 

Shane looked helplessly at Lacey, who was grinning. 

“Do you cook?” Kat asked. 

“No,” Lacey answered before Shane could.  

Shane was capable of cooking, it was just that no one liked his food. 

“Okay, well then, what am I supposed to do with you?” Kat asked. 

“He mostly just looks handsome and pays for things,” Lacey joked. 

“The best type of man,” Kat laughed. 

* * *

“Did you just tell all the people who can’t cook to bring alcohol?” Hannah asked when Ilya walked into the door with a bunch of alcohol. 

“I actually just told Ilya to bring himself,” Lacey said as she entered the room. “But I will not say no to more alcohol.” 

Ilya grinned. Classic Russian New Years Party. 

“Poppy!” Nicky yelled. “Look, me and Mr. Fyo are playing hockey pucks!” 

Fyo was concentrating very intently on helping Nicky line up his hockey pucks. 

“It looks like you two are having fun!” Ilya smiled at his son. 

“And Mila said Father Frost will bring us toys!” Nicky added. 

“He will,” Ilya said. In addition to getting Nicky a sledge for Christmas, Ilya had also gotten Nicky some new Team Canada jerseys for New Years and a puck and plushie with the Centaurs’ mascot. 

“I’m gonna borrow your Poppy and show him where to put his stuff, okay?” Lacey said. 

“Okay!” Nicky said cheerfully and Ilya followed Lacey into her kitchen, which was very spacious and had everything set up so that Lacey could easily maneuver in her wheelchair. 

The kitchen was lively. Shane was already there; so was Val, who Ilya had met at the wheelchair skills day, Nathan, who Ilya had seen perform but not met, and two older women that Shane didn’t recognize, but he could take a guess and assume that they were Lacey’s moms. 

Sure enough, Lacey introduced them in Russian. 

“Ilya, this is my Mama, Ekaterina, and my Mom, Tatyana,” Lacey introduced the two women, a tall plump blonde woman (Ekaterina) and a shorter, thin woman with greying brown hair (Tatyana). 

“Call me Kat,” Kat insisted in Russian. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“And Tyana,” Tyana said, also in Russian. “Nice to meet you, Ilya.” 

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Ilya said in Russian with a smile. 

Ilya realized that besides the All Star game and other league events, this was the most Russian speakers Ilya had been in a room with in years, possibly since his father’s funeral.

Lacey took Ilya over to the table where she instructed him to put the liquor he’d brought. 

“And then you saw Nathan perform,” Lacey said. “But I know you had to get back to Ottawa.” 

Lacey said that like she knew exactly what Ilya and Shane had done instead of going back to Ottawa.

“Nathan,” Lacey said. 

Nathan looked up. Well, Ilya wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say looked.  

“This is Ilya Rozanov. Ilya, this is my brother in law Nathan.” 

Ilya stuck out his hand for Nathan to shake and then immediately remembered Nathan was blind and couldn’t see it, but Nathan had also extended his hand and so Ilya took it and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You as well,” Nathan responded. 

“And you’ve already met Val,” Lacey pointed at her sister. “Do you want a drink?” 

“Sure,” Ilya answered. 

Lacey asked the other two people at the table if they wanted anything to drink and then went and made some drinks. 

“How much do you want in yours, Val?” Lacey asked from the bar. “Half a shot or are you taking a break?”

“I’m taking a break,” Val said. 

“Pacing yourself?” Ilya teased because it was a fucking New Year’s party and the entire point was getting wasted. 

“I wish,” Val grumbled. “My epilepsy has been giving me issues lately and if I get dehydrated from drinking it can trigger a seizure, so I have to be careful about how much I drink.” 

“Oh,” Ilya said. Fuck. Why was he so awkward? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

Val laughed. “You’re fine. I hate it too. Seizures are a bitch.” 

“They really are,” Shane said from where he was helping cut onions. 

Ilya turned quickly to Shane. “Nicky has had seizures, right?” Ilya asked.

“He’s had two febrile seizures,” Shane said. “When his fever got too high when he got sick, but that happens to typical kids too. He’s only had two when he didn’t have a fever. Thank God Val was there when he had the first one.” 

David had explained as much when Ilya had asked if Nicky had epilepsy. Technically, Nicky didn’t have it because he’d only had two seizures and because he was sick but didn’t have a fever when he had the second one, they couldn’t rule out the illness as being a potential cause. 

“It can be very scary for kids,” Val said. “I was glad I could help.”

Ilya was glad Val had been able to help too. It sounded terrifying. 

Fyo came into the kitchen. “Кино,” he said. 

“What movie are we putting on?” Lacey asked.

They ended up watching a Russian animated movie that had Nicky utterly enthralled even though he couldn’t speak Russian and that gave Ilya a bit of time to get to know the other people at the party. 

Nathan seemed pretty cool, and he’d asked Hannah to guide him to the living room, explaining that while he knew the blueprint of Lacey’s house, with so many people and things in the living room, it was easier to have a guide. Ilya was happy to help, especially since Val, Lacey, and their moms were cooking while Shane mostly looked pretty and got asked to do various menial tasks. 

Ilya, Hannah, and Nathan were tasked with supervising Mila, Nicky, and Fyo while they watched the movie. They were planning a mini midnight for Mila and Nicky, although Hannah had said that Fyo probably wouldn’t make it to midnight and might decide to celebrate with the kids anyway. 

They let Mila and Nicky open their presents and Nicky was delighted by his new beaver plushie and hockey pucks. 

Ilya had also gotten Shane a small gift, which was a framed photo of Shane and Nicky on the swing laughing at Ilya who was out of frame. Ilya felt bad since he hadn’t gotten Shane a Christmas gift and Shane had gotten Ilya a tag for his duffel bag that had a picture of Nicky and Ilya from Nicky’s birthday.

Shane seemed to really like his present, and told Ilya he felt bad he hadn’t gotten Ilya anything but Ilya told Shane that they were even. 

Lacey, Hannah, and Lacey’s moms had watched the exchange with amused smirks and Ilya decidedly did not read too much into that. Sure, things were awkward between Ilya and Shane because they had a child together and wee fucking and all of that was complicated but Ilya didn’t want to think about.

They did a fake new years countdown for Mila and Nicky, although Fyo said he wanted to go to bed so he joined the 9:30 countdown. 

“Желаю счастья, здоровья и успехов, Nicky! Я люблю тебя.” 

“What does that mean?” Nicky asked,

“It means I hope you have a very very good new year and I love you.” 

