Archive of Our Own

Later everyone (except Shane) would ask why he hadn’t been on suppressants, which was a stupid fucking question. Who in the fuck would give Ilya Rozanov a baby? Not Ilya Rozanov, that’s for fucking sure.

The truth was he hadn’t really believed in wishbabies until he saw Xyusha’s cradle come drifting down from the sky, a sturdy wooden thing shaped like a ship with a flat bottom, a tiny little propeller, and a gold parachute glinting in the dawn light. It floated down like it weighed nothing and came to a gentle landing on Ilya’s doormat, right at his feet.

What the fuck? Ilya thought. The baby was sleeping peacefully, skin so pale you could see the veins in their tiny eyelids, little fingers so small they should have been impossible curled up under their tiny little chin.

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, looked at the cradle again, then looked at his phone. Wishbabies didn’t wake up until you touched him, according to the romantic comedies Marly had made him watch, which was why they were lying there as still as a doll. He resisted the bizarre impulse to touch them, to make sure they were okay. He thumbed open his phone and then stared at it, mind blank. Who did you even call when this happened? His first impulse was Shane, but, no, he couldn’t call Shane. He… He couldn’t call Shane.

He needed someone who’d know what to do and who spoke Russian. This was not a situation for fumbling around in English. He opened his contacts and browsed.

Most of Ilya’s Russian contacts were guys he’d partied with, in America or in Russia, and girls he’d screwed, but Mironov was an older guy, in his mid thirties, known for being reliable, the kind of guy teams liked to have to steady out the team, give advice to the rookies, not flashy or high-scoring, but someone you could count on. The Russian hockey players (a tightly knit group Ilya had never really gotten close to) called him ‘Dad’.

He’d approached Ilya the first time the Bears had played the Comets, took him out to dinner and offered to help him out with anything he needed. Ilya had only taken him up on it a few times, asked him some questions about immigration and confusing American culture he knew the other Russian players would laugh at him about. Mironov had never laughed, just patiently explained this or that.

“Mironov,” Mironov answered, voice gruff.

“It’s Ilya Rozanov,” Ilya said, suddenly realizing it was five in the morning in Texas. “I’m sorry to call you so early, but I have an emergency.”

“What is it?” Mironov asked.

“I have a…” Ilya didn’t even know the word for it in Russian. They didn’t have wishbabies in Russia. Wishbabies were stupid American things. In Russia they had a thing where sometimes the door you walked through went somewhere else. That was reasonable and manageable, unlike this. “Wishbaby,” he said, giving up and using the English word.

“Wow,” Mironov said. “Wow. That’s a surprise. Are you sure?”

Ilya took a deep breath to keep his temper in check— he had woken Mironov up to ask for his advice, after all. “A baby floated down from the sky! What do I do?” He was fully aware of how pathetic he sounded.

“Okay,” Mironov said, clicking into dad mode. “Have you woken it up yet?”

“No,” Ilya said, looking down at the baby.

“First you’re going to need supplies. There are charities to help out unplanned wishbaby arrivals, but those are for people who can’t afford the sudden expense— you should be good. I’m going to send you a link to a website where you can order everything you need immediately in one package. Next, get in contact with a teammate you’re close to who has children, someone who can come over and help you figure out things like putting on diapers and feeding. Then you should figure out everyone you need to call who shouldn’t hear about the baby on social media— teammates you’re close to, your family, so on. Once you’ve told those people, call the team and set the ball rolling.”

“The ball?” Ilya asked.

“Announcing it to the public.”

“Does the public really need to know?”

“They’ll figure it out,” Mironov said. “Better to control the story.”

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be okay, kid,” Mironov told him and Ilya was too stunned to even take offense.

“Yeah,” Ilya said. “Thanks.”

He sat down on his doorstep beside the cradle, despite the chill in the spring air. He looked down at the baby, at the wisps of blonde hair curling on the baby’s forehead, at the tiny tiny nails on their tiny tiny fingers.

“Fuck,” he said. His phone chimed and he looked down to see a text from Mironov— the link he’d mentioned and a ‘good luck, it’s going to all work out.’

“Fuck,” Ilya said again.

Ilya picked the most expensive wishbaby package, chose express delivery. The sun had fully come up, the sky turned a pale blue. Ilya scrolled through his contacts again. He didn’t want to call anyone, didn’t want to let them know, to see this precious thing he’d kept hidden from even himself. The baby’s perfect pouting mouth, their tiny button nose. But Ilya would touch them and they’d wake up and he needed know the fuck what to do when that happened.

There were plenty of guys on the team with kids, guys whose wives Ilya had gotten to know over the years, whose children Ilya had played with during preseason cookouts and family skates. He scrolled and considered, then finally called Perds.

“Rozy?” Perds answered, just as muzzy as Mironov had been. “You know it’s an off day, right?”

“I need help,” Ilya admitted.

“What’s happening?” Perds asked, sounding a little more awake. In the background Ilya heard murmuring. Perds’ wife, Ilya assumed.

“I got a wishbaby,” Ilya said.

Perds barked out a laugh. “What the fuck?” he said.

“I said the same thing,” Ilya told him. “It came to my door this morning. Why heaven send me baby?”

“Fuck,” Perds said again.

“I don’t know any baby things,” Ilya continued, now getting into it. “I don’t know diaper and bottle and…” he tried to think of other things babies did. “Baby songs?”

“Okay, okay,” Perds said. “Let me… here you’re on speaker with Melissa.”

“Hi, Roz,” Melissa said into the phone. “A wishbaby! What a surprise. It was a surprise, right?”

Ilya didn’t remark sarcastically that he wouldn’t have intentionally acquired a baby right before playoffs, but only because he was hoping she’d help him.

“I’ll send Sean over and I can come when Aiden’s off to daycare,” Melissa told him. “I took the day off because it’s an off day, so that’s no problem. Do you have some supplies?”

“I ordered a wishbaby package,” Ilya told her.

“That’s good,” Melissa said. “I can grab some stuff out of storage too. And talk to the other WAGs. But you’ll need some diapers and formula before the package arrives, so Sean can stop at the store for that. Did you wake your baby up yet?”

“No,” Ilya admitted.

“Wake them up,” Melissa suggested softly. “Give yourself a little time with them before Sean gets there. They’re your baby.”

Ilya didn’t say he didn’t want a baby, because the baby was right there, soft and sweet and so beautiful it made his heart hurt.

“Okay,” Ilya said. “Thank you.”

“Sean will be there soon!” Melissa told him. “Don’t worry— it’s going to be okay.”

People keep saying that, Ilya thought, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He picked up the cradle first. It was heavy and the parachute was still attached, dangling awkwardly when Ilya carried it inside and set it on the kitchen counter.

There was an envelope tucked beside the baby, gold to match the parachute. Ilya carefully removed it, opened the flap. It was a birth certificate. Xenia Ilyinichna Rozanova, Father: Ilya Grigorovich Rozanov, Mother: N/A (Wishbaby).

Xenia. Ilya considered what nickname to use. Xenya, maybe, but then he settled on Xyusha.

“Xyusha,” he whispered.

She was wrapped in a beautiful bright quilt embroidered with bears. Her blonde eyelashes were almost invisible against her pink skin. Tentatively, Ilya reached down and touched a fingertip against her tiny little fists. At the brief contact with her warm skin she began to move, to twitch a little, her tiny nostrils flaring, her mouth making a little sucking motion.

“Wake up, little sun,” he whispered. “Wake up, darling.

Her eyelids twitched, then flickered open. She had pale blue eyes. Ilya had heard some babies were born with pale eyes that grew darker later. Would Xyusha’s, he wondered. Would her cap of platinum hair grow darker?

She looked up at him unfocused, her little mouth working.

“Hi,” he murmured to her, in Russian of course. “Hi; I’m your papa.”

She blinked again. Ilya traced the curve of her cheek and the tiny shell of her ear. He’d never been particularly fond of babies, but Xyusha was clearly the best baby to ever exist.

Carefully, more carefully than he’d done anything in his life, maybe, he picked her up, untangling her from her quilt, supporting her head the way he’d learned when his teammates had thrust their newborns at him.

She stared up at him, wide eyed, and he stared back, some strange instinct making him bounce her a little. They might have stared at each other for hours like that, until the buzzing of the door jolted Ilya out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

It was Perds, arms laden with bags.

“Diapers,” Perds said, putting them down on the counter, “wipes, powder, formula, bottles— we already packed all of Aiden’s things away, so I bought new ones, although they have to be sterilized before you use them— some onesies. I got a few sizes because I didn’t know how little she was going to be. Oh my god, Roz, she’s the most beautiful thing.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “She is most beautiful baby ever.”

Perds smiled. “Let me sterilize these bottles for you,” he offered. “You’re lucky you called me and not Deli; Melissa made me learn all of the baby stuff but I’m pretty sure Deli never changed a diaper in his life.”

Ilya scoffed. “Deli is idiot,” he said. In his arms Xyusha squirmed a little. She blinked up at him, pursed her little mouth. Ilya was still in his running clothes, he realized. He still had his shoes on.

“He is,” he cooed to the baby. “Such an idiot.” He looked up to see Perds looking at him faintly amused and suddenly realized he was using one of those sappy baby voices. “How do you santi… thing the bottles, then?”

“Sanitize,” Perds repeated and popped the bottles in the microwave, explaining what he was doing and why and how to make sure you always have bottles on hand and ready to go and how to measure the formula and prepare. Ilya was a little surprised how throughout he was— Perds wasn’t a particularly meticulous person except in the ways that all professional hockey players have to be meticulous— about training and diet and so on. Melissa must have made him study, he thought, smirking, trying to take in Perds’ explanations as best as he could, distracted by Xyusha, who was now gnawing on Ilya’s finger, and all the unfamiliar English words.

Perds must have picked this up because he reassured Ilya that Melissa would go over it with him later.

“And of course you’ll have to get a nanny,” he continued, taking the bottles out of the pan with a pair of tongs and putting them on the drying rack.

“A nanny?” Ilya asked, surprised.

“You know, a person who takes care of your kids, like full time?” Perds clarified.

“I know what a nanny is.” Xyusha looked up at him with her wide blue eyes. How was Ilya expected to hand her over to a stranger?

“Since you don’t have a wife,” Perds told him. “You don’t have a serious girlfriend, do you?”

Ilya thought of Shane and shook his head.

“Or maybe your parents can come over and watch her?” Perds continued. “Your mom, I mean.”

Ilya shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head again.

“It’s hard,” Perds told him. “I remember when Melissa went back to work after Aiden. But I’m sure the WAGs will find a good one for you. Aiden’s nanny, Gloria, was wonderful. I can find out if she’s available, and I’m sure Melissa can get some other recommendations for you.”

Ilya looked down at Xyusha again. He’d be gone for days at a time— sometimes road trips lasted over a week. It was unthinkable. It was almost playoffs. What the fuck was he going to do?

A hand landed on his shoulder and Ilya looked up surprised. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.” Then he showed Ilya how to make a bottle and feed his daughter.

Melissa came just when Perds was showing Ilya how to change Xyusha’s diaper.

“The first few poops are the weirdest,” Perds told him. Xyusha hadn’t pooped yet, thankfully. “But the ones after she starts eating solid food will be the worst.”

“Oh god, diarrhea," Melissa said, coming in with an enormous bag thrown over her shoulder. “I brought a whole bunch of Aiden’s old things. They probably need to be washed— it’s a little musty in the basement.”

