Chapter Text
The loudest noises in the cottage came from the whir of the autoclave, sterilizing the bottles that Shane had tetris-stacked in there before dawn. And yet it was enough to keep him wide-eyed, unable to get the sleep his body so desperately craved, staring at the moonlight that filtered in between the slats of his blinds. He really ought to invest in blackout curtains.
He thought he knew tired. He thought he knew what it meant to have every muscle in your body scream for rest, for eight solid hours of sleep, as you boarded a 5-hour flight for game seven in the playoffs.
But that sort of tiredness came with an immediate reward: a Stanley Cup to hoist and brand deal contracts to be renewed for eye-boggling amounts of money.
Shane knew it was selfish that he didn’t find this rewarding. Like it was wrong somehow to want to scream when the baby screamed in addition to sleeping when she slept. To walk away when the emotion of taking care of a small human was too overwhelming to withstand and to find some peace for two, maybe three minutes.
Where were the smelling salts for fatherhood?
He had to remind himself that he chose this. He chose single parenthood and sleepless nights with spit up seemingly on every single Voyageurs t-shirt he owned. When Rose first came to him six months ago (“I’m pregnant, and it’s yours.”), his brain cycled through the outcomes as fast as he took shots on net.
- At first pass - he wanted to support Rose in her decision, whatever it may be.
- At second glance - he might be giving up his only opportunity to have a biological child. Not that he cared about lineage or genetics, but his mom might. He might. One day. Eventually.
- And finally - Shane Hollander had conquered everything he set his mind to. The youngest Montreal captain ever. Two Stanley Cups. The best hockey player in a generation. Being a father was the natural next thing to want to attempt. Right?
Besides, if Hayden Pike could do it…
The bed shifted ever so slightly and one-month old Emilia rolled over and planted her face firmly in Shane’s armpit. He hadn’t been in a locker room in months due to his concussion, but he still worried all his shirts had permanently taken on the odor of sweaty gear. No infant or adult should be subject to that horror.
He should have taken his mom’s offer of keeping the baby at least once a week so he could get some sleep, but the thought didn’t even make sense to Shane’s overprotective, overstimulated, overworked brain. Why would he even want to spend a minute away from the most precious thing in his life?
Emilia had arrived at thirty-nine and a half weeks on a cool summer morning. Rose had texted Shane from the Uber to St. Mary’s, and he had bit back his lecture about taking an Uber to deliver your baby. He was there within the hour and was nearly thrown out of the delivery room for terrorizing the nurses and regurgitating the contents of every birthing video he had watched on YouTube.
In three hours, and with very little help from Shane, baby Emilia came squalling into the world. She was perfect; ten fingers, ten toes, and a tuft of dark copper colored hair.
Rose had been spectacular, walking in with an annotated, color coded birth plan. If Shane had agreed to do fatherhood by himself, and to the best of his ability, then Rose had taken on the challenge of being the best, most prepared pregnant person possible. And it had all paid off, with nurses and doctors cooing in equal measure over the baby, easy birth, and quick labor.
That night Shane lay awake on the plastic sofa in the new mothers room watching Emilia sleep. He knew Rose was awake too, but they hadn’t spoken outside of necessities since she had started pushing. A conversation was long overdue. Rose and Shane might have excelled in the logistical half of giving birth, but had woefully neglected the emotional.
“I - I just wanted you to know. I’m heading back to LA in three weeks.” Shane swallowed, then nodded in response to Rose. This was expected, he told himself. This had always been the Plan. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
“Yeah, that makes sense. I was planning on taking her to the cottage for a few weeks while I work out child care here. You - you can join us if you’d like.” The offer was hesitant, because it wasn’t the first time Shane had made it. Rose was very clear that while she was onboard with being pregnant (she thankfully didn’t show while wrapping up shooting), she was in no way ready for motherhood.
It came as a punch to the gut for Shane, but in the back of his mind, he knew that Rose wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready in the way that he was. The way he thought he was.