“I love you too, Poppy!” Nicky yelled. “How do I say that like you and Mila and Auntie Lacey and Mr. Fyo?”

“Ya,” Ilya said slowly. 

“Ya,” Nicky repeated. 

“Lyublju.” 

“La-boo-boo,” Nicky said, 

Ilya grinned. “Tebja.” 

“Tebja,” Nicky repeated. 

“Ya lyublju tebja,” Ilya said, 

“Ya la-boo-boo tebja, Poppy.” 

“I love you too, Nicky.”

After the kids and Fyo went to bed, Nathan asked Ilya if they could go in the den and talk and that was how Ilya learned how to guide a blind person. 

It wasn’t difficult and Ilya kept observant of their surroundings until they got to the couch. 

“So what do you do for work?” Ilya asked as an ice breaker.  

“I teach PE and coach goalball and I am a cross country skier and parabiathlete for Team USA,” Nathan answered.

“How long have you been skiing for?” Ilya asked.  

“SickKids did an adaptive skiing clinic when I was 15,” Nathan responded. “I actually met Lacey there. She almost didn’t come because she already did para ice hockey but her mom made her.” 

“And she met her wife,” Kat called out from the kitchen. “That’s why you listen to your mother.” 

Always.

“And Paul,” Nathan said. “Lacey is the one who introduced Paul to sledge hockey because neither of them wanted to ski so they sat in the lodge the entire time.” 

“Skiing is boring,” Lacey said from the kitchen. 

“Have you ever been skiing?” Nathan asked. 

Ilya shook his head and then remembered that Nathan couldn’t see. “Uh, no,” he said. “I’ve never been.” 

“It’s pretty fun,” Nathan said. 

“So you ski for Team USA? Are you…?” Ilya trailed off. 

“Good?” Nathan asked. 

Ilya nodded and then remembered again that Nathan couldn’t see him. “Sorry, yes. If that’s okay to ask-“ 

“Google him!” Shane shouted from the kitchen. And then he spelled out Nathan’s thankfully short last name. 

As it turned out, Nathan was very good at skiing and parabiathlon. The best in the United States and one of the best in the world. 

“Did you like Sochi?” Ilya asked since his Paralympic bio said he won his first gold medal there. 

“It was probably my favorite, minus the fact that I’m fatally allergic to mold and couldn’t stay in the village but Val is fluent in Russian so I didn’t mind staying elsewhere because we could get around for the most part. You were in those Games right? We watched the game against…” Nathan trailed off. 

Oof. It had been awhile since Ilya had thought about that game. He’d played the worst hockey he’d ever had in his life. It had been brutal. 

“Sorry,” Nathan said. “I don’t watch a lot of hockey, only when Val does or if Lacey is playing.” 

That was fair. 

As it turned out, Ilya and Nathan actually both traveled all over Europe to play their respective sports. Ilya had been to several international tournaments as a teenager and Nathan had been on Team USA since he was 17, although that was for goalball and not yet for skiing.

He had a lot of travel stories and Ilya and Nathan spent the better part of the next hour trading stories about various cities in Europe. 

Nathan was hilarious and before Ilya knew it, it was a half hour til midnight. 

“I’ll be in Europe for the next month for competitions,” Nathan explained. “It really works out for me that the school doesn’t mind a long term sub, but it’s PE, so…” 

“Who would like a shot?” Lacey asked from the kitchen. 

“I’m down,” Nathan said. 

“Me too,” Ilya agreed. 

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen. 

“Ilya,” said Val when Ilya was halfway over there. She said it like Ilya was forgetting something. 

“Yes?” Ilya responded. 

“Could you please go retrieve my husband from where you left him in the middle of the room?” Val asked. 

Shiiiit. Shiiiit. 

Nathan was cracking up where he was still seated. 

Ilya had totally forgotten that Nathan was blind and that even though he had explained he could usually navigate Lacey’s house with no problem, holidays were different because of people and presents and other things that Nathan could trip over. 

Ilya walked quickly over to the couch and Nathan stood still laughing. 

“I am so sorry,” Ilya said. 

“Canon event,” Nathan responded. “People forget. Val accidentally left me at the baggage claim when we were in Moscow and when we were in Oslo for a tournament, my coach almost forgot me in the dining hall. I mean, I can get around better when I have my cane but I left that in the kitchen.” 

“Sorry,” Ilya apologized again. “Can I grab your arm?” Ilya asked. 

Nathan offered his right arm and Ilya walked with Nathan to the dining room.  

* * *

“What are they talking about?” Shane asked as he watched Ilya engage in a very animated conversation with Kat. 

“Russia,” Lacey answered. 

“Really?” Shane asked. 

“My mom’s talking about how she had to pay an extra $15,000 in bribes to adopt Val,” Lacey explained. 

What? 

“I’m sorry, she paid $15,000 in bribes?” Shane asked. 

What the fuck? 

“Yeah, mostly judges and officials and stuff. She only had to pay $5,000 each for me and Fyo but I think that’s because Fyo was so sick when we were adopted they thought he was going to die.” 

“Sorry, so she wasn’t paying the adoption agency?” Shane asked. That had to be illegal, right?

“I mean she paid the adoption agency too too, but it was expected that you would need about $5,000-$10,000 in bribes to adopt from Russia back then.” 

“Isn’t that…” 

“Human trafficking?” Lacey finished. 

“Yeah, what the fuck?” 

“My mom sat us down and told us our adoptions were pretty sketchy when we were 16. But yeah, it’s fucked up what Russia did.” Lacey didn’t seem like she wanted to continue this topic so she changed it. “Anyway, Shane, you look stressed.” 

“I’m always stressed,” Shane said defensively, except he was stressed because he’d spent the last week thinking about sending an email that would alter the course of Shane’s life. 

Lacey just stared and waited for Shane to continue.

“I’m thinking about telling my team about Nicky,” Shane said quietly. 

“Wait, seriously?” Lacey asked. “And what about…?” She nodded at Ilya. 

“I figure that will become a rumor eventually,” Shane said. “And I won’t deny it, but I won’t offer up that information.” 

“Shit, Shane,” Lacey said. “Are you sure? I mean, this could…” 

“End everything I’ve worked for since I was 10 years old?” Shane asked. “Yeah, I know.” The truth was, Shane wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, to make Nicky an open secret in the league, but he also knew it wasn’t fair to Nicky to keep him secret anymore. 