She dropped the bag beside the door and came over to look over Perds’ shoulder to where Ilya was fumbling with the tape on the diaper. “She’s so tiny!” Melissa squealed. “What’s her name?”

“Xenia,” Ilya said, “nickname is Xyusha.”

“Oh, little Xyusha, so sweet,” Melissa cooed.

Ilya fumbled with the snaps on Xyusha’s onesie and then pulled up her leggings and scooped her up into his arms.

“You’re a natural already,” Melissa said, with a smile. “Can I hold her?”

Ilya didn’t want to let anyone else touch Xyusha, but he’d have to start sometime, so he handed her over to Melissa, who carefully supported her head. “Such a beautiful girl, aren’t you?” Melissa cooed. “So smart and beautiful.”

Ilya gritted his teeth and repressed the urge to grab Xyusha back from her, to cradle her in his arms and let no one ever touch him again, but fortunately he was distracted by the delivery of the wishbaby package, which appeared to be an entire moving truck’s worth of stuff, including a set of furniture and what Ilya sincerely hoped was a years worth of diapers, but strongly suspected would only last a week.

“Where do you want this?” the delivery man asked.

Ilya looked around wildly as if a nursery might pop up in the middle of his house.

“Where are your guest rooms?” Perts asked, and so Ilya and Perts and the delivery man went to look at the guest rooms.Ilya picked the one closest to his room,and then he and Perts helped the delivery man carry the boxes back and forth until the bed in the guest room was completely covered with things.There was a crib and what Perts said was a changing table, a matching dresser standing by the existing dresser, now wedged between the wall and the adult-sized bed.

“Well, you certainly have a lot,” Melissa observed. She looked over at Ilya and laughed at his hungry expression, handing Xyusha back to him so he could cradle her against his chest, and started digging through the pile, making stacks of things that needed to be washed and finding places for everything else, telling Ilya what various things were and making comments about how she thought this brand was better or how people had always recommended something to her but she’d never actually found it that useful.

It was all a little overwhelming.

Ilya made some excuse and fled to his bedroom. Perds had told him that newborns should get a lot of skin to skin contact, so Ilya stripped off his shirt and gently removed Xyusha’s onesie, then laid back on his bed, Xyusha a warm weight on top of him, curled on his chest, her halo of blonde hair sticking up in all directions, her skin hot and soft against his.

He spent too long staring at her probably, stroking his finger through her short curling hair. The way she pursed her mouth and sniffed in her sleep, how her little fingers twitched. Was she dreaming? Did babies that young dream?

His phone chimed. He took it out and looked at it. He was going to ignore it, probably, but it was Shane.

Jane: It’s your off day, right? Want to Skype? ;)

Ilya smiled, excited and nervous all of a sudden. He remembered what Mironov had said about telling people. Shane would love Xyusha, he thought. Wouldn’t he? Shane loved babies, always blathered on about Pike’s large collection of offspring, and Xyusha was the best, most beautiful, most lovable baby in all of existence, so Shane wouldn’t be able to help loving her. Right?

(It wouldn’t destroy everything inside of Ilya if he didn’t. It would be fine.)

The bubbles appeared, then the phone connected and Shane was suddenly there, lying in bed despite the late hour, topless and wearing his glasses, clearly hoping for something.

He grinned when he saw that Ilya was topless, opening his mouth to say something, but Ilya cut in before he could.

“Hollander, I have big news,” he said. He couldn’t help grinning. It was awful. It was terrible, actually, it was life destroying, but Shane and Xyusha made the same thing inside of Ilya burn so brightly he felt like he was on fire.

Shane was thrown off. He sat up, revealing more of the soft skin that covered his hard muscles. “What’s up?”

Ilya panned the camera down so Shane could see Xyusha curled up on top of him.

“That’s a baby,” Shane said, sounding utterly confused. “Why do you have a baby?”

“WIshbaby,” Ilya said. “Came down out of the sky.”.

“Holy fuck!” Shane breathed. “Holy fuck, Ilya.”

“Swear jar,” Ilya said, smirking.

“Ilya! You have a baby! You’re… you weren’t… you didn’t even…?”

“No,” Ilya agreed.

“You love her already, don’t you?” Shane asked and his look of bewildered shock had already morphed into fondness. “She’s so beautiful. Look at her!”

“Yes,” Ilya said, smiling down at Xyusha. “Name is Xenia Ilyinichna, Xyusha for short.”

“Xyusha,” Shane whispered. “Holy fuck,” he said again. “You… what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” Ilya raked his hand through his hair. “What am I going to do? Perts say get a nanny. But I don’t know nanny! How can I leave my baby girl with a stranger?”

“I don’t know,” Shane repeated. “I can’t believe you have a baby. When can I see her? Or— if you want me to see her?”

Ilya stared at him, stunned. “Of course I want you to see her! How you can think…?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “Sorry.” He looked away.

“I want you to see her more than anyone else,” Ilya admitted.

“Yeah?” Shane asked.

“Everyone else can fuck themselves.” Ilya said.

Shane laughed. “I want to meet her too. A baby, Ilya. Does she have that good baby smell?”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Baby smell?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “You know how babies smell, right around their hairline? Like milk and something… I don’t know. So good, you want to eat them.”

“Shane, you cannot eat my baby,” Ilya said, seriously.

“Not really eat,” Shane said, rolling his eyes. “You know, like ‘I’ll eat you up, I love you so.’”

“What?” Ilya asked, even though that was how he felt about Shane a lot of the time, like he wanted to hollow himself out and tuck Shane inside him.

“It’s from a kids book,” Shane said. “About monsters. Books! I’m going to buy her so many.”

Ilya scoffed. “She only read cyrillic. Good Russian baby.”

“She’s American,” Shane said. “Isn’t she? I don’t know how citizenship works with wishbabies.”

“Her birth certificate is from Massachusetts,” Ilya said.

“So she’s American!” Shane insisted. “She’s going to have to learn English too.”

Ilya sighed dramatically. “You can teach my baby English and I teach her Russian, okay? Two language family?”

Shane’s eyes went wide. “You want…?” he began. “You mean… you want me to be… to teach her…?”

Ilya wanted that more than anything. “Since you insist she need to know English who else is going to teach her?”

“Oh,” Shane said and he smiled one of those smiles that made Ilya all gooey on the inside.

Xyusha made a little noise and squirmed a bit before scrunching up her face.

“Oh, she’s waking up,” Shane whispered, eyes wide like he was witnessing a miracle. “She looks so much like you. Your cute little nose.”

“I do not have a cute little nose,” Ilya protested.

Xyusha opened her eyes and looked vaguely at Ilya. She opened her mouth and made a noise that might have been technically considered a cry, but sounded more like she’d heard of crying and was skeptical.

“Oh my god,” Shane whispered. “Of course you’d have the cutest baby ever.”

“She is the cutest baby ever,” Ilya said proudly. “Of course I have the best baby in the world. I am the best.”

Shane laughed like he was trying not to laugh. “You should go change her,” he said. “But you’re still coming to Montreal next week?”

Of course Ilya was coming to Montreal next week. He had a game in Montreal next week. He hadn’t seen Shane since the All Stars. Xyusha made her little cry again.

“I don’t know,” Ilya admitted.

Shane nodded, seriously. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed.

“See you soon, then,” Shane said, and ended the call before Ilya could do something embarrassing like tell him he loved him.

Melissa and Perds were playfully arguing over something in the guest room. Xyusha’s new room. Whatever. They’d reorganized it into something that worked, though it was going to be temporary, definitely. Ilya would get someone in here to design a nursery, a beautiful nursery a little girl would love. He’d have to get rid of the adult-sized bed at least.

Melissa had also done the laundry and was now folding stacks and stacks of baby clothes on the bed, sorting them into sizes, both the clothes covered in sharks and trucks and hockey sticks that had clearly belonged to Aiden and the plainer yellow and green clothes that had come with the wishbaby package.

“Do you mind that they’re boys' clothes?” Melissa asked Ilya. “I figure it doesn’t matter— girls can like sharks and trucks and hockey, too, right? And they grow out of them so fast I never understood people who buy all these fancy clothes they’re only going to wear once. But I guess some people mind. ”

Perds laughed. “Judging by what they sell in baby stores a lot of people care, Liss.”

“Well I think it’s nonsense,” Melissa said, sniffing. “All this gender nonsense. If Aiden wants to play with baby dolls or do ballet he’s going to get to do it. And we don’t know! Maybe he’s trans and I’ll love him just the same and if you don’t I’ll divorce you.” She shot a little sideways glance at Ilya, as if afraid he’d go off on a transphobic rant or something and kick her out of his house.

Perds looked at her fondly. “Of course,” he said.

Ilya couldn’t help smiling at them. “I don’t mind,” he said. “Xyusha of course very likes hockey and I think probably sharks.” He looked down at her. “You like sharks, yes, Xyusha?” He held her up to his ear. “She says she likes sharks but favorite animal is bear.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Surprised she didn’t come in a little Rozanov jersey,” she said.

Ilya would have to have one of those made immediately, he thought.

Xyusha tried out her cry again.

“Oh, she needs changing,” Melissa said. “Why don’t you see if you can do it on your own?”

Ilya manfully didn’t not retort he could of course do it on his own, which was a good choice because at some point in the struggle Xyusha managed somehow to pee in his open mouth.

“Now you’re a true parent,” Perds told him, taking the baby from Ilya and clapping him on the back. “Baptized and everything. Go take a shower.”

Later, when Perds and Melissa had left and Xyusha had eaten and was asleep again, Ilya called Sveta up and told her the news.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sveta said. “I would totally offer to come and help you out, but I’m allergic to babies. Hives everywhere, it’s so gross.”

“I know,” Ilya told her, fondly.

“She’s very cute though,” Sveta said. “Send me pictures! But only one picture a day. Because of the allergy.”

Then Ilya called Marly and Consy, then he stopped procrastinating and called his coach.

“Some people you expect wish babies from,” LeClaire told him, once he’d gotten over his shock. Everytime I see Cookie at a family skate I tell the med staff to increase his dose of suppressants. But you…? Out of left field, buddy.”

“To me as well,” Ilya admitted.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done for it. I’ll get the PR staff on a media plan— no, you can’t keep it private, people are gonna see you with that baby and we need to have something ready to go— and you need to have a plan for what you’re going to do now. Of course, your contract allows for parental leave, up to five months, if that’s what you want.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I get it,” LeClaire said. “When Marley was born I didn’t want to leave the room she was in. And like I said, it’s your choice.”

“I’ve missed so many games already,” Ilya said. He wasn’t afraid the Bears would trade him for taking parental leave, not really, but there was always the niggling worry that being good at hockey was the only thing he had going for him, that the moment he stopped proving himself he’d be back in Russia with nothing.

“Your dad died,” LeClaire said. “You missed three games. No one holds that against you. And they won’t hold this against you either. But you need to have a decision as soon as possible. In the meantime I’ll update management. They’ll probably want to see you here for a meeting pronto. You have a car seat?”

“Yeah,” Ilya said.

“You think about your options, get in touch with your agent, and I’ll let you know when the meeting is scheduled for. Probably tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Ilya said.

“And congratulations.”

Ilya nodded, like LeClaire could see him and hung up.

He spent a long time staring at Xyusha sleeping. Somehow the day had mostly passed, the shadows were growing long.