“Shane, you know I want to, but I can’t. I can’t - I can’t bond with her and spend three weeks playing house with you and just walk away and do reshoots in LA like she’s not the most important person in the world.” In the blinking green of the hospital monitor, Shane could see glistening tears rolling down Rose’s exhausted face. He was such an asshole, asking her to go through this for him. He was also the luckiest friend in the world that she was willing to.
“No, I know. I’m sorry for asking again. We’ll stick to the Auntie Rose plan for now, but I do want to tell her when she’s older.” Rose nodded and reached her hand out to grasp Shane’s where he had placed it on her knee.
“I know. I love you Shane Hollander, and I love this little human that we somehow made together despite our best efforts to be just friends.” She laughed thinly and squeezed tight, the tears now flowing freely. Shane blinked back his own, but didn’t quite succeed.
–
Emilia, at six weeks old, curiously watched Shane from the rocker David had placed in the kitchen. There was no telling what was going through her mind as she tracked Shane prepping bottles for the day, offering a small smile every so often.
The first time she did that, Shane was so distracted at the sight, he mixed formula in with his chia seed pudding instead of coconut milk.
There wasn’t much that Shane did that made him feel like his old self, but sticking to his diet was the least he could manage with Emilia taking up all his time. He wasn’t working out or doing anything else that felt even remotely normal, choosing instead to dissociate while staring at his phone in the precious hours she was down.
That afternoon, Shane stared at the contact burning a hole in his phone. It had been weeks since he had last texted Ilya. They had been texting through the course of the playoffs once Boston got eliminated, but it had all stopped abruptly after Scott Hunter kissed a man at center ice to celebrate winning the Stanley Cup.
Wow, Shane had texted, speechless at what he was witnessing on his TV, Emilia napping in a bassinet beside him.
Wow, was the text he got back. And then silence.
It was eating Shane up inside that he hadn’t shared his impending, and now current family update with Ilya. He had wanted to invite Ilya to the cottage this summer but hadn’t figured out a way to extend the invitation without also mentioning the baby, and by extension, Rose Landry, who Shane suspected made Ilya deeply jealous.
There were so many moments where it had almost slipped out: the Skype call where Ilya was in Russia; the hospital bed; seeing Hunter come out in the most spectacular way. But every time, Shane held back, terrified of Ilya’s reaction. Afraid of rejection.
Come to the cottage. I have a baby, but let’s not focus on that right now.
It didn’t sound like something Ilya would go for.
What the hell, Shane thought, friends text. And they were at least that.
Hey! How’s your summer going? Where are you these days?
The reply was immediate.
Shane paused, not knowing if he wanted the answer to his next question.
Are you thinking about re-signing?
It was perhaps too intimate of a question to ask over text. But Boston, Shane thought. Not Russia, not half a world away. Just over an hour by plane.
It was clear that Ilya wasn’t going to text back immediately, and that was probably for the best. Emilia’s nap was short, as it always was. Shane hadn’t managed to get her to sleep for more than 2 hours at once, and the only way he could even pretend to sleep through the night was to have her tucked in next to him. She had taken poorly to every formula they had tried, projectile vomiting every so often when her little stomach couldn’t handle it anymore. So Shane was miserable and constantly tired, cleaning sickly yellow spit up from the couch and the rug, but not as miserable and tired as Emilia’s retching sounded.
Shane had heard horror stories about colic from the other parents on the team (and occasionally their WAGs) and how the crying woke them in the night before the doulas could get their babies back down. It was the number one excuse new dads cited when they missed a pass or got caught dozing off at the blue line.
Leave home at home, he’d say, and encourage his team to use the nap pods in the therapy room. But on this side of it, he recognized how laughable that advice was. Easy sleep? As if.
All of it was just one more thing Shane had to figure out before he was due back in Montreal in three weeks. He also had to figure out how to tell the locker room he was a dad. He would rather hire a hundred doulas.
Sometimes he wished the internet had caught on to Rose’s pregnancy and had just made the announcement for him. He didn’t really know how fans on the internet worked, but he knew they were rabid about things like this.
–
The next morning Shane woke to five (5) missed calls from Rose Landry, seven (7) missed calls from Farah, his agent, and a text from Hayden.