“That’s a very brave thing you’d be doing,” Lacey said. 

“So why do I want to cry about it?” Shane asked. He didn’t feel brave. He felt like he was jumping off a cliff and leaving everything he knew to avoid fire behind him.

“Well, like Mila’s book says, you can be brave and sad.” 

* * * 

After midnight, Ilya ended up buzzed and next to Kat on Lacey’s couch, chatting in Russian.

“You teach Russian history, right?” Ilya asked because he’d been itching to talk to Kat all night. 

“Technically, I teach Soviet history but my emphasis is on Russia’s gender history,” Kat answered. 

“Russia’s gender history?” Ilya asked, unfamiliar with the word Kat was using. 

“I study Russian feminism,” Kat explained. “I’m currently looking at women in the Soviet era.”

“That sounds interesting,” Ilya said, except Ilya had hated history in school, not that Ilya ever had to pay attention, everyone knew he would be going to the KHL at 17 and likely the NHL at 18.

“Is history not really your thing?” Kat asked. 

“I don’t like history but it’s more like Russia is not really my thing,” Ilya replied. He felt his cheeks heat. 

“I understand. It’s complicated, very complicated.” Kat glanced at her wife. “I miss Russia sometimes and other times, I am glad I left.” 

“I miss part of it sometimes but I don’t think I want to go back home. I thought maybe one day I would want to show Nicky but…” 

Ilya trailed off. If they ever went public about Nicky, Ilya wouldn’t be allowed back to Russia. Certainly, there were people who would say Ilya wasn’t really a homosexual because Shane was trans, but overwhelmingly even if they didn’t see him as queer, they would associate Ilya with queer people and Nicky would be marked if people knew that he was conceived with and carried by a man. That was without getting into the whole Nicky having a disability thing.

“I have not been back to visit in almost five years,” Kat said. “Each of my kids feel differently about visiting Russia. Lacey still goes to visit when she’s in Europe and she loved it growing up. Val didn’t. But I think it’s different when you grew up there because it’s your home. Do you have family there? “

“I have a brother, but we don’t talk anymore. It’s good for us, I think. I thought about telling him about my son but… he still has prejudice for disabled, Ilya used the English word, people and if he knew I was…” Ilya trailed off. He actually didn’t know the word for bisexual in Russian. “Do you know how to say it when you like both, bisexual?” 

Kat blinked at Ilya and then said: “бисексуал.”

Ilya laughed because it was almost identical to saying bisexual in English.

“If he knew I was bisexual, I’m scared he’d react like my father and say that Nicky was being punished for me being bisexual.” 

Kat shook her head sadly.  “My mother was a single woman who had two kids. When my brother was born disabled, people said it was her fault because he was a bastard. People will always say nonsense about what causes disabilities people are born with. What about you? Was it hard for you to accept your son’s disability?” 

Oof. “Yes, it was very hard but the article you wrote was beautiful. I cried almost the entire time. What made you decide to write it?” 

Kat answered. “A few years ago I had a student who had a daughter born with Down syndrome. He had so many questions about what Fyo’s life was like and I talked about adoption in my class and he knew I had adopted disabled kids, so he asked me what it was like. He was very worried about his daughter’s future, and he was from Russia, so I decided to write something for him, and he shared it with friends with an autistic daughter and it kept getting shared. Here in Canada, with families in the U.S.. Someone even shared it in France and Germany. I think a lot of people were surprised that I chose to adopt disabled kids.”

“Why did you choose to adopt disabled kids?” Ilya asked. 

Ilya had read Kat’s reasons, that she had a brother who died from institutional neglect in Russia, but Ilya wanted to know more, to better understand why she chose disabled kids specifically when there had been no shortage of able bodied children in need of families in Russian orphanages. 

“I knew I wanted a family and when Russia opened its doors to foreign adoption, I knew that most families would want babies or healthy kids. I wanted older kids, and I knew the ones who wouldn’t be adopted were disabled. And to me, my kids, their lives are precious and special. In English, I see parents who have adopted say, “we could have missed this,” but I say, 'Мы могли никогда этого не узнать.'" 

We never would have known this. 

"I am so happy I have my kids, and I am so happy with everything they've taught me."

“I didn’t understand at first, how having a disabled child could be a good thing, but Nicky has already been the reason I’ve learned so much and he is amazing.”

“Your son is a very good boy,” Kat agreed. “Do you teach him Russian?” 

Shit. 

“Not yet,” Ilya said. He hadn’t really thought about teaching Nicky Russian. 

“Why not?” Kat asked. Her eyes narrowed and Ilya got the distinct feeling he was in trouble. “Don’t think because he is disabled, he is not capable and smart.”

“I know he is very capable and smart. I only met him 5 months ago,” Ilya answered. 

“So that is five months to teach him, yes?” Kat asked. 

Kat was technically correct. 

“Um, yes,” Ilya answered. “But he already knows English and French and I don’t know how to teach him.” 

Kat blinked. “You say something in English, then Russian, then sometimes only Russian and see if he can guess what it means. That is how we taught Valya and Laryusha English and French.” 

“I taught him to say I love you today,” Ilya said proudly, even if Nicky’s pronunciation hadn’t been exact.

“Good job,” Kat said. “See, teaching your kids Russian is easy. You just have to be consistent, Ilyusha.” 

Ilya’s face felt warm and his throat tight. It had been a long time since anyone besides Sveta had called Ilya that and receiving it from someone’s Kat’s age hurt all the more. 

“I will start practicing with him and be consistent,” Ilya promised. It would be hard to be consistent when Ilya was away half of the month and at practice or home games the other half of the month, but Ilya could start, and he could do it every time he was with Nicky, and they could practice Russian. Ilya just wished that he had more time to spend with his son. 

* * *

Shane stared at the email. Shane figured it would be easier to do it over email. To tell Farah what he’d been thinking or rather, what Shane had decided. 

Shane had decided on Christmas while he was watching Ilya and Nicky nap in the foam pit. Nicky was Shane’s everything, and he loved Nicky so much that it hurt, and Shane wanted to stop hiding him. He wanted to share Nicky’s smile and his laugh and his hockey skills with the world.  

Farah would probably curse Shane out, or maybe not. She had kids, she probably understood at least a little where Shane was coming from. She coordinated Shane’s PR team, and this was going to blow everything up. 

Shane had been intentional in his selection of his team. He wanted all women on his team, because, after a decade of watching how efficient and rigorous his mom was, how much harder she worked and how much more she knew about audiences, it was a no brainer. 