He texted Shane

Lily: I don’t know what to do

Shane called him a minute later.

“Ilya,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

Ilya explained.

“I’m sorry that you have to choose between staying home with Xyusha and playing,” Shane told him when he was done.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “It is very hard.”

“I wouldn’t think,” Shane began, then paused. “Yesterday I wouldn’t have said that there’s anything you would choose before hockey.”

“No, me too. But today…”

“Do you think,” Shane said. “Maybe it was because you lost your family?”

Ilya stared at him.

“Okay, okay, yeah, that was a stupid question.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “So pros and cons, right? What are the pros of playing hockey?”

“It’s hockey,” Ilya said, flatly.

Shane gave him a look. “Your team is doing well,” he said. “Not top of the conference, but you’re going to make it into playoffs. So another chance of winning the cup. I mean you won’t— obviously it will be a three-peat for us, but you have a chance.”

“Fuck off,” Ilya muttered.

“What are the cons?” Shane asked. “You’re going to have to find someone to leave Xyusha with, right? The WAGs could probably help you find a good nanny or an agency, though.”

“They already offered,” Ilya told him.

“But you’ll be going on roadtrips,” Shane continued. “They can be long. But it’s almost the playoffs so, no more than, what four, five days?” He sighed. “Still a long time to leave a newborn.”

“I just got her,” Ilya said, resisting the urge to pick Xyusha up and hold her tight to his chest. “Even if it was a person I know…”

Shane made an impatient noise. “I wish I could be there for you,” he said.

Ilya laughed. “You take parental leave?” he teased. “You come and watch Xyusha so Bears win cup?”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Stay-at-home-dad; my dream job.”

Ilya’s heart clenched at the thought of Shane being Xyusha’s dad too. He’d already known he was hopelessly in love with Shane, but he hadn’t imagined being a parent with him until now. Images of Shane holding Xyusha flashed through his head; Shane feeding her, smiling down at her, Shane reading to her, Shane holding her hands her first time on ice.

“There must be guys that do it,” Shane mused. “I mean other single athletes that end up with wishbabies.”

“Without family to help?”

“What about Svetlana?” Shane suggested.

Ilya huffed. “She say she allergic to babies.” He shook his head. “She’s not a…” he searched for the word. “Person who stays at home?”

“Domestic, maybe?” Shane suggested. “Homebody.”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “English is so weird.”

“I don’t know, Ilya,” Shane said. “It’s a hard choice. What did your coach say?”

“What can he say?” Ilya asked with a shrug. “I have contract. Contract says five months parental leave. My choice.”

Shane tapped his teeth together in thought. “Maybe you could take a week off?” he suggested. “Spend time with her, get settled in, see if you can find a nanny you’re comfortable with? Maybe you don’t have to decide now?”

“A week means I won’t see you in Montreal,” Ilya reminded him.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “But we’ll be playing in Boston before the end of the year. I can come and see you and Xyusha whatever you decide.”

Ilya considered Shane’s suggestion. “I think you may be genius.”

“Shut up,” Shane said, blushing a little.

“Best hockey mind in NHL,” Ilya teased.

“My mom says that if you have a hard choice to make you should give it time and explore your options,” Shane told him.

“What would your mom say about wishbaby?” Ilya asked.

“If I had one?” Shane shrugged. “She’s not one of those moms who’s always asking when I’m going to procreate, you know? She wants me to put hockey first.”

“Didn’t you say she tried to hook you up with princess?”

“Well, yes, okay, that’s true,” Shane allowed. “And she would be delighted for me to pass on my hockey genes. She’d be buying that baby all the hockey-related gear they make for babies. She’d be googling ‘how soon can a baby skate’. But then she’d tell them ‘it’s okay if you don’t want to play hockey; I understand if you want to do something else’.”

“Is it?” Ilya asked.

Shane shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Mixed messages, you know. Maybe that’s not fair; it must be hard to be supportive but at the same time to let your kid know they have options.”

“Did you ever feel like you had options?” Ilya asked, curious. He hadn’t. Once his skill had become clear his future had narrowed into one possible path. He hadn’t minded; he loved hockey, of course. He’d fought for hockey. But maybe he didn’t choose it.

“Maybe,” Shane said, “but it was so long ago I don’t remember.”

“Yeah,” Ilya agreed.

“So you’re going to follow my suggestion?” Shane asked.

Ilya nodded. “Is good idea. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Yeah, I’m the one with the big head in this relationship,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

Ilya smiled and said goodbye.

Xyusha woke up every two hours. Every fucking two hours Ilya stumbled out of the bed and stumbled into Xyusha’s room and stumbled through changing her diaper and feeding her and rocking her back to sleep, wash rinse repeat.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, Xyusha in her car seat because he couldn’t figure out the fucking baby sling, he could hardly keep his eyes open and was pretty sure he had spit-up on his dress shirt.

Half of the team immediately swarmed Xyusha, cooing at her in four languages while the other half laughed at him.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single parent with a newborn,” Gags said, as if that was at all helpful.

“Congrats man,” Marly said, slapping Ilya on the back, “she’s gorgeous."

“Did you know you were voted the least likely to have a wishbaby in the whole league?” Fessy asked, snickering.

“I go to meeting,” Ilya said, with all the dignity and English he could muster.

“I’ll watch the baby for you,” Consy volunteered. “You know I watch my sister’s kids all the time, so I’m good for it.”

It would probably be for the best for Ilya to not bring the baby to the meeting, so he reluctantly agreed, although leaving Xyusha behind to get cuddled by someone else felt like having a tooth pulled out (or leaving Shane behind in a hotel room).

The assembled Bears management staff were already waiting for Ilya in the conference room, his agent, Kozakov, skyping in on the screen. None of them had been woken up every two hours, Ilya thought resentfully, hoping the spit up wasn’t too visible.

They gave the obligatory congratulations, then Hayes cleared his throat. “Of course, as Kozak reminds us, you have five months of parental leave available and it is to your discretion whether or not you use it.”

Ilya nodded.

“I don’t understand,” a nasally man who Ilya didn’t know asked, “why Mr. Rozanov wasn’t on suppressants.”

“Ilya completed the questionnaire at the beginning of the season and his answers didn’t show a high likelihood of having a wishbabies,” Erica, from the medical staff, answered. Ilya had been surprised to see her and now he wondered if this was why she was here, just to argue with this guy, whoever he was. “Due to side effects it’s best practice to only prescribe suppressants to people with a moderate to high likelihood, and it has been team policy to follow these guidelines.”

“Well if he showed a low likelihood and still got the baby, clearly it’s not best practice,” the nasally man said.

“This isn’t a meeting to revisit these practices,” Hayes cut in smoothly. “That conversation would be best left for another time. Ilya, we support your choices, but we do need some indication from you about what the next few months will look like.”

Ilya glanced at Kozakov— he’d discussed this with him earlier. It had been a good choice to hire an agent who spoke Russian, since he wasn’t sure how coherent he was at the moment.

“Ilya had expressed to me that he isn’t ready to make a decision regarding the remainder of the season and post-season,” Kozakov said. “He would like a week to bond with his baby and to explore possible alternatives prior to committing to a path.”

Relief flooded Hayes’ face. Better than he’d expected, then.

“Good, good,” Hayes said, sounding rather like a supervillain. He should be rubbing his palms together in anticipation, Ilya thought, absurdly. “We can revisit the topic then! Ilya, the team is happy to help in any way to get you and… Xenia… settled.” He pronounced Xyusha’s name like ‘Xena’.

“From the team,” someone else— an assistant of some sort— said, handing over a gift bag. “We are very thrilled for you, of course.”

Ilya peeked inside and grinned wide when he saw a tiny Bears jersey with his number on it among other Bears baby merchandise. “Thank you!” he said, pulling out a teddy bear wearing a Bears jersey.

“Ilya, if you have a moment, I’d love to go over the media plan,” one of the PR people said.

“Sorry, so tired,” Ilya told her, not even lying. Her eyes found the stain on his shirt and she nodded quickly.

“Of course— perhaps we can discuss it when you’re more settled.”

Ilya made his way down to the player lounge, relieved when he saw Consy and a few of the other guys talking quietly with Xyusha in her carseat asleep beside them.

“Everything okay?” he asked, already picking her up and cuddling her against his chest, feeling a tension he hadn’t known he was holding ease with the feeling of her hot breath against his neck.

“Great!” Consy said. “How the hell did you get the most easy going child I’ve ever met?”

“She’s only a day old,” Fessy argued. “Plenty of time for her to turn into a hellcat like her pa.”

“Bear not cat,” Ilya said, too tired to come up with good comebacks. He yawned.

“Seriously, Roz,” Gags said, frowning, “is it even safe for you to drive?”

“He’s right, Cap,” Consy agreed. “It’s rush hour right now too— the roads are gonna be a mess. Let me drive you and Xenia and Fossy can come pick me up.”

“Hey, don’t volunteer me,” Fossy protested.

“Not like you have anything better to do,” Consy told him. “Just gonna go home and jerk off.”

“I do more than jerk off,” Fossy mumbled, but he grabbed his keys until Consy pulled him aside and whispered something to him and Fossy nodded and headed off in the other direction.

“Come on, Roz,” Consy said, throwing the strap of his duffel over his shoulder, then picking up Xyusha’s carseat.

Ilya hadn’t even noticed sitting down. He heaved himself to his feet and stumbled after Consy and into his car.

When he woke it was dark out and he was sitting slumped in the passenger of his seat. He blinked, confused before thinking Xyusha! and looking around wildly.

He found her and Consy in the kitchen of his house, Xyusha sitting in her carseat burbling and Consy finishing up the dishes Ilya had left piled in the sink.

“Whatever you decide to do you’re going to need help,” Consy told him, hanging the dishtowel over the sink. There was an amazing smell and a moment later Consy opened the oven door and pulled out baked chicken breasts and baked potatoes. He served up plates for each of them, then sat down at the counter.

“You are very domestic,” Ilya commented, trying out the new word.

“Told you I helped with my sister’s kids,” Consy explained. “Her asshole husband left her when the baby was only two weeks old and I spent most of the summer in Albuquerque trying to keep them all alive. Mostly succeeded.”

“Mostly?” Ilya asked, squinting at him.

Consy shrugged. “Everyone’s alive anyway.”

“Even ex-husband?”

Consy’s look darkened. “There’s someone I’d love to run into in a dark alley.”

“Where I can get help?” Ilya asked, slumping forward, narrowly avoiding the empty plate. He put his forehead on the table. It was a very Shane thing to do. It made him feel closer to him.

“Perds said their old nanny is available. Said if you like she can come over tomorrow and she can help you out a little and you can get to know her. I’ve met her a few times— she’s pretty great. Great with kids and a terrific sense of humor.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “You not trying to set me up with the nanny?” he asked.

Consy laughed but spread his hands. “This ain’t a fucking Hallmark movie.”

Ilya was too tired to ask for an explanation of that.

Xyusha started her soft crying then, so Ilya picked her up and took her to her room to get changed while Consy cleaned the kitchen. He wiped her down and kissed her little belly and made sure she didn’t get the opportunity to pee on him.

When they emerged, Consy already had the bottle ready. “Fessy’s here,” he said. “I’ll let you two enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said. He hated how many times he was saying it, how many people he was finding himself obliged to.

