Chapter Text
Shane doesn’t know why he did that. Doesn’t know why he reacted like that. His hands are shaking, skin itching as he scolds himself for his behaviour. He hauls open the passenger door, eyes too blurry to even think about putting himself in the driver' s seat.
He had been so sure the meeting wouldn’t be about anything bad.
Correction, not something bad. Of course Shane knows that autism isn’t bad. Different, sure, but not bad. He doesn’t know why he panicked. Why he felt his stomach drop as Miss Rhea listed some of the reasons as to why she thinks that about Nicole. Why his mind raced with examples of all of the reasons she gave. Why the examples his brain supplied weren’t only about Nicole, but himself as well.
Why did he see himself in her words?
Why did his parents have so many meetings like that?
Were those meetings like that? Maybe they were something else. As a kid, Shane had really never been bothered by them. His parents told him it was ‘grown up talk,’ and Shane knew that he wasn’t meant to listen to grown up talk because he wasn’t a grown up. It was a rule. It made sense. So he never listened, much more content to run careful fingers over his meticulous hockey card collection, listing the stats of each player in his head as he examined their cards.
Intensity of her interests.
A hand comes up, fingers gripping tight to Shane’s hair and pulling, as if he could pull his thoughts right out of his head. The heel of his other hand smacks his thigh—hard—soft flesh and bone crashing into solid muscle.
A few stray tears trace their way down Shane’s cheeks as he slams his head against the headrest behind him, over and over. He notices a dull ache in his head, but he can barely register anything over the roiling waves of anxiety in his stomach, over the thoughts plaguing his brain as he picks apart every little thing his daughter has ever done. Every little thing he has ever done.
People love to compare him and Nicole. It’s as if everyone’s favourite hobby is telling him how much his little girl is exactly like him. It always fills him with pride. Nicole is absolutely perfect, and Shane is proud to be compared to her. He knows she feels the same, worshipping her father with her bright brown eyes and a massive smile every time someone makes the comparison.
Miss Rhea has to be wrong, Shane thinks to himself. His daughter is so much like him, maybe even too much. And Shane is completely fine. He always has been. So his daughter is too. They’re both fine. They have to be fine.
But the meetings— must've been about something else. Probably discussing how to help Shane balance the pressure of school with his growing hockey career, even at a young age. That makes the most sense, obviously.
A tentative knock on the window shatters Shane’s thoughts. In an instant, he stops his movement, head stilling where it had just made impact with the headrest, hands dropping to rest calmly in his lap. As if nothing was wrong, the only evidence left behind being the tear stains on his cheeks.
He turns to look, and his eyes immediately find Ilya’s. Ilya looks concerned, brows drawn together and eyes soft, questioning.
Shane looks away.
Ilya loads Nicole into the car, casting worried glances at Shane but saying nothing. Shane offers Nicole a small smile but his mouth stays shut. Ilya knows he won’t talk about it yet, not in front of Nicole, not when he’s obviously still worked up, if the way his fingers are picking harshly at his nails are anything to go off of.
Shane knows Ilya has questions. Will want to know why he left in such a manner. Will want to know what caused the episode in the car. Will want to know why he reacted to the news about their daughter so viscerally.
Shane isn’t quite sure he knows how to answer, so for now he says nothing.
They drive home in silence. Nervous energy radiates off of Ilya. Nicole keeps her nose buried in her book. Shane stares at his hands, unable to put his thoughts together as exhaustion takes over.