It especially helped now because it wasn’t super common for a trans guy to carry a pregnancy, and it had practically never been heard of for one to be a transgender athlete that had formerly been pregnant and Shane was pretty sure that men would not be able to accurately predict what Shane was about to go through. They definitely couldn’t predict how it would make Shane feel as the person who had carried Nicky.

Shane knew, deep down, that Nicky’s stroke had been random, that Shane hadn’t brought it on through wishful thinking or resenting the fetus inside of him or feeling nothing for Nicky when he was born and nothing but hatred for Nicky the month after.  Shane hadn’t caused it by fantasizing about not being pregnant anymore or by getting flipped around during the Stanley Cup. It had been random, something that happened on an unremarkable day during Shane’s pregnancy, perhaps even something that happened on one of the days when Shane couldn’t get out of bed, not even to train or exercise.  

But the media would scrutinize everything. They’d find some way to make Nicky being disabled Shane’s fault. And the conversations about Nicky’s disability would be awful. 

Shane knew his PR team could mitigate the blowback if they were proactive and aggressive at shutting down the conversation around Nicky’s disability. 

The narrative would be: he’s disabled, that’s a part of his life, and he’s an awesome kid and it would aggressively push back on the idea that it is tragic that the child of two hockey greats was born disabled. 

Shane knew he had a network of people who would go to war to defend Nicky. Every single Paralympian on Team Canada’s para ice hockey team adored Nicky, and each and every one of them would defend Nicky fiercely. 

Hell, it wouldn’t be limited to para ice hockey, nor would it be to Team Canada. Nicky had apparently charmed the wheelchair curlers, despite throwing shade at their sport at the Paralympics.  He’d done parabiathlon with Lacey’s brother in law, Nathan, who was on Team USA and who had apparently swept all his events in Beijing, (a fact that Nicky hadn’t mentioned to Shane because it wasn’t hockey related.). Nathan had also played goalball for Team USA for several years. Nicky had met and taken pictures with several Team USA (and Team GB, Team Norway, Team Ukraine, and so many other athletes he’d met in the village) athletes and they’d loved him. And if Shane had learned anything about disabled athletes, disabled adults in general, it was that they cared very deeply for the next generation of disabled kids. 

Nicky had an army behind him that was far better equipped to address ableism than Shane was, especially if they were prepared to, and Farah could put together a powerful campaign that would mitigate how much ableism Nicky received. 

It was going to be Shane that could become collateral. This could end Shane’s career.

That was a possibility, that professional hockey in the NHL would be over. Shane could probably find a European league that would allow him into their men’s league. He could still play professional hockey but it wouldn’t be the NHL. It would be slower and less intense and less visible and still hockey, but it wouldn’t be the NHL. 

Shane could also coach, if not stand up hockey then certainly sledge hockey. He wouldn’t be giving up hockey forever if this torpedoed Shane’s career, but Shane would be giving up playing the sport he loved the way he loved playing it.  Shane would be risking his body. His defenders could stop defending him, and all it would take was one hit to end it all. If the league knew, and Shane was free game, and… and… 

Shane was overthinking it, except he wasn’t. This was going to change his career. If he went public about Nicky, he would never get that secret back. The world would know. 

They would know that Shane and Ilya had fucked and whether it was once or 1000 times, that Shane had taken it from Ilya in his cunt. No matter how Shane tried to spin that, there would be a major part of his fellow athletes that would look at him and be unable to see anything but Shane taking it. Most would be disgusted. Some would feel emasculated because Shane was better than them despite the fact that he’d given birth, done something that they thought made women the lesser sex, which was ironic, because Shane had seen his teammates after getting kicked in the balls, and Shane was positive not a one of them could handle an unmedicated labor despite them complaining that their wives wanted pain relief because apparently epidurals were bad for babies, which was the stupidest shit Shane had ever heard. 

Shane could be targeted and some of the guys wouldn’t care about the consequences, and that’s what terrified Shane. Sure, his fellow players would despise him, but to target or hit Shane with an illegal hit came with consequences, potentially actual legal consequences. Shane was terrified that someone would hate Shane so much that he’d be hate crimed on international television and what a fucking sentence was that. 

But it would be freeing, that was the thing. Shane hated that he couldn’t tell everyone about Nicky without everyone knowing everything else. If there was ever a moment that Shane wished he was just a dad, just a cis, uncomplicated Dad it was here and now. 

Shane wanted to show his teammates pictures of Nicky. He wanted to haze the rookies by making them take detailed and highly specific videos of their hotel rooms so that Nicky could compare and contrast different rooms. Shane wanted to bring Nicky onto the ice when they won a playoff series. He wanted Nicky standing next to him on kids day during warm ups. He wanted to go to the para ice hockey World Cup and proudly proclaim that he was watching with his son.  

Shane wanted all of that. He’d wanted it for years. He’d just never had a reason to push for it, not until Ilya came into the picture and changed the story that they could sell to the media, not until Nicky was old enough to start to notice. Shane had a reason now, he knew he did. 

Shane had wanted it, even if it would destroy his career. Wanting it did not mean that Shane was okay with any outcome. 

Shane didn’t think that he’d be okay for a very long time if he lost the NHL over this secret. It would destroy Shane in little ways that the league couldn’t handle him being honest about the person he loved most in the world. It would destroy Shane to think about Nicky growing up and realizing exactly how much Shane had given up when the world found out about him.

Shane had a few years of good hockey left in him, a decade if he was lucky, but 8 years at least, and he could end up cutting it short. He’d played in the NHL for more than a decade. He’d had 1000 games. He held records that probably wouldn’t be broken for a while. It hadn’t been a bad career, but Shane didn’t want to let it go. Shane would, if he had to, if there was no other option. For Nicky, Shane would, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. 

The email was simple and yet the most life changing email Shane had ever sent. 

 Farah, 

I would like to start telling people about my son. I am going to inform my team that I have a child next month. I predict it will become news league wide two weeks after that, if not sooner. I am not sure my team will react well and the owners are very politically conservative. There is a possibility I will need to request to be traded and that the owners will grant it. In order of preference, here are some teams I am open to trades with: 

Ottawa- for obvious reasons. They are close to their salary cap or will be once Haas’ ELC expires. I am willing to take a significant pay cut provided Montreal agrees to pay part of my salary. If things go how I fear, they will take the penalty. Once my contract with Montreal ends, I will take a salary cut. 