“Happy to help,” Consy said and came over so he could kiss Xyusha’s forehead. “Don’t keep your daddy awake too much, sunshine,” he told her, and headed out the door.

Ilya was lying in his bed, Xyusha on his chest again, browsing wishbaby blogs, when Shane called.

“Hey, how’s it going?” ha asked. He was wearing those fucking reading glasses again. “Oh my god are you shirtless with your baby again?”

Ilya looked down at Xyusha and couldn’t help his fond smile, then looked back up at Shane, propping his phone on the nightstand. “Is recommended for new parents to have skin to skin contact,” he informed him. “Are you turned on by it? Kinky.”

“Not turned on,” Shane said, clearly uncomfortable. “Not exactly. Like it’s sexy but I’m not a pervert, so…”

“Good to know,” Ilya chirped.

“How are you doing? I was worried by your text this morning.”

“Worried?” Ilya asked.

“It was half in English and half in Russian and I’m pretty sure it made no sense in either.”

“Babies are exhausting!” Ilya exclaimed as quietly as he could while still exclaiming. “Hardly slept all night.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, sympathetically. “I’ve heard that can be hard. Especially without any help. How did your meeting go?”

“Got tiny tiny Rozanov jersey,” Ilya bragged. “Little bear cub baby.”

Shane scoffed. “Can’t believe you’d dress your baby in a second rate jersey.”

“Second rate?!” Ilya gasped.

“I’ll send you my jersey, Xyusha. Then you can represent the best.”

“Lies!” Ilya told Xyusha. “Slander! Don’t listen to him.”

Xyusha batted at Ilya, scratching him a little with her tiny nails, then mouthed at his chest. Ilya looked down. “What you doing, Xyusha?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh my god, she’s trying to breastfeed from you!” Shane exclaimed, laughing and going red at the same time. “Baby those aren’t the right kind of…”

“Tits,” Ilya said. “You can’t even say it.” He sniffed. “My tits are nothing compared to yours anyway. Xyusha,” he told the baby, grabbing her pacifier from the nightstand and popping it in her mouth, “I’m sorry Hollander isn’t here with his big tits.”

“This conversation is so wrong,” Shane muttered. “I can’t believe you’re having it in front of your baby.”

“In English,” Ilya said, breezily. “She only speak Russian.”

“So?” Shane asked, after a minute. “Your meeting?”

“Okay,” Ilya told him. “Hayes was very happy I’m not going on leave.”

“Well yeah,” Shane said. “The Bears aren’t going to get the cup even with you, so imagine their chances without you.”

“Don’t listen to this lies,” Ilya told Xyusha, covering her ears even though she was asleep.

“Thought she didn’t understand English,” Shane teased with his cute little smile. “I should let you go— you’re going to fall asleep any minute now. Doesn’t everyone say you should sleep when she does?”

Ilya squinted at him. “You are baby expert now?”

Shane blushed. “I might have done a little reading. But don’t distract me. Go put her down.”

“Goodnight,” Ilya told him, unable to help the wide smile that crossed his face.

“You too,” Shane replied and opened his mouth like he was going to say something more before shaking his head and ending the call.

Ilya wanted to sleep there, Xyusha warm against his belly, but he’d read enough to know it wasn’t safe, so he carried her back to her room, lying her down in her crib and brushing two fingers over her forehead.

“Goodnight, little sun,” he whispered before heading back into his room again.

Ilya was woken from a slump on the couch by a knock on the door. He peeled himself up and headed over to the door, blinking in the brightness of the morning. When had it become morning?

A small middle-aged woman was standing there, Hispanic, Ilya guess, neatly dressed with her black hair twisted into a bun.

“Hi,” she said, with a smile. “Mr. Rozanov?”

Ilya nodded.

“I’m Gloria Caballero. Mr. and Mrs. Perdue sent me. They said you needed some help?”

Ilya nodded and let her in. “Sorry— just wake up,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Gloria told him with a reassuring smile. “Newborns are a lot of work, I know.”

“We talk, uh, money?” Ilya asked.

“Sean and Melissa paid me for the day,” Gloria explained, “so we don’t have to work all that out just yet. Would you be uncomfortable if I cleaned your kitchen while you took a shower? I could wait in the car if that would make you uncomfortable.”

He blinked at her. She was at least a foot shorter than him and a hundred pounds lighter. “Is okay,” he said, waving a hand around and yawning.

“Do you drink coffee?” Gloria asked.

“You no make, uh…” he blinked again, waving. “Just espresso maker. Quick.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “Go shower.”

He nodded and stumbled off.

When he got back into the kitchen everything was cleaned, Gloria just turning on the dishwasher, and Ilya was feeling significantly more prepared to face the world. He made himself a double shot of espresso and downed the whole thing and was just contemplating cereal when Xyusha’s soft cries came over the baby monitor.

“Would you like to introduce me to Xenia?” Gloria suggested.

Ilya nodded and brought her to Xyusha’s room. “Not proper nursery yet,” he said.

“You’ve only had her for two days, right?” Gloria asked as Ilya leaned over the crib and carefully picked Xyusha up, her sobs quieting as she stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, laying her down on the change table and stripping her down efficiently.

“Then I think you’ve done a good job, all this in two days. Decorating and everything can happen when you’re more settled in.”

Ilya nodded, speaking softly to the baby as he wiped her down and changed her, then headed with Gloria back into the kitchen.

“I can make the bottle while you hold her?” Gloria suggested, and Ilya was too tired to protest, so he sank down onto one of the stools, holding Xyusha on his lap, while she made the bottle, far more quickly and easily than Ilya had yet managed. She handed it over and watched, smiling, as Ilya fed Xyusha and burped her.

“I can take over with her while you nap,” Gloria offered. “Then we can talk about things.”

Ilya tossed and turned. It was harder to sleep with Gloria there than with Consy, but Consy couldn’t become his nanny. Or could he? Ilya was a much better player. If it was a choice between Ilya and Consy, the team would definitely go with Ilya. Of course, matching Consy’s salary would be a lot, even for him.

He scoffed at himself and rolled over and punched the pillow. Gloria had seemed good. Very competent. And Perds and Melissa liked her, trusted her. She’d take good care of Xyusha. Ilya rolled over again and tried to count backwards from a hundred but it didn’t work. He finally gave up and called Shane.

“What up?” Shane asked. He was breathing a little hard.

“You having fun without me?” Ilya teased.

“Fuck you, just on the bike.” He turned his phone so Ilya could see the Voyageurs’ fitness room, then put the phone on the screen holder on the bike. It was not the best view of Shane’s face— he could see straight up his nostrils— but it was better than nothing. “How’s it going? How’s Xyusha?”

Ilya sighed. “Beautiful. Best girl.”

Shane smiled wide. “Where is she?”

“With nanny,” Ilya said. “I’m taking nap.”

“Usually when people nap they sleep,” Shane pointed out.

“Fuck you,” Ilya said, then sighed. If only.

“How’s that going?”

“Fucking you?”

“No, you asshole, the nanny. I mean, not fucking the nanny. I hope? That seems like a bad idea.”

Ilya sighed again. “I’m not going to fuck the nanny. It is the first day. She’s very good I think, but is hard.”

“I can’t imagine,” Shane said. “You said she was recommended to you.”

“By teammate. Perds.”

“Perdue? Hmm,” Shane said. “He has terrible taste in friends if he’s hanging out with you, but maybe he has better taste in nannies.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya said again.

“Hollzy!” Someone cried in the background. “Hollzy, I’ve been looking for you. What…?” His face appeared on the screen. Ilya recognized Miitka, the Voyageurs’ goalie. “Yo, is that Rozanov?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shane said. “We became friendly at All Stars. Rozy’s catching me up on the Russian gossip.”

“Cool,” Miitka said. “I wanted to ask you about the play you mentioned, but we can talk in a bit. See you on the ice, Rozanov!”

He disappeared from view. Shane’s head was still turned, probably watching him go, then he let out a low breath.

“It is normal for hockey players to be friends,” Ilya pointed out. “People do not suspect we are fucking. We could probably make out in the street and people do not suspect we are fucking. They will say ‘yes those are good friends’. They will say ‘oh, he is European, that is how they say ‘hello’ in Europe’.”

“Let’s not test it out,” Shane said, with too much plea in his voice.

Ilya couldn’t help laughing a little. “Maybe I only kiss you on cheek. Kiss kiss, very French. You speak French, no one will be suspect.”

“You’re the worst,” Shane told him, his ears going red. “Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be napping?”

Ilya groaned. “Orgasm would help nap but it is weird with the nanny here.”

“Children are supposed to put a serious damper on your sex life, I’ve always heard,” Shane told him.

“You put a serious damper on my sex life,” Ilya grumbled.

Shane frowned.

“You not here,” Ilya clarified, pouting. “Sex life very damper. Dampened?”

Shane’s eyes went wide. “Oh,” he said, his voice too high pitched. His ears were burning now. “You…”

Ilya smirked. “I see you soon maybe? If nanny work out.”

“I hope so,” Shane said, much more softly. “It’s putting a serious damper on my sex life too.” He looked away, then cleared his throat. “You should, uh, get some sleep, okay? Maybe we could skype later? When the baby’s sleeping? Not that I don’t want to see her…”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “We skype. After nanny leaves.”

Ilya woke up to all the laundry having been washed and dried, a list of things Gloria thought he might find useful, and a feast of dishes prepared and put away in the fridge ready for reheating, all of them in Ilya’s diet plan. Not surprising, if she’d worked for Perds.

They agreed on a temporary contract for the rest of the week, then Ilya left Xyusha with her so he could get some training in; he was restless with the need to move. He went for the long run he’d been planning when Xyusha had arrived (only three days ago!) and then spent some time in the weight room, showering and coming back into the kitchen to find Gloria cooking dinner with Xyusha in a baby sling tucked against her chest, speaking softly to her in Spanish.

Ilya got more and more comfortable leaving Xyusha with Gloria as the next few days passed, even going into practice and tape review, and finally made the decision to try the road trip to Montreal. It was a short trip, only one night, an early flight the next day, and he could surprise Shane. It was really only the thought of Shane that got Ilya on the bus to Logan, then on the plane, every extra meter away from Xyusha a tug on his heart.

Ilya napped on the bus but spent the plane ride catching up with teammates— mostly this involved showing them pictures of Xyusha, which most of his teammates were happy enough to endure.

Then it was to the hotel for their pregame naps, his pregame routine— Ilya wasn’t anywhere near as obsessive as some hockey players (Shane) about routine, but there were some things he always like to do; checking the the tape on his sticks, eating a grilled cheese and protein shake, playing two touch with some of this teammates before heading to the locker room.

Gloria had sent a number of pictures and updates; Xyusha drinking her bottle, Xyusha napping, Xyusha dressed in her Bears jersey with the caption ‘Good luck, Papa!’. (Ilya may have shown that one to everyone on the team).

Then they were getting into their gear, Ilya was making a rousing speech about how much fun it will be to flatten the Voyageurs, then they were heading out onto the ice.

Ilya wished he could see Shane’s face when his name was announced, when he skated out onto the ice and did his laps, waving up at the booing crowd.

The Voyageurs were announced and they spilled out onto the ice, lapping the rink before splitting up to do their warm ups. Well, the rest of the team began warm-ups: Shane skated across the ice to him. “You asshole!” he hissed, clearly trying to hide a grin. “You said you were staying at home with Xyusha!”