‘Dude, is this about you?’ Shane scrolled to see the screenshot of an Instagram post.
Fuck. He called Rose. The line had barely connected before she started talking at a million miles a minute, clearly panicked.
“Shane. Oh my gosh, Shane. I am so sorry, I have no clue how this even got out. I’ve been working with my personal trainer to get ready for ADR and the press tour. I wasn’t exactly trying to hide my pregnancy, but I also wasn’t giving any specifics to anyone and I don’t know who put two and two together. And would submit it to Deuxmoi of all places??! Shane, please say something.”
What could he say? That it was okay? (Not really.) That he was relieved? (Kind of.) That he had hoped for this exact thing last night? (Yes, but he’d never say it out loud.)
“Are there any photos?” The last thing he wanted was some blurry cell phone shot of them leaving the hospital hitting Twitter. He’d been down enough YouTube rabbit holes to have a visceral reaction to kids being put online without their consent and wanted no part of it.
He could hear Rose shaking her head before she responded. “Not of Emilia. Or you. But of me. Wearing baggy workout tops accompanied by deeply speculative captions. I’m so vain.”
Shane was torn between pity and laughter. But Rose didn’t deserve the unkind scrutiny, not after what she’d been through.
“Okay. No use in denying. If you’re comfortable, and you want to, you can be honest or not about your pregnancy to anyone who asks. People who might think it’s me don’t have access to me and no one will actually ask until press availability during training camp in August. Let’s get our agents to write some statements.”
It felt like an out-of-body experience, this Shane Hollander who reacted to the news that the world knew he was a father with a calm, let’s solve this, attitude. Yuna Hollander would be proud.
Shane hung up with Rose after a few minutes and called Farah. He’d have to let his parents know his secret was out eventually, but figured he’d spare them for the moment. He hoped Rose’s family took the news well - he wasn’t looking forward to facing the wrath of three hockey player brothers, even if none of them had made it to the NHL.
About ten minutes after he’d gotten off the phone with Farah, it flashed again.
Lily.
Shane panicked. His confidence from two good phone calls had suddenly been twisted into the diaper genie. There was only one reason Ilya would call today. Shane desperately wanted to let the call go to voicemail, but didn’t want to pass up hearing Ilya’s voice, no matter how upset or disappointed.
“Ilya.” He rasped the name out like a dying man in the desert. It had been so long.
“So.” Shane didn’t respond. The silence was awful and had his stomach in knots. He didn’t know where this conversation was going, but telling himself that was actually delusional. He knew exactly why Ilya had called.
“This is why you were avoiding me? Because we can’t have sex with the baby sleeping in next room?” Ah. So they were diving right into it. Shane was not ready for fatherhood and whatever he had with Ilya to collide. But it was time, he supposed.
“Well, she mostly co-sleeps, so no.” There was an irritated huff on the other end of the line. Shane was irritated too. Where were the niceties? The dirty, flirty talk? He didn’t even merit a “hello”?
“We can challenge that. Where are you hiding?”
“I have a cottage. It’s about two hours from my parents' place in Ottawa. It’s private - I was thinking of inviting you. We could have had a few weeks to ourselves before training camp. But then, y’know. It all happened.”
“Yes, I know. Text me address. I’m coming to the cottage.” The line went dead before Shane could process. What did Ilya know exactly?
Before he could think better of it, he texted Ilya the address and threw his phone against the wall with a sickening crack.
Emilia answered this disturbance with a louder wail, announcing an empty belly, wet diaper, or likely both. Shane plunged his fingers into his hair and took a steadying breath before heading into his bedroom to start another day of bottles, spit up, and tummy time.
—
The next morning Ilya Rozanov wheeled his Rimowa into the cottage to see Shane, shirtless, passed out on his back on the carpet in front of the couch. Emilia was curled up on his chest asleep. The two were breathing steadily and in sync.
Ilya knew he looked like a cartoon character with hearts for eyes as he took in the sight before him. If he wasn’t already in love with the Canadian hockey player with a weak backhand before, the sight of him as a father was just more kindling added to the proverbial fire.