The rest of the email outlined the other Canadian teams Shane wanted to be on, but Shane couldn’t imagine that Ottawa would say no to Shane Hollander offering himself up for significantly less than he was financially worth for family reasons. 

Shane pressed send. 

He quickly pressed unsend. Maybe he wasn’t ready just yet. Maybe he needed more time. Maybe this could wait until the end of next season. 

It probably couldn’t.

Montreal’s owners were very conservative and politically involved and it would probably be in their best interest to let Shane be traded. 

Traded. 

Shane was going to be traded. 

And probably for something stupid like future considerations. 

Shane tried to imagine Montreal fans waking up to their captain being traded to Ottawa for an IOU. 

He laughed so hard he cried. 

And then Shane actually cried, a little bit, about the fact that he’d probably be leaving Montreal if he told people about Nicky. 

And then he laughed at the concept of being a 4 time Stanley cup winner being traded for an IOU. 

He hit send. 

Then, because he needed to tell someone he texted Lacey and said: 

Shane Hollander

When you tell your agent you’re totally fine taking a pay cut and being traded for an IOU and it’s because you love your kid that much. 

Lacey replied a minute later. 

Lacey Volkolva Elroy 

Hey you’re worth at least an IOU and someone blackmailing your current owners because they run an illegal gambling ring

* * * 

Ilya sat in the driveway of the Hollander home. He was waiting for David and Nicky to get back from occupational therapy. He’d received a text from David the night before.

David Hollander 

Is it okay if you come over in the afternoon tomorrow? I know it’s your only day off this week but I have to sit in on Nicky’s OT appointment and then he has to get some vaccines. 

Ilya had stared at the text message. He wasn’t happy about missing out on time with Nicky, even if it made sense. Especially because this couldn’t help but make Ilya feel like an inadequate father because he should be sitting in on Nicky’s occupational therapy session and taking him to get his vaccines. 

Instead, he was getting a day cut short because someone else was taking care of Ilya’s son. Tomorrow, they’d probably lose a game and lose it badly and Ilya would probably stomp back to the locker room in a mood. 

And Yuna or David would text Ilya a sweet picture of Nicky, the same one they texted Shane, sometimes including the both of them in a group chat. 

And when Ilya got back to his hotel room he would look at the folder he had with photos of Nicky. He would look at the baby photos he’d asked David for copies of. He’d see all the versions of Nicky that Ilya would never get to meet. He would try to memorize every detail that he missed. 

It all hurt so much sometimes that Ilya tried to bury his feelings because he just wanted to sit with the joy of having a son, but he couldn’t help but think about everything he missed, everything he was still missing. 

Ilya loved hockey, of course he did. It was fun. It was exciting. He loved winning, which he wasn’t doing very much of, and maybe that was the only reason Ilya was even entertaining the thought that had entered Ilya’s mind when David was going over Nicky’s routine. 

Ilya could be the one doing this, and not just on the rare day off or during the summer, but every day. It wasn’t like Ilya was in need of money. Even if he put every cent Nicky was owed into a trust for Nicky, Ilya still had enough to live off comfortably for the rest of his life. And it also wasn’t like Ilya was automatically going to get deported if he retired. The Centaurs would most certainly be hiring new staff now that they had acquired Luca Haas and Troy Barrett and were done tanking. Ilya could also probably get into the Centaurs recruitment department or work elsewhere in the league. It was a possibility that Ilya was tempted to lean more into, but Ilya didn’t want to make a hasty decision based off some negative feelings that might not persist.

David’s car pulled into the driveway and Ilya got out of the car to help Nicky unload. 

“Poppy!” Nicky yelled cheerfully. 

“Nicky!” Ilya yelled back, just as cheerfully. 

“Guess what I learned at OT today!” Nicky said as David helped him out of the car. 

“What?” Ilya asked. 

“How to wipe my bottom,” Nicky giggled. “We used balloons and icky chocolate Ms. Jana wouldn’t let me eat.” 

Ilya smiled. “How did Ms. Jana help you learn to wipe your bottom?” 

“Well she told me that wiping my bottoms is a very important part of keeping my body safe and then we practiced and I had to wipe all the chocolate off the balloon!” Nicky beamed as they went inside the house. 

“And she gave us some stuff to practice at home,” David added. “I can set it up tomorrow.” 

Ilya felt a pang of guilt that he wouldn’t be there because he had a game, then a rest day, and then a road trip where he’d be gone for thirteen days. Ilya was missing so much. He hated himself for it.

“Why don’t we practice today?” Ilya suggested. 

“No thanks,” Nicky said. “I want to go take a nap.” 

Ilya didn’t know why all of this hurt so much.

* * * 

Bella was pretty sure she’d overdone it on the workout the night before. Something spontaneous in her had decided to do an impromptu Iron 70.3 triathlon distance  at the gym the day before, which was to say, not the thing she should’ve done the day before her first day back with the most energetic five year old she knew, but that was neither here nor there. Her shoulders were burning and she’d forgotten to charge her power assist so she was manual for the time being, and the day was already shaping up to be stressful. 

Nicky would probably be a little disregulated, seeing as his dad and grandparents tended to be a little less… firm than Bella. 

David was the best at being firm with Nicky and definitely held consistent boundaries. Yuna would only give in after pestering. Shane, for all the appreciation Bella had for her boss, tended to give in to Nicky immediately and with no reservations. It made summers a little bit difficult, even if summer break did come with a trip to a private cottage, a lot of free time, and it’s plethora of places to train, but it came with Shane giving in to Nicky… a lot. 

 Nicky was mischievous and thankfully not an outright menace, but he could still get into things, and most mornings at the cottage, Bella ended up having to clean up messes that Nicky had made before breakfast. Shane was apologetic and always helped but Bella couldn’t figure out why Nicky was allowed to get into Shane’s cassava flour for the third time or to pour out protein powder on the couch or how Nicky constantly was able to lock Shane outside.  

Bella had her work cut out for her but they’d probably go to the library, then lunch out because Nicky loved the cafe by the library, and then they’d have rest time. David had shared the calendar with Bella and Nicky had aquatic therapy in the afternoon. They’d do that, snack time, and Bella would prep Nicky’s dinner. It would be a busy day so hopefully Nicky would be excited about it and a little less ornery. 

Bella opened the door to the Hollander household and wheeled inside. 

“No, you have to cut it into two pieces!” Nicky yelled. 

Bella grinned. She was glad to see that very little had changed. Nicky was still loud and bossy as ever. 