“Couldn’t miss the chance to beat you,” Ilya teased, then skated a little closer. “And fuck you.”

“Fuck, Rozanov, not here!”

“I didn’t think you were an exhibitionist,” Ilya said, waggling his mouthguard. Shane smiled, despite himself.

“It’s good to see you,” he confessed. He pulled his glove off and held out a hand.

“What’s this?” Ilya asked, surprised.

“My condolences on your loss,” Shane told him.”Congratulations on your baby? Oh, but that’s not public yet.”

“You’re so weird,” Ilya said, shaking Shane’s hand. They were up on the jumbotron, he saw, split with an image of them at All Stars, of Shane’s goal and Ilya kissing his helmet in celebration. Ilya wondered what narrative the announcers were making up. “Good game, sorry when we flatten you.”

“You wish,” Shane chirped back.

Ilya put his glove on again, smirked at Shane and skated away.

No one scored during the first period— not unusual when teams were well matched (not that Ilya would ever admit that they were). They had different styles of play, of course; the Bears were strong on defense and played an aggressive game, the Voyageurs strong on offense and played a smart one. (That was why Ilya had been chosen first, not that he would ever admit that either— if the Voyageurs had gotten first pick they would have gone for Shane without question).

It was fun playing against Shane— not as fun as playing with him was, but just having him there, near enough to chirp, sometimes, battling him in faceoffs, stealing the puck from him and racing him across the ice… Ilya didn’t forget Xyusha, but the pain of leaving her hurt less. He was meant to be here, on the ice, doing this.

The Voyageurs scored in the second period, an impressive backshot by one of the Voyageurs rookies after a fakeout by Shane, but then Deli managed to get one in the net and they were tied. In the third period Ilya told Shane “you’re going down,” and winked and Shane was so flustered he lost the face-off, shouting ‘hey!’ at Ilya as he soared down the centerline towards the net. The Voyageurs defenders showed up and Ilya sent the puck back up the ice to Consy, served around the defenders and turned to accept Consy’s return pass, but Shane was right there, moving in to intercept, eyes on the puck and not where Marly was racing to block him. He slammed into Marly and then into the boards and then crumpled to the ground.

Ilya didn’t hear the whistle blow, didn’t hear the ref’s call, shrugged away the hands grasping at him. “Shane!” he yelled and then he was on his knees and Shane was flat on the ice, eyes closed. “Shane!”

Shane opened his eyes and looked at him and smiled and then people were pulling Ilya away and other people were loading Shane onto a stretcher and there was blood on the ice and Consy was in Ilya’s face telling him he had to play.

He had to play. The buzzer sounded— coach tapped him in. He went over the boards, grabbed the puck, headed down the ice. There was a buzzing in his ears that drowned out everything else, but he played until it was time to get off the ice again.

Then the timer ran out and they’d won and Ilya was sitting in his stall, Marly in front of him now. “You get any new pics from your nanny?” he asked and so Ilya pulled out his phone and there was Xyusha, looking fuzzily up at the camera. Ilya smiled faintly at it, forwarded it to Sveta.

“I didn’t mean to hit him like that,” Marly said. “It wasn’t anything unusual— I didn’t know he didn’t see.”

“Do you hear— does anyone know?” Ilya asked.

“He’s at the hospital,” Marly said. “No word yet. I know you guys are friendly— during the All Stars…”

“I meet him at World Juniors,” Ilya said, not really knowing why. “I know him for so long.”

“Yeah,” Marly said. “Look, I’ll ask around, okay? Find out what hospital he’s in. Say I want to send a card or something— to apologize.”

Ilya nodded.

“Get dressed, “ Marly prompted and Ilya looked down and he was still in his gear. Yeah, he thought. Yeah. He stripped and headed into the showers, dried his hair and pulled on his game day suit. Marly was back, lingering. “Hurry up,” he urged. “You’re going to miss the bus.”

Ilya nodded and followed him out.

“I got the name of the hospital,” Marly told him. “Want to go there after we get back to the hotel?”

Ilya nodded again. He was like one of those bobbleheads, nodding and stupid. He had to shake himself out of this, whatever it was. He turned to Marly and offered his phone. “Want to see Xyusha in Bears jersey?” he asked, and Marly said “hell, yeah I do,” and Ilya made it back to the hotel that way, talking about how amazing Xyusha was to every member of the team who would listen.

They changed out of their suits at the hotel, then Ilya got into a cab with Marly. The hospital wasn’t far, but the ride was long enough for Ilya to wonder if he should get flowers. You brought flowers to people in hospitals, right? But buying flowers for Shane seemed… too revealing.

He’d buy flowers for Shane some other time. Shane would blush and pretend to be offended but his eyes would light up.

“We’re here man,” Marly said, nudging Ilya and they somehow managed to talk their way to the wing where Shane’s room was, Pike standing in the middle of the waiting room staring at his phone. He looked up when he saw them and scowled.

“Hey, man,” Marly said, holding up his hands. “Just wanted to apologize for the hit.”

Pike raised his eyebrows but gestured to the empty seats. “The doctors are with him right now.”

“He awake?” Ilya asked, hopefully.

“Yeah,” Pike said.

“What…” Ilya began. All of his English words fled. “How is he?” he finally managed.

“Why?” Pike demanded. “Want to know if he’s out for the season?”

“Want to know if he is okay!” Ilya bit back.

“Whoa,” Marly said. “This is just a friendly hospital visit, we’re just worried about a mutual acquaintance, no one needs to bite off anyone’s head.”

The doctor came out. “He can take visitors now,” he told them.

“I’ll check and see if he wants to see you,” Pike said, and headed into the hospital room, coming out a moment later with a scowl. “He asked for Rozanov.”

“I’ll wait here,” Marly said, dropping into one of the seats. The seat protested his weight and Marly winced.

“He’s got a concussion so make it quick,” Pike warned.

Ilya nodded and headed into the room.

“Ilya,” Shane breathed, with a lazy smile. “Hiiiiiii.” Drugged to the gills, Ilya realized.

“Hi,” he replied.

Shane lifted a hand, made a grabbing motion at Ilya and Ilya obediently crossed to his side, took his hand and squeezed it.

“No kiss?” Shane pouted.

“Not here!” Ilya hissed.

Shane giggled. “How’s… Xy… Xyu… your sunny baby?”

Ilya smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, then stopping. “No screens,” he said.

Shane pouted again. “No pictures of baby?” he asked.

“I'll mail some to you,” Ilya offered and Shane smiled again.

“I need pictures of you too,” he said. “So I can look at them when I’m lonely.”

That was a terrible idea, but looking at Shane’s soft expression Ilya couldn’t bring himself to do anything but promise he would.

“Pike said you have concussion,” Ilya said. “Your arm hurt too?”

“Collarbone,” Shane said. “Broken.”

Ilya winced. “Out for rest of season?”

“It’s okay,” Shane told him. “Could have been worse.”

It could have and the idea of it leaves Ilya with the irrational impulse to steal Shane away, to wrap him up in cotton until he can’t get hurt. Even though Ilya loves how strong Shane is, how reckless and brave, how he flings himself across the ice.

“Sorry I’m not going to see you tonight,” Shane said.

“It is tonight,” Ilya replied, just to be a brat.

Shane rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. “I missed you,” he said. “And now I miss Xyusha and I haven’t even met her yet.” He licked his lips and stared up at the ceiling. “I haven’t even met Xyusha yet,” Shane repeated. “You should come to the cottage this summer and bring her. We could spend a few weeks there, just the three of us.”

The words ‘the three of us’ steal the air from Ilya’s lungs. He can’t help imagining it, him, Xyusha, and Shane, a little family in the beautiful Canadian woods, far away from anyone who could see, who would know, who would judge them, hate them, try to tear them apart.

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, just as a nurse came bustling into the room. Ilya stepped away from the bed.

“Come on,” Shane said, still with that happy, sappy expression.

“Maybe,” Ilya told him, taking another step back. In the hallway he could hear voices he thought might be Shane’s parents. “I’ll text you. I’ll send pictures.”

“Promise,” Shane said, sleepily.

“Yes,” Ilya said and made his escape.

That night, in the hotel, he skyped Xyusha, Gloria holding her phone up so he could see Xyusha’s sleeping face, Xyusha staring up at the screen confused.

“She still can’t focus yet,” Gloria said, “but everything is going well. She misses you.”

“I miss you too, little sun,” Ilya said in Russian and Xyusha blinked in the general direction of the phone. He wondered if she could recognize his voice, if she wondered where he was, if she missed him the way he missed her. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll come home tomorrow,” he said, and then said goodbye to her and Gloria.

And then he was alone in his hotel room, alone and feeling lost. He’d never felt this lonely until he’d had people to miss.

Everyone was tired on the flight home, sleeping or playing a quiet game of poker at the back of the plane. Ilya stretched out in his seat and tried to nap, trying not to worry about Xyusha or wonder how Shane was doing. Had they weaned him off the strong painkillers yet? Had his parents been allowed to take him home.

They were more awake for the bus ride. Fossy had found a video he claimed was hilarious— something about Bostonians talking about a big fish— and made everyone watch it and Alds was going on about hitting up some night club he’d learned about the week before.

“You in?” he asked Ilya.

“No, you idiot,” Perds said. “He’s got a baby now, remember?”

Ilya’s baby was sleeping when he got home, her tiny nose twitching in her sleep, hands clenched into little fists and her perfect rosebud mouth working a little like she was dreaming of milk.

Carefully, more carefully maybe than he’d done anything, he picked her up, nestled her into the crook of her elbow, leaned his head down so he could breathe in her scent.

“I’ll eat you up I love you so,” he whispered. A noise made him look up and he saw Gloria standing in the doorway, smiling at them.

“I’ll just go,” she suggested.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “Thank you.”

Xyusha opened her eyes at looked at him. She’d grown since he’d been gone, he thought, feeling the weight of her. Even in just a day she’d grown.

They only made it to the second round of the playoffs, losing to the Admirals in an exhausting series of six games which all went into overtime.

Sorry you’re out of the running, Shane had texted when Ilya checked his phone after the game. He didn’t ask Ilya to come to the cottage again. He had, when they’d spoken on the phone for the first time after Shane’s injury, voice only so Shane wouldn’t stare at the screen.

“I was pretty high,” Shane had admitted, “but I meant what I said; you two should come and stay with me this summer. I want to meet her and I want to see you. It’s been so long, Ilya.”

They’d gone longer, but not since this newfound intimacy had sprung up between them, not since Ilya had begun to hope.

Ilya wasn’t happy, of course, that they’d been kicked out of the playoffs, especially not to Scott Hunter, of all assholes, but there’d never been an upside as powerful as the idea that he could spend more time with Xyusha now; that he wouldn’t have to leave her for days at a time.

Gloria would still be there, of course— he didn’t want to put her out of a job, and Xyusha wasn’t anywhere near being able to sleep nights— but he could take her on trips to the zoo and the Children’s Museum (“she’s far to young to get anything out of it”, Melissa had told him, amused, when he’d mentioned it). Maybe they could go for a whale watch (“don’t bring a three month old on a whale watch,” Melissa had said, very definitively). The world was their clam, or whatever that phrase was.

The zoo and the Children’s Museum and Cape Cod Bay weren’t where he wanted to bring Xyusha, but she’d have to settle for second best, even if it paled in comparison.

