Summary:

Angry footsteps thudded up the stairs, stopping just short of the edge of their bed. Shane's presence loomed there, his hands placed on his hips as he stared down his husband. There was something in his hands or rather a piece of clothing — his team issued sweatshirt. It was one of Shane's favorites to wear, it had become somewhat of a comfort item for him to wear. Well, that and the fact that it was one of the only sweatshirts that still fit this far into his pregnancy. "My sweatshirt doesn't fit." Shane folded his arms over his rounded midsection, brow scrunched together in the middle in an angry pout. Or Shane is getting bigger and is convinced Ilya is out to get him.