“How?” An unfamiliar voice asked. It sounded… European? Like Bella’s Theories of Adolescent Learning professor. 

“Not like that! I want another one!” Nicky yelled. 

Who was that? Another staff member? 

Bella entered the dining room and then her hands stopped working, and not like they did when they were spastic because she’d gotten a PR in an IronMan. 

Bella was pretty sure she was hallucinating because Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Fucking Rozanov, was standing in the Hollander kitchen. 

“Bella!” Nicky shouted. 

“Nicky!” Bella returned. “I missed you!” She spoke to Nicky in French then turned to greet the tall professional hockey player that was apparently in charge of cutting Nicky’s toast. 

“I missed you too!” Nicky said in French. “Guess what?” 

“What?” Bella asked, hoping that his answer would provide an explanation for the six foot hockey player that was currently slicing a piece of toast for Nicky. 

“I got a Poppy!” Nicky said. “His name is Mr. Ilya.” 

The concept of being introduced to one of the most famous hockey players in the world. 

And then Bella had realized what Nicky had just said. Poppy, as in, Bella was assuming, father, dad, as in… Oh!

“Well, Ilya it’s nice to meet you,” Bella said. 

“Is nice to meet you too,” Ilya Fucking Rozanov said and he didn’t correct Nicky’s language. 

“Poppy helped make me,” Nicky added. 

“Oh, well…” Bella trailed off because the kid would just say anything. “That’s cool.” 

Holy shit. This did explain why Shane Hollander’s lawyer had called and asked her to sign an addendum to their already strict NDA agreement. 

She realized she hadn’t introduced herself properly to Ilya Fucking Rozanov and said: “I’m Bella. I’m Nicky’s nanny. They did not update me about this situation. Is David or Yuna here?  I actually can’t have anyone else but David, Yuna, Shane, or the household manager release Nicky to my care.” 

As if he’d been summoned, David appeared in the hallway leading to the dining room. 

“Bella!” He greeted Bella warmly. 

“Good morning,” Bella responded. 

“I see you already met Ilya,” David said. “Shane told you about him, right?” David asked. 

“I think it slipped his mind.” Bella replied. 

“Oh boy!” David looked alarmed. “Well, why don’t we go talk while Ilya and Nicky finish eating breakfast.” 

* * *

Bella was a young Asian woman with dark skin, very curly dark hair that went all the way down her back, and eyes that were darker than Shane’s. She used a purple cane and a black and grey wheelchair and Nicky loved her. Apparently, she’d been his nanny since he was two. David had filled in Ilya while Bella took Nicky to the library. 

Bella had gotten her master’s degree in special education and disability studies.  She did paratriathlon and had just done a World Cup circuit. Shane had apparently forgotten to mention to Bella that Ilya was going to be at the house, or that he was Nicky’s father, or really Ilya at all, and Ilya tried not to feel frustrated about all of that. 

“So, you take care of Nicky when he is in Ottawa, yes?” Ilya asked her. 

“Yes, and in Montreal sometimes, it depends, and I stay at Shane’s cottage with him and Nicky in the summer.” 

“And you study education?” Ilya asked.

“I actually just finished my master’s in education and disability studies and did my thesis on behavior improvements when accessible education students are given access to physical education.” 

“So will you still take care of Nicky?” Ilya asked. 

“That’s the plan, at least until this quad is over.”

Quad? Oh, right, the four years in between Olympics or Paralympics, in Bella’s case. “David told me you’re in the Paralympics. Triathlon, right?” 

“Yep,” Bella answered. 

This felt awkward. 

“So, you’ve known Nicky since he was two?” Ilya asked. 

“Eighteen months, actually. They were looking specifically for a disabled nanny that had experience with cerebral palsy, which I do have, but I’ve also cared for kids with it before Nicky.” 

Ilya was surprised by the pang of jealousy he felt. Even Bella had known about Nicky longer than Ilya had. Even Bella had more memories with Nicky than Ilya had. Bella knew more about Nicky’s care than Ilya did. Ilya was trying to learn but it was hard and complicated and Ilya was new at it because he’d lost almost five years of Nicky’s life. 

“He loves you, and he speaks French to you,” Ilya said when he realized he was being too quiet.

“That’s part of why I got hired. I actually grew up in a French speaking town and we only spoke English at school,” Bella said. “Nicky will probably do 50/50 immersion when he goes to school.” 

“Is cool, I think I’m going to try and teach him Russian,” Ilya said, 

“He’s still at a great age to pick up another language,” Bella said. “So it’s perfect.” 

Perfect. 

Ilya didn’t like that word perfect. Perfect would’ve been knowing about Nicky from the beginning. Perfect would’ve been singing lullabies to Nicky in Russian when he was small and blonde and blue eyed and looking just like Shane. Perfect would’ve been the choice to be in Nicky’s life. Perfect would’ve been Nicky knowing about Ilya before he was old enough to form opinions. 

This wasn’t perfect. Maybe Ilya needed to talk to Shane. 

* * *

Ilya had texted Shane with a re quest to talk and Shane invited Ilya over after a Montreal game. Nicky hadn’t come, so they didn’t have to navigate that, and Shane got the distinct feeling from the text that Ilya meant he actually wanted to talk and talk about something serious. 

“I wanted to talk because I want to be able to go to Nicky’s doctor’s appointments,” Ilya opened.

Shane took a deep breath. “Which appointments?” He asked even though he was hesitant to let Ilya go to any appointments. 

“When he has physical therapy and someone has to be there to see his progress,” Ilya explained. 

“My dad usually does that, or my mom if my dad can’t go,” Shane responded. It wasn’t like Shane was going to those appointments. Mom and Dad always updated Shane and Shane always integrated the therapist’s recommendations, but it was impossible for him to go to all of Nicky’s appointments.  

“Your dad said I could go instead,” Ilya said. 

Shane couldn’t help his irritated frown. Of course Dad had given permission without asking Shane. “Well, he didn’t talk to me about that,” Shane spat bitterly. He knew he was getting defensive, but that undercurrent of jealousy was stirring up again. Now Ilya was going to be the parent that not only played with Nicky more, but that got to go to all of Nicky’s appointments.

“That’s why I’m asking you now,” Ilya responded and his voice sounded hard now too.

“It’s too risky right now,” Shane responded, trying to keep his voice level so he didn’t escalate. “The more people that know.”

“They are his doctors. They have to keep this information private.”