And then Scott Hunter won the fucking cup because of course he did, that asshole. Scott Hunter won the fucking cup and then called a guy down out of the stands and made out with him on live televison and Ilya had never been so jealous he could taste it before— not even when he’d lost the Olympics. Not even when Shane had been dating Rose Fucking Landry.

He stepped from the living room where he was watching with Perds and Melissa and some of the other old marrieds who’d stuck around Boston even after the season’d ended, into the dark room where Xyusha was sleeping, tucked into an old crib of Aiden’s and called Shane.

“You saw it?” Shane asked. “Can you— I can’t even. He just. Right there!”

“I’ll come to the cottage,” Ilya said. He looked down at how the city lights of Boston limned Xyusha’s face. “We’ll come.”

“Will you? Yeah?” Shane’s voice was breathless, gasping. “You— don’t worry about things for Xyusha, I already have a nursery made up.”

Ilya had to bite his lip and lean against the wall to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “Of course you do,” he said, finally.

“Always something good to have in case I have friends with kids come to stay,” Shane defended, poorly.

“How often Pikes come to your house?” Ilya teased.

“Never,” Shane admitted, a smile in his voice. “But I could invite them someday.”

It was a few weeks before Ilya could get his shit together enough to fly him and Xyusha to Ottawa. If Ilya had been honest with himself he’d have admitted that he could have moved faster. Going to Shane’s cottage— it felt somehow like making things official. Felt like finally facing up to something he’d been running from for the last who knew how many years.

But why start being honest to himself now? Xyusha would have to come to terms with having a cowardly, emotionally repressed father, but that was okay. Ilya’d be able to afford her therapy.

It turned out that Gloria was happy enough for the vacation— she was going to go back to the Dominican Republic to see her family. Ilya gave her a bonus to cover the cost of her flights and tried to figure out what baby things to pack. When Shane said he didn’t have to worry about things for Xyusha, what did he mean, exactly?

Finally the date of their flight came and Ilya somehow hustled himself, Xyusha, and a mountain of luggage to Logan, his baseball cap pulled down in the hopes that no one would recognize him, and spent the entire flight trying to hoping Xyusha wouldn’t suffocate from screaming so hard.

Ilya managed to be grateful that their first flight hadn’t been to Russia.

Shane picked them up at the airport, although he didn’t make it easy, hiding in his car while Ilya struggled to fit all of Xyusha’s million accessories into the trunk of Shane’s Jeep. Fortunately Xyusha had exhausted herself screaming and getting her into the car seat wasn’t much of a struggle.

When Ilya pulled himself into the passenger seat, Shane was twisting around and staring at Xyusha.

“She’s so beautiful.”

Ilya turned to look at Xyusha whose face was blotchy, her hair sticking to her face. He smiled. “Yes. I wish for the best baby.”

Shane rolled his eyes and got them on the road.

Xyusha was just waking up when they got to the cottage. Ilya unbuckled her from the seat and kissed her soft little cheek, then turned to Shane.

“Little sun,” he said. “This is Shane.” He held her up so she could look at Shane. She peered at him and then reached up to grab his sunglasses.

“Can I hold her?” Shane asked, his voice awed like he was asking to hold the baby Jesus.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ilya said, handing her over.

Shane smiled down at her, big and adoring, the kind of smile that squished Ilya’s insides into pulp. “Hi, baby,” he said, brushing his finger across her hand so she’d latch onto him.

Ilya meant to be getting their mountain of luggage out of the car, but he was transfixed. Shane was just staring at her like she was the best thing he’d ever seen; the same way he looked at Ilya sometimes.

“Hey,” Ilya said and Shane looked up at him, his smile only growing. Ilya couldn’t help taking a step towards him, close enough he could feel Xyusha’s body heat, and kissing him. Chaste— probably the most chastely he’d ever kissed Shane, but Ilya’s baby was right there. Chaste and yet it dug into Ilya’s heart more than any kiss they’d exchanged before.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Shane whispered.

Ilya laughed. “You already said that.”

“I meant it,” Shane protested.

Ilya finally managed to drag himself away and began unloading the luggage. “So romantic,” he teased.

Shane rolled his eyes but he was still smiling. “Are you moving in?” he asked. “Did you bring enough for the whole summer?”

“Babies need lot of things,” Ilya told Shane.

“I know,” Shane said. “I told you I already have stuff. Come on.”

Ilya grabbed two of the suitcases and followed Shane into the house. It was beautiful; walls that were all windows, hardwood floors, comfortable furniture.

“I got it all baby-proofed,” Shane said. “I know she’s not exactly old enough to need most of it, but I figured sooner is better than later, right? So there are plugs in all the outlets and I got things put in the lower cabinet doors so you need to unlatch them to open them.”

Ilya didn’t know what to say to that. Shane had had people come make changes to his house on the off chance Xyusha would be here when she was old enough to be opening cabinet doors?

“And this is the nursery,” Shane continued, opening a door. “It’s right next to the master bedroom.

Ilya stepped into the room after him and stared.

He’d imagined Shane had just bought some baby furniture, but he hadn’t. Or, well, he had, but he hadn’t just bought some baby furniture; he’d had the whole room redone. The walls were a pale yellow, the furniture white, a mural of forest animals painted directly on one wall, a rocking chair crowded with stuffed animals. There was a whole bookcase full of children’s books.

Ilya dropped the suitcases and went to investigate. The changing table was stocked with diapers and wet wipes, the drawers of the dresser were full of clothes.

“I wasn’t sure what size she was,” Shane said when Ilya opened the drawer and touched the neatly folded clothes lightly. “So I got a bunch of sizes.” He sounded embarrassed and apologetic.

But when Ilya looked up at Shane, Shane was looking down at Xyusha, Smiling at her softly. Ilya hadn’t thought it was possible for him to fall more in love with Shane. He’d thought he’d reached the highest saturation point, and yet here he was, digging himself even deeper.

Shane looked up then, face soft, eyes full of hope.

“You did this for me?” Ilya asked.

“For her,” Shane corrected. “Do you want a tour?”

“Xyusha needs a change,” Ilya said.

“Oh,” Shane said. “Do you want me to do it?”

“You are volunteering to change her?” Ilya asked, bewildered.

“Is that okay? Do you mind?”

Ilya blinked at him. “You can change all diapers forever,” he said, generously.

“That’s okay,” Shane said. “We can take turns.” He carried Xyusha to the changing table and expertly laid her down on it, pulling her leggings down and unsnapping her onesie easily.

“You already know baby care?” Ilya asked.

Shane shrugged. “I babysit for the Pikes sometimes. Honestly changing a diaper while not also wrangling two other children seems like a vacation.”

“Until she has diarrhea,” Ilya pointed out.

Shane laughed. “You can change all of those diapers.”

“Can’t take it when it gets hard, Hollander?”

“The last time you said that to me it was in a very different context,” Shane remarked, ears going a little pink.

Ilya couldn’t help laughing. Shane wiped the baby down, tickled her round belly to see her big gummy smile, then fitted a new diaper onto her and snapped the onesie back on. He pulled the leggings back up and scooped her up.

“Ready for the tour?” he asked.

Their days revolved around Xyusha, of course. Shane, having proven to be as willing as he’d claimed to be to help with her care, insisted he alternate feedings with Ilya. Ilya was too attached to sleeping to protest too hard. They went on hikes, with Xyusha in her backpack on Ilya’s back, and Shane dipped her in the cold lake to her delight (insisting his parents had done it to him when she was his age, so she’d be fine, and also what had happened to the Russian hardiness Ilya had always claimed?), and played with her on her playmat on the floor of Shane’s high-ceilinged living room.

And when she slept they fucked.

Ilya had dreamed of visiting Shane at the cottage, of course, ever since he’d seen the tv spot, had, horribly embarrassingly, watched it over and over again on YouTube so he could picture it accurately when he imagined fucking Shane against every surface. He’d pictured their time together as a clothing optional, so much sex you need to carb load, type of sexcation.

It was not that. Obviously it was not that.

It was Xyusha in the crook of Shane’s arm while he fed her, murmuring soft things to her in the early morning light. It was her squeal of delight when they played with her on the floor, Shane moving her stuffies around and doing silly voices. It was waking up and going into her room to see Shane watching her sleeping, like Ilya had done so many times.

It was the love and hope that wrung Ilya’s heart out like a wet dishrag again and again with every thing Shane had done to make the both of them welcome in his house, all the things he’d bought for Xyusha, the food he’d stocked for Ilya that he’d never himself touch, with every world and gesture of affection he showered on Ilya’s daughter.

We should probably talk, Ilya thought, oh, a dozen times a day. They definitely needed to talk. After what had happened in Tampa, after Ilya’s confession to Shane after Ilya’s father’s funeral (Shane hadn’t understood it but it had been a confession all the same), after Ilya visited Shane in the hospital, after Shane had decorated a fucking nursery for Ilya’s baby… yeah.

But the days were so bucolic, but everything was so easy, but Shane was so relaxed, more relaxed than Ilya had ever seen him (except maybe in that hospital room when he’d been stoned off his gourd). Maybe if Ilya spoke, let the words that had been fermenting inside of him bubble up, told Shane he loved him, asked if this could be forever, maybe Shane would snap back into all the anxiety and tension he usually wore like armor. Maybe the dream would end.

(So Ilya was a coward; what else was new?)

And then one afternoon, as they were coming in from the lake, Shane grumbling about Ilya splashing them then turning to kiss Ilya on the patio before his house, Xyusha smiling up at the both of them, Ilya heard a noise and turned to look and there was Shane’s father, staring through the window at them, at Shane in Ilya’s arms, at Xyusha in Ilya’s arms, Shane and Ilya half-naked, laughing, the baby pressed between them.

“Shit!” Shane exclaimed, then gasped and covered Xyusha’s ears. “Sorry!”

Ilya laughed, despite the situation.

“Fudge, fudge, fudge,” Shane muttered, barging into the house. “Dad!”

Ilya followed after him, nervous and concerned, Xyusha clutched tight.

“He’s gone,” Shane said, when Ilya reached the front door. “He just… left!”

“He live close, yes?” Ilya asked.

Shane frowned. “Yeah my parents have a house about ten minutes away.”

“We will go there,” Ilya said. “Be brave?” He half hoped Shane would say ‘no’.

Shane looked at Ilya with puppy dog eyes, then winced. “Yeah, I think we have to.”

“I have to change Xyusha and get the diaper bag,” Ilya said.

“Yeah, and we both should get dressed,” Shane agreed. “Maybe shower?”

“Maybe nap, maybe eat dinner, maybe sleep?” Ilya chirped.

“Don’t tempt me!” Shane exclaimed. “Okay, yeah, okay, we can do this,” and he headed inside.

Ilya packed Xyusha’s diaper bag while Shane took a shower, then handed her off only to find him changing her into a Voyageurs’ branded onesie.

“Serious?” he asked.

Shane tried out the puppy dog eyes on him again. “Don’t you want them to love her?” he wheedled.

“You suggest they won’t love her?” Ilya asked, returning Shane’s puppy dog eyes with his own. “She not lovable?”

Shane sighed. “I’ll change her if you want,” he said.

“It fine,” Ilya said, breezily.

“No— I don’t want her wearing anything you’re not comfortable with,” Shane protested. “I can change her.”

“We should go,” Ilya said, taking Xyusha from him. “It is not going to get easier if we wait.”

“No,” Shane agreed morosely. “Okay.”

He followed Ilya to the car, practically dragging his feet and climbed in while Ilya buckled Xyusha into her carseat.

It did not seem like ten minutes from when Shane started the car to when they arrived at a slightly more modest and older looking house, but that was possibly because Ilya was freaking out and pretending he wasn’t.

“Maybe you should stay in the car,” Shane suggested and Ilya gave him a look, sighed, then went to pull Xyusha out. Shane got the diaper bag out, because he was avoiding confronting his parents. “Maybe we should just go home,” he tried, but Ilya pushed him towards the house just as his parents came out of it, on to the porch.

Shane’s parents stared down at Shane and Ilya and Xyusha. Shane and Ilya stared up at Shane’s parents. Xyusha burbled against Ilya’s shoulder.

“Who’s the baby?” Shane’s mother asked.

“Mine,” Ilya replied.

“She’s a wishbaby,” Shane explained.

“Ilya Rozanov wished for a baby?” Shane’s mother said, in disbelief. It wasn’t flattering.

“Not intentionally,” Ilya muttered in Russian.

“She’s beautiful,” Shane’s father said. He clearly was the only one with chill in the family. “What’s her name?” he stepped down from the porch to better appreciate Xyusha.

“Xenia Ilyinichna,” Ilya said. “Nickname is Xyusha.”

“What a gorgeous girl,” Shane’s father cooed.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed.

“Ilya,” Shane complained.

Shane’s mother sighed and descended the few steps as well. “She is very cute,” she said begrudgingly. “So you two are visiting Shane…? That’s unexpected.”

Ilya looked at Shane. Shane closed his eyes for a moment. “We’re… He’s not just visiting. Mom. Dad. I’m. I’m gay,” he said.

His parents looked startled. Had they no gaydar? Had they really never looked at Shane and wondered? Heteronormativity was a bitch, Ilya supposed.

“I’m sorry I never told you,” Shane added, guiltily. “And this is Ilya— you know that— and his daughter, who he already introduced…” he trailed off.

“We’re lovers,” Ilya added, just to get the ball rolling. And to see Shane wince at the word.

“Eww, no” Shane said.

“You’re not lovers?” his dad asked, confused.

“Is there a word for that that’s not that?” Shane asked, then shook his head. “Nevermind. Yes. I guess.” He sighed dramatically. “Can we sit down?”

They ended up in the living room, Ilya and Shane awkwardly beside each other on one couch, Shane’s mother on the other, Shane’s dad in his easy chair. He’d somehow taken possession of Xyusha and while Ilya and Shane and his mother looked awkwardly at each other, Shane’s dad cooed down at her.

“So,” Shane’s mother prompted, looking pointedly between the two of them.

Shane looked at Ilya and Ilya raised his eyebrows, trying to communicate ‘she’s your mother’ without saying anything.

“How long have you two been together?”

Shane looked like he was a minute away from running into the woods never to be seen from again.

“We’re not together,” he managed.

Shane’s mother frowned, brows drawing together. “No? But David said…”

“We’re just…” Shane faltered, looking at Ilya again. “Just… you know…”

“Lovers?” Shane’s father asked, still playing with the baby.

“Oh my god,” Shane moaned, covering his face with his hands.

Ilya put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it.

“I’m sorry,” Shane’s mother said, clearly not at all sorry, “but did you bring your newborn baby to a hookup?”

Ilya was also considering running for the woods, but maybe there was a time you had to be brave. “Not just hookup,” he said. Shane had decorated a nursery for Xyusha, Ilya reminded himself. Shane had held him when he cried. He’d listened to him ranting about his family in a language he didn’t understand. Ilya could do this for Shane. “Not just lovers.”

“Stop using that word,” Shane complained, muffled.

“Loves,” Ilya said, then frowned. That didn’t sound right. “In love?” he hazarded. “I love Shane,” he gave up and said. Shane peeked out from behind his hands. “I love you,” Ilya told him.

Shane’s hands fell away like he’d forgotten to hide. His face bore an expression of wonder, the way he’d looked at Xyusha the first time he met her. The way he looked at Ilya sometimes when he forgot not to. The way he’d looked when he’d won the Cup.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ilya told him. “I mean to say it before, but it is hard.”

“Yes,” Shane agreed, then: “I love you too.” He took Ilya’s hand with both of his and held it, staring over at Ilya with sparkling eyes.

“Oh,” said Shane’s mother, her eyebrows raised, her eyes watering a little.

“I know,” Ilya told him.

“You know?” Shane sputtered. “How did you know?”

“You babyproof your house and Xyusha can’t crawl yet.”

“You babyproofed the house for him?” Shane’s mother looked like she was on the verge of tears. Ilya really hoped she didn’t start crying.

“How long have you two not been saying that to each other?” Shane’s father asked, in between making faces at the baby.

“Too long,” Shane admitted, sounding a little choked.

“We were hooking up before rookie year,” Ilya said.

Shane flinched a little.

“What?” Shane’s mother asked, then she shook her head. “I’m so happy for you two. We’re going to need plans.”

“Plans?” Shane asked, sounding alarmed.

“Coming out plans,” Shane’s mother elaborated. “If it’s accidental or intentional… thank goodness for Hunter paving the way.”

Shane’s ‘planning on running for the hills’ look was back. “Coming out?” he squeaked.

“Not so easy,” Ilya said. “I’m on visa but can’t go back to Russia if I come out. Maybe they send me to jail, make me disappear. So it is not good for me if something happens, if some accident means I can’t play hockey anymore. I need citizenship but it is hard in US. I think maybe marry American friend but…”

Shane looked at him sharply.

“I don’t want,” Ilya finished.

Shane’s mother looked up at the ceiling like she was thinking. “It’s easier to get citizenship in Canada than the US. Especially if it meant they’d get you on their Olympics team.”

“Only if I live in Canada,” Ilya pointed out.

“But you become an unrestricted free agent next year.”

“How do you know that?” Shane asked.

“Where do you think you get your encyclopedic knowledge of hockey and hockey players from?” Shane’s dad threw in.

“I keep up with the competition,” Shane’s mother agreed. “You’ve got a no trade clause with the Bears right now— you could ask for a trade, but you’d be restricted to a team that had something the Bears wanted. When you’re a free agent there will be a lot more options. You could go to any team that could afford you. A team that would be grateful to have you there and would do anything they could to keep you.”

“A team at the bottom of the league,” Shane said.

“A team in a rebuilding phase,” Shane’s mother corrected.

“You’re thinking of a team in particular,” Shane said, slowly. “Toronto, Vancouver are near their cap. The Rockets?”

“Think something closer,” Shane’s dad suggested.

“Ottawa?” Shane exclaimed. “They’re the worst in the league.”

“They’re rebuilding,” Shane’s mother corrected.

“Rebuilding implies there was something there in the first place,” Shane muttered.

“Nowhere to go but up,” Shane’s mother corrected. “They can afford you but they can’t trade for you.” She sat back with a smile. “Plus I know a lot of the management team. Shane used to play at their practice rink.”

“When I was seven,” Shane said.

“I always keep up with my connections. You never know when it will pan out. And because of that I know that Ottawa is committed to taking care of their players and to set an example as a safe and supportive working environment. They already have one of the most diverse teams and staff in the league.”

“Every team claims to be supportive,” Shane scoffed. “How many of them actually go through with it?”

“They fired Mickleson because he was using homophobic and misogynistic terms,” Shane’s mother told them. “They’ve got a policy of no bigoted language in the locker room or on the ice. They have DEI training for all of the staff and players. I think they’d be much more supportive if you came out or were outed than Boston would be. It would still be a risk, of course, but I don’t think it would be as much of one.”

“Plus you’d only be a few hours from Shane,” Shane’s dad added. “And you’ll get to see grandad all the time, wouldn’t you?” He cooed at Xyusha, who giggled.

Ilya couldn’t decide if he was alarmed or relieved at ‘granddad’.

“And what happens if we’re outed before then?” Shane demanded. “If something happens to Ilya and he loses his visa?”

“You can get married,” his mother said confidently, like it was that easy, like it wasn’t an impossible fantasy Ilya had hated himself for having. Like it wasn’t the thing he longed for the most; stepping up in front of a crowd of people and declaring, out loud, that Shane was his.

“Mom!” Shane protested.

“Shane,” his mother said. “You said you’ve been together in some form since before your rookie year. You love each other. Ilya has a baby. Don’t you think it’s time to get serious? Xyusha needs another parent.”

“You can’t just decide that for us!” Shane exclaimed. “Let me do my own proposing at least!”

“I’m just talking contingency plans,” Shane’s mother said, unconcerned about Shane’s outburst. “In an ideal world all this would happen on your own time.”

“We’ve been careful,” Shane said. “No one knew until dad…”

“I just think it’s a good idea to have plans in place for the worst outcomes,” Shane’s mother told him, clearly trying to be reassuring. “That way you can rest easy and hope for the best. Mistakes happen. Sometimes the world doesn’t go the way you want.”

“We can revisit this later,” Shane’s father added. “Are you guys hungry? What am I talking about, you’ve never not been hungry since you were twelve. We’ve got that quinoa pasta you like, Shane.”

“Yes, please,” Ilya said, although he didn’t like the sound of quinoa pasta at all.

“We can have normal pasta,” Shane told him. “If you like.”

Shane’s parents looked at him, surprised, and his dad smiled. “Of course, kiddo,” he said, and stood.

“Are you bringing the baby into the kitchen?” Shane’s mother asked, with raised eyebrows.

“Never too soon for a cooking lesson,” Shane’s father said.

“I haven’t even had a chance to hold her.” And oh, that’s where Shane got that pout from.

Begrudgingly, Shane’s father handed Xyusha over to Shane’s mother, who smiled down at her.

“I don’t even get to hold her?” Shane whined.

“You’ve been secreting her away in your cottage for weeks,” Shane’s mother protested, making a face at the baby. “Hello, Xyusha. Aren’t you so pretty? Aren’t you the most beautiful baby?”

“Only one week,” Shane muttered. “I didn’t even get to see her for the first three months. When I had the concussion Ilya had to mail me pictures.”

“Your papa is so silly,” Shane’s mother cooed to the baby. “He went to see Shane in the hospital and mailed him pictures of you and didn’t think he was in a relationship. You’re gonna have to do a lot of heavy lifting, I’m sorry to say.”

“Hey now,” Shane protested.

“I knew we had relationship, but we didn’t talk,” Ilya corrected, a little annoyed even though he knew she was only teasing. She didn’t understand how hard it was, how terrifying. How terrifying everything to do with Shane still was.

Shane’s mother said something to the baby in what Ilya assumed was Japanese, her tone suggesting she wasn’t just cooing at the baby.

“Mom!” Shane exclaimed.

“Oh?” Ilya asked. “You know Japanese too?”

Shane shook his head. “Only enough to know when I’m being insulted.”

“Oh no, Xyusha needs her diaper changed,” Shane’s mother said, ignoring this. “Doesn’t she? Don’t you need your little diaper changed?”

Ilya grabbed the diaper bag and stood.

“No, no,” Shane’s mother said. “I can do it. I’m an old hand, you know.” She took the diaper bag from Ilya, then looked at Shane. “Come help me.”

“You just said you could do it,” Shane muttered.