Ilya had a point. It wasn’t like Nicky’s doctors or therapists would tell anyone about Nicky’s parentage. “But there are other people in the waiting room, other parents. Look, they can put two and two together.” 

“But you don’t even go to his appointments so how would someone even know that-” 

Shane cut Ilya off. “He lives almost three hours away from me so I can’t always go to his weekly appointments, but I go to the ones that are about his long term needs.

“Let me guess,” Ilya snarled sarcastically. “I can’t go to that one either.”

“They’re at the busiest children’s hospital in Canada.” Any patient or their parent could see the two of them in a hallway or exam room and out their secret. 

“He is my son too!” Ilya’s voice ticked upward and Shane leaned back in his chair. 

Fuck. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Shane asked.

“You treat him like he’s only yours. Only what you say matters,” Ilya responded.

“I am trying to keep him safe!” Shane snapped. 

“Keep him safe?” Ilya asked. “Or keep yourself safe?”

“To keep Nicky safe,” Shane responded coolly.

“Is that why you kept him secret from me?” Ilya asked. “To keep him safe? You didn’t tell me about him for almost five years. I only found out because I saw him and I knew. You lied to me. Every time you saw me you lied to me.”

“You didn’t talk to me,” Shane growled because Ilya didn’t get to pretend that this was only Shane’s fault. “That’s why I didn’t fucking tell you. I just wanted you to talk to me.” Shane tried and failed to keep his voice from breaking.

Ilya didn’t move for a long moment and then he said: “But you didn’t even give me a chance. You didn’t tell me why you wanted to talk. I didn’t get to decide if I wanted to know my son. You took that from me. And now you won’t even let me take him anywhere or tell anyone that I have him and I love him and I want to tell everyone how much I love him and you won’t let me.” 

“Ilya, now is not the time for this conversation,” Shane said calmly because this was going nowhere good. “We should talk next time.” 

“When? When we both have off in two more weeks? Why can’t we talk about this? Because you think I’m right?” Ilya demanded. “You knew it was wrong to hide it from me, not to tell me, even if I didn’t talk to you. All of his firsts, holding him when he was small, singing to him, seeing him when he was a baby, all of that I missed and I can never get that back.”

“Please stop talking, Ilya," Shane begged. He wasn’t even angry anymore, he didn’t want this fight to go there. “Please.”

“I just want to spend time with him!” Ilya’s voice was getting louder again and Shane was glad Nicky was in Ottawa. “I want to take him to the park and the zoo and to the fucking doctor. I missed so much and the pictures are not enough. I missed everything from when he was a baby and when he was one years old and two years old and three years old. I missed it all. And you got to have all of that! You got to know him as a baby and-” 

Shane couldn’t take it anymore.

“I don’t remember what he looked like as a newborn,” Shane stated quietly. 

“What?” Ilya asked. 

“I don’t remember what he looked like as a newborn,” Shane repeated with a steadier voice. “I held him maybe 5 times before he was two weeks old.”

“Shane-” Ilya tried to interrupt, but Shane wasn’t done. 

“I couldn’t look at him. I hated him. You want to know what you missed while you were off snorting coke off of some woman’s tits and letting people post that on Snapchat? You missed me destroying every trophy in my childhood bedroom when I was pregnant because Nicky had the hiccups and I couldn’t handle it and I begged my mom not to make me stay pregnant even though there was no way out. You missed me wishing he didn’t exist. You missed me wishing I didn’t exist. My parents had to put a fucking baby monitor in my room because they were worried I was going to kill myself because I wouldn’t leave my room and I was barely eating. And I don’t remember what he looked like.” Shane’s voice broke. 

He had no memories of Nicky’s newborn days that weren’t tainted by the fact that Shane felt nothing for Nicky, that he’d hated Nicky at times, that he hadn’t been able to hold Nicky. Shane hated himself for it, and Ilya was acting like it had been some wonderful period full of cuddling and snuggling and not full of Shane wishing that all of it would end, no matter how.

Ilya hadn’t said anything. And Shane finally understood what people meant when they said crestfallen because Ilya looked shattered. 

“Please go,” Shane whispered. 

“Shane,” Ilya responded, and he sounded like he was going to cry. Good. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-

“Please. Go.” Shane repeated. 

Ilya left. 

It didn’t take long before the tears started for Shane.

* * * 

Ilya couldn’t sleep. Instead, he kept replaying the look on Shane’s face, the devastation and betrayal Shane looked at Ilya with when Shane confessed that he’d been truly miserable while pregnant with Nicky and after Nicky was born, that he couldn’t look at and wouldn’t hold Nicky, that, and this was the worst part, David and Yuna had to put a baby monitor in Shane’s room because they were worried Shane was going to kill himself. 

So that had been what those photos had meant. Ilya knew that he’d been wrong to go there, to talk about the milestones he missed, about the pictures that weren’t enough, the pictures where Shane had hollow eyes and no smile. 

Now that Ilya knew, parts of the photo book were starting to make sense. The way that in the first photo of Nicky and Shane, Shane wasn’t looking at Nicky. He wasn’t even looking at Nicky in the second photo either. He was looking at the camera and it looked like he was trying to pretend to smile. Ilya had seen smiles like that. 

How could he not have seen it? How could he have not realized how bad it was for Shane when Ilya had seen that look in the mirror and before that, in his mother’s eyes? 

I hated him. That’s what you missed. I wished he didn’t exist. I wished I didn’t exist. 

And then, the gut punch. 

My parents had to put a baby monitor in my room because they were worried I was going to kill myself. 

Ilya had known it was bad, known from the look on Shane’s face when Ilya had asked about Shane’s pregnancy, known from the picture of Shane where he looked hollow and Ilya had thrown that in Shane’s face. 

Shane had wanted to kill himself, and Ilya hadn’t been there because he’d ignored Shane. Of course, Ilya had been dealing with his own demons. He hadn’t known Shane was pregnant. If he had, he would’ve been there. He would’ve moved heaven and hell to be there. 

I just wanted you to talk to me. 

Shane had sounded so desperate, like it still hurt. 

Ilya knew one day he needed to explain to Shane that he’d been depressed too, that the coke and the women and the drinking til he passed out and the disciplinary infractions were all because Ilya was trying to outrun his demons by doing anything but sitting with them. 

But Shane’s eyes had shown real pain and real hurt. Ilya had been the one to break things off, and when Shane had found out about Nicky four months later, he’d been alone and terrified.   

He’d been alone when he’d given birth, when he’d texted Ilya the day before asking about hockey and asking to talk when they were in Montreal.  

Ilya had ignored Shane. 

Shane had needed him. 

And Ilya wasn’t there. 

Fuck. 

Ilya was so stupid. 

How the hell was he going to fix this?

 * * * 

“So…” Shane sat across from two of his closest friends. Shane didn’t have many, and he definitely didn’t have many that weren’t connected to hockey. This was going to hurt. 

“What?” Hayden asked. 

“I’m planning on telling the team about Nicky,”

Shane said.  

Shane couldn’t read either friend’s face. 

They were quiet and Shane had the urge to say something to  fill the gap but the reality was that even saying that had punched the air out of him. This was real. This was going to be something Shane couldn’t undo. The news that Shane had a child was going to spread through the NHL like wildfire, but not a single person would be willing to go public. The commissioner would find out, and Shane suspected it would end with a visit to his office, one their lawyer would tell him to record . 

“I need you both to have my back,” Shane said. 

“Oh course, Hollander,” JJ said. “We have you and Nicky’s back. And Rozanov’s.” 

“Yeah of course,” Hayden said. And then he paused: “Do we have to have Rozanov’s?” 

Shane frowned. 

“Sorry, bad joke,” Hayden looked sheepish. “But you’re not going to tell the team that, are you?”

“Eventually, yes,” Shane answered but he understood Hayden’s concern. “But I figure they need time to get used to the fact that I have a kid before I tell them he’s Ilya’s.” 

“Hollander, they are not going to like this,” JJ said very seriously.

“Some of them won’t care,” Hayden said optimistically. 

Some was an overstatement. Shane estimated that at most there were six guys on the team that wouldn’t care. The rest would be disgusted, although most of them would get over it seeing as it had been five years ago, before many of them had even been on the Metros, and they’d recently won a cup. 

“Shane,” JJ said and JJ looked the closest Shane had ever seen JJ to tears except after a playoff loss. 

Fuck. 

Shane would be leaving JJ as the only person of color, alone, in the Montreal locker room. It was almost cruel.

“Are you leaving then?” JJ asked and he genuinely sounded like he was trying not to cry.. 

“Hopefully not,” Shane responded, but his voice didn’t hold. 

“Where would you go?” Hayden asked. 

“Ottawa,” JJ answered before Shane could. “Right? To be with Nicky?” 

“Yes, and Coach Wiebe won’t tolerate stuff like our coach will.”

“You’ve talked to Coach Wiebe?” Hayden asked.

“No, but Ilya has told me their locker room is more inclusive than Montreal and that Coach Wiebe does not tolerate homophobia and said that homophobic chirping is boring and lazy and will earn you some form of punishment from him. And also, Wyatt Hayes is there, and I know he’s good for locker room culture.”

“Hayesy? The guy you were in major juniors with?” Hayden asked.

“Yeah, I roomed with him for away games. His sister is gay.” 

“Playoffs this year are going to suck,” Hayden said after a beat. “Sorry, I know your family is important-“ 

“Hey, it could work out,” Shane said half heartedly. He didn’t really believe it, but there was a possibility, however small, that the metros could forgive Shane for having a baby and hiding it. There was a significantly smaller chance that they’d forgive him for the other father being Rozanov. 

It was ironic that Shane was having this conversation only a few days after Ilya had accused Shane of hiding Nicky from the world for selfish reasons. 

Sure, some of Shane’s reasons were selfish, but if this ended up going public, and it inevitably would once it was league news, it was going to blow up all of their lives, and Shane and Nicky were going to bear the brunt of the fallout, and Shane was fucking terrified. 

* * * 

Bella recognized it instantly. Nicky went still while they were lining up his hockey pucks and then his eyes went unfocused. 

“David!” Bella yelled. “David! Call 911!” She pressed the panic button that Nicky had in his room for good measure. 

“Nicky,” Bella said in a soft singsongy voice. 

Nicky didn’t look. 

Shit. 

“Nicky, I’m gonna help you lie down, okay?” Bella reassured Nicky. “I’m right here with you. Pepe is calling helpers. I’m right here with you.” 

Bella grabbed a pillow from the bed and put it on the floor and then she gently lowered Nicky onto it so that his head was in a safe place. She put him in the rescue position in case he started 

Nicky whimpered and then he started to shake. 

“I’m right here, Nicky. I’m right here. Helpers are coming, okay.” 

It was never easy to watch anyone have a seizure, and Bella like her heart was on fire as she watched Nicky twitch and shake. His entire body was overcome by involuntary movement and Bella was fucking terrified, but she kept calm. Nicky needed someone calm.

David came running into the room with Nicky’s rescue meds. 

“Hey, I’m gonna give you your medicine, okay?” Bella said to Nicky. “I’m right here, Nicky. Helpers are coming.” 

Bella wasn’t sure how aware Nicky was during seizures, but she knew that people needed calm and comfort in case Nicky was conscious.

David handed Bella the medication and Bella gently administered it. 

Nicky continued to jerk and shake, eyes rolled back into the corner, and limbs flailing every few seconds. The sound was the worst part. Nicky was in the rescue position, because he was at risk of choking on his own spit while he was unconscious, but it sounded like he was choking because he was sputtering and heaving and struggling to draw breath. The ambulance couldn’t come fast enough.

“It’s been sixty seconds,” David announced. “This is the longest one he’s ever had.”

Bella knew that, and it terrified her even more. 

“Nicky, we’re right here, buddy,” Bella reassured Nicky. “Helpers are coming. And we are right here.” 

Chapter End Notes

Spoilers/Content Warnings

CW: This chapter includes a medical emergency where a character has a seizure.

NICKY IS OKAY! I PROMISE!

Anyway yall, I'm off to Game 3 of the Flyers vs the Penguins in Round 1 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. I'm super excited and I'll be in the Gritty Chaos Corner.

Anyway yall can find me on Twitter @transshollander for updates, sneak peeks, insights into my writing process, and me being sometimes funny

And one more note: This fandom has seen an onslaught of authors either stopping stories or deleting their stories outright and it is mainly because of a lack of kindness and etiquette in comments. I love reading comments, it's one of my favorite things to do, and I love engaging with comments. I encourage y'all to be kind in the comments here and on other fics you read. We are writers who do this stuff for free because we love the characters and it can be really disheartening to receive negative comments.

I am always open to discussions of the characters and their decisions, especially because this chapter was messy and complicated and there were a lot of feelings but please just remember kindness.