“Come on, Shane,” Shane’s mother ordered, so Shane got up, still grumbling and followed her, leaving Ilya alone in the Hollanders’ living room. He went over to the mantel and studied the pictures on it for a minute; there was an old one of Shane’s mother when she must have graduated college, two smiling Japanese people— he assumed her parents— on either side. There was one of Shane as a baby, frowning suspiciously up at the camera. There was a picture of Shane’s parents on their wedding day, Shane’s father looking like he’d won the lottery. All the rest were pictures of Shane in hockey gear.

With nothing else to do, Ilya wandered into the kitchen.

Shane’s father was pulling ingredients out of a cupboard, but he turned and smiled at Ilya when he came in. “Tomato sauce and baked chicken okay? I’m afraid we’re short on vegetables.”

“No tofu?” Ilya asked. Shane had been loosening up on his eating restrictions, had ventured into meat eating and even hazarded a pastry now and then, but Ilya wondered how much Shane’s parents knew about that— how much of his restrictive diet had been his parents’ idea in the first place.

“Of course we have tofu,” Shane’s father said, smiling. “I’m making Shane this air fryer tofu recipe I found. Its actually pretty good. Oh, I should have asked if you ate meat.”

Ilya decided not to make a lewd joke. “Yes, thank you,” he said. “I like meat.”

“Good,” Shane’s father said, turning back to the food.

Ilya stood there not knowing what to do for a minute. “Smells good,” he offered, once the onions had started frying.

“You’ll have to let us know what your favorite foods are,” Shane’s father told him. “I’ve never cooked much Russian food, but I’d be happy to try.”

Ilya blinked at the implication that he’d be coming to Shane’s parents’ house enough for his dad to make his favorite foods. And then he thought of Shane’s mother’s idea. They wanted him around, he realized and the thought made his gut clench. He’d thought he was getting a family, with Shane and Xyusha, but he hadn’t even considered this. And yeah, maybe they were only being nice to him on Shane’s behalf, or because they wanted a grandbaby that badly, but Shane’s father was still offering to learn how to make Russian food for him, still smiling at him and making small talk.

“You’re the cook here?” Ilya asked.

Shane’s father nodded. “Yuna gets carried away researching or doing things and loses track of time— if it wasn’t for me most of our meals would be Kraft dinner. I like cooking— it’s nice to have something to do with my hands. I learned to make a lot of Japanese food for her. I really enjoy learning to make new things.”

Ilya nodded. He wasn’t a huge fan of cooking himself, but he could understand wanting to take care of someone like that. Maybe Shane’s father could teach him to make some of Shane’s favorite meals and Shane would look at him with that astonished expression he got whenever Ilya did something nice.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Shane’s father continued, tearing up handfuls of lettuce and tossing them in a bowl.

Ilya raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve been worried about Shane,” Shane’s dad elaborated. “About how alone he always seems. I know the Pikes have practically adopted him and he’s got his teammates, but learning he’s had you all this time too… that’s a load off.”

“He hasn’t had me,” Ilya said, full of regret.

Shane’s father looked up.

“It was only hooking up,” Ilya admitted. “For too long.”

Shane’s father gave him a hard look for a moment. “But he has you now?” he asked, clearly implying that the answer better be ‘yes’.

Shane had Ilya for as long as he’d put up with him, but Ilya didn’t know how to say that so he just nodded, mouth dry.

“Then I’m glad he has you now.” He sighed. “It’s a tough road ahead, I know, and I wish the world were kinder. I’ve always wished that for Shane; he’s always been too different.”

“That’s not his fault,” Ilya said, more heatedly than he meant to.

“That’s why I said that I wish the world were kinder, not that I wish Shane were different. I love him for exactly how he is and I’m appalled that everyone who meets him doesn’t see that he’s perfect for who he is. He’s whole life everyone around him has told him he needs to change— to be more social, more relaxed, to have different interests, and, I assume, to be straighter— and I wish I could have protected him from that somehow, made him understand that they were all wrong.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, and then something made him look behind him. Shane was standing there looking on the verge of tears. Ilya stepped over to him and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back.

“I mean it,” Shane’s father told Shane. “There’s nothing I would change about you.”

“Me too,” Ilya said and kissed Shane’s forehead.

“So you don’t wish I was less boring?” Shane asked.

“No,” Ilya admitted. “I like you boring. Just like you like me because I’m asshole.”

“Who said I liked you?” Shane muttered, but he ruined it with a smile.

“Should we have wine with dinner?” Shane’s father asked, putting a pot of water on the stove. “I think we need some wine.”

“Champange,” Shane’s mother suggested, coming into the kitchen with Xyusha in her arms. She passed her over to Ilya and the baby curled against his chest, clearly ready for a nap. “We have something to celebrate, after all.”

“We don’t have any champagne,” David said. “You drank it all when Hunter won the cup, remember? You were champagne-drunk and talking about how it was a new era of acceptance."

“Well,” Shane’s mother said, not seeming at all embarrassed. “I guess we’ll have to go with wine then. “Red?” She crossed to a wine rack and took a moment selecting a bottle.

“I’m going to get Xyusha’s car seat,” Ilya said and walked through the house, his baby a heavy weight in his arms, everything that had just happened ringing through his ears, coming out plans and trades and the bizarre idea that he’d just been adopted.

Ilya had played for the Bears for eight years; he’d won a cup with them. They were good guys, for the most part, or they kept their more offensive opinions to themselves, mostly, anyway. He’d thought he was going to be a Bear until he retired, or almost until then.

Maybe when he was an older player they’d trade him. Teams did that; you were supposed to be loyal to them but they didn’t have to be loyal to you right back. Unless you had a no trade clause in your contract, if you pulled that kind of weight, you knew that there was always a chance your agent could call you up with the news and you’d be on a plane the next day, scrambling to find a real estate agent to deal with your housing.

Your children would have to move to a new school, your wife would have to find a new job, new friends, your teammates would suddenly become your rivals, and your rivals would suddenly become your teammates. You could go from fighting a guy on the ice one day to sharing a locker room the next.

If Ilya came out he didn’t know if the Bears would have his back, if his lineys would pass to him, if his defensemen would do their jobs. Would they listen to him on the ice? Would they complain about having to share the same showers?

The team couldn’t trade him without his agreement, they couldn’t fire him for being queer without him suing the ice out from underneath them, but they could make his life hell.

Yeah, he wasn’t so hung up on leaving the franchise, but leaving his friends, that hurt more. Marly and Consy and all the guys he used to party with, Perds and Deli and their wives and all his new parent friends. All of them would leave, eventually, traded away or retired. That was hockey life; knowing that nothing was permanent. You skated until you were thirty-five or forty, if you were extremely lucky, and then you had to find something new to occupy your time.

Ilya buckled Xyusha into her carseat, then detached it from its base and headed back toward the house, stopping and sitting on the steps, looking out at the forest behind Shane’s parents house.

Ottawa wasn’t Boston, but maybe it would be a nice place to live. It was smaller and people were more friendly (which wasn’t saying much; it was hard to find people less friendly than Massholes). Shane’s parents seemed interested in getting to know him— and seemed extremely invested in adopting Xyusha as a grandbaby— and he’d be able to see Shane every week or two during season, probably, whenever either of them could find the time to make the two hour drive.

The door opened behind Ilya and he turned and smiled at Shane, who crossed the porch and sat down next to him, close enough that their arms pressed together. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Ilya wrapped an arm around him. “Just thinking. It’s a lot.”

“Is it okay?” Shane asked. “Sorry my dad was being weird about Xyusha and mom came up with a whole game plan for you without asking…”

“I like it,” Ilya admitted. “I like your parents are so interested. Xyusha needs grandparents.”

Shane looked at him, eyes wide. “You mean… Does that mean you want me to be her father, too?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said, turning to smile at him affectionately. “Maybe you are too stupid.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane muttered, pinching his thigh.

“Yes, you idiot,” Ilya told him. “You want to be her dad?”

“Yes!” Shane exclaimed, then glanced at the sleeping baby. “Yes,” he said, more quietly. “I do, so much. More than anything.”

“You want to be with me that long?” Ilya asked. “It is a long commitment."

“You’re the idiot,” Shane said. “I want to be with you forever.”

Ilya leaned down and pressed his forehead against Shane’s. “You can be strict parent,” he offered. “Eat your vegetables, do your homework, go to bed.”

Shane snorted. “And what are you going to do?”

“Teach her to play hockey, of course,” Ilya said.

“Wow, what an offer, how can I refuse?” but he didn’t pull away, sinking deeper into Ilya’s arms, pressing his head against Ilya’s shoulder. Behind them, Ilya could see Shane’s parents at their door, looking out at them, smiling.

Epilogue

Xyusha wasn’t terribly interested in playing hockey past midgets, it turned out. She wanted to be a biologist, joined the chess team, and was obsessed with anime. It was Keiko, their second wishbaby, who followed in her fathers’ footsteps, drafted into the NHL thirty years after her fathers and seven years after the draft was officially opened to women. She accepted the Admirals jersey from an almost entirely gray Scott Hunter while Ilya and Shane and Shane’s parents and Xyusha cheered and Sam, their youngest, looked up for a moment from his PlayStation 4D to say ‘cool. Don’t you hate those guys though?’

“We don’t hate anyone,” Shane attempted, but Ilya’s scoff was cut off. “We only hate the Voyageurs,” he corrected, but Sam was focused again on his game and didn’t show any sign that he’d heard.

“I’m going to go talk to Ruby,” Xyusha said, clearly having decided that since Keiko’s draft was over she was free to roam the stadium. The Pikes were nearby, their sixth kid, Robby, projected to be a second round pick.

Ilya slung an arm around Shane’s shoulders and sighed. “Xyusha in grad school, Keiko going to New York, Sam sucked into that game to never be heard from again, don’t you think the nest is getting a little empty?”

Shane gave him an unimpressed look and took out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting your doctor that she needs to increase your suppressants,” Shane answered, pocketing the phone again.

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Like I actually take those. I just flush them down the toilet.”

“Ilya Rozanov!” Shane exclaimed. “First of all that causes water pollution and you know it, and second of all, if another cradle comes floating down from the heavens you’re going to be taking care of them all on your own!”

“But you love babies and you are so bored now,” Ilya wheedled.

“I am not bored,” Shane protested. “I have an active and fulfilling life.”

“More active and fulfilling with baby,” Ilya suggested, waggling his eyebrows. “Maybe we could go home later and practice techniques for making a new baby…?”

“I am right here,” Sam protested.

“Hush, you have been sucked into that video game,” Ilya said.

“Literally sitting right beside you,” Sam said.

“So sad so tragic, the loss of our only son,” Ilya continued. “The only way to recover is having another one. We could also name him Sam, save us from having to think of a new name.”

“I hate you so much,” Sam muttered, then yelped when Ilya ruffled his hair.

“Shane, Ilya!” a PR person called. “You’re needed backstage for photoshoots!”

“You seriously don’t want another baby?” Ilya asked as they left Sam to his gaming.

“I seriously don’t want another baby,” Shane confirmed. “Did you forget how heavy toddlers are? And how much your back hurts after that fall your last season? But,” he added in a teasing tone, pausing and turning to look up at Ilya. “I wouldn’t mind practicing.”

Ilya grinned at him and Shane smiled back until the PR lady called to them.

“You’re going to have to shake Scott Hunter’s hand,” Shane teased in a whisper as they followed her backstage.

Ilya scowled and pinched him and Shane laughed and batted him away.