The house was in a very un-Shane Hollander state with dishes piled in the sink, a smattering of toys on the floor in seemingly every room, and dirty laundry on - not in - the washing machine.
Plenty to do around here, Ilya thought as he put his duffel down and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel.
—
When Shane finally woke two hours later, it was to the smell of soup gently warming on the stove with notes of laundry detergent in the background.
He glanced at the clock. 11:30! He had completely missed Emilia’s 11 AM bottle and had no plans for his lunch. Maybe it was time to throw in the towel and call his mother. He clearly wasn’t cut out for taking care of a -
Fuck.
Where was Emilia?
Shane bolted to his feet and scrambled out of the living room. “Emilia!” He cried, rushing into the kitchen.
Idiot, he heard Ilya’s voice in his head say. Babies don’t reply. They don’t crawl away by themselves in a big cottage.
Shane ran from room to room, panic heightening with every additional open door. Maybe his parents had stopped by to check on them and decided Shane needed sleep more than he needed skin-to-skin contact. Maybe a bear had broken into the house and whisked Emilia away. Even bears could tell he wasn’t a competent father.
Shane stepped onto the back porch to get some air before resuming his search when he spotted them. His heart did something funny and he felt a swooping sensation in his lower stomach.
Ilya Rozanov was lying shirtless on a blanket next to his daughter, both on their stomachs, smiling broadly at each other.
The sight was warmer than the sun freckling Shane’s face. He didn’t want to disturb the moment but felt he couldn’t leave Emilia with Ilya unchaperoned. He padded softly across the lawn and came to a halt where an empty bottle lay discarded a few feet away.
“Hi.” And for the first time since the playoffs, Shane met Ilya’s blue eyes.
Shane was expecting them to lose the sparkle of laughter, maybe Ilya would be angry, betrayed, upset, distant or a hundred other negative emotions.
But, if possible, Ilya’s eyes lit up even more when meeting Shane’s.
“Hi.” Neither man knew what to say to each other for a moment until Emilia decided she had had enough time on her tummy and made it known that she would like to be picked up, please.
“I gave her formula with the can on counter. Laundry is in the washer and dryer. There is soup on the stove for you.” Ilya looked sheepish as he rattled off all the things he had done around the house. To Shane, it was the kindest thing Ilya had ever done in the decade of knowing him.
Shane sat on the blanket next to the two of them and pulled Emilia into his lap.
“How did you know how to feed her?” Ilya shrugged.
“I’m okay with kids.” No further explanation was being given, and Shane didn’t ask. It was nice, he realized finally, to bring Ilya into his secret. It was nice, beyond nice, to sit on a blanket spread on the lawn of his cottage soaking up the sun with the two people he loved most.
—
After lunch for Shane and Ilya (“Cabbage soup, good for your gut. No, I did not make borscht. You hate beets.”) and another bottle for Emilia, Shane managed to get her into her crib for naptime.
Normally he would go down with her in his bed because he was so exhausted, but today Shane was rested, fed, and had Places to be while Emilia was napping.
He came downstairs with the monitor to find Ilya lying across the couch typing furiously on the phone in front of his face.
“Amazon order is placed. I bought European baby formula, white noise machine, and energy drinks.”
“White noise machine?” Shane was confused.
“Yes, this mommy blog says is good for keeping babies asleep.” Shane laughed and sat on the edge of the couch, threading his fingers through Ilya’s curls.
“Oh, you read mommy blogs now?”
“Well, they are hot and post pictures with babies.” Ilya smirked and put his phone down before tilting his head back to look Shane in the eyes. Shane watched the long column of Ilya’s neck as he swallowed and realized that Ilya had gone suddenly still. He was waiting for something, Shane realized.
“I know I owe you an explanation. I just don’t know where to start. Just - just ask me whatever questions you have and I promise to be honest with you.” Ilya was silent for a moment and stared into the distance through the windows.
“I didn’t know you wanted to be a father.” It wasn’t a question. It came out so softly Shane barely heard it. Shane leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes.
“I didn’t know it was something I wanted until it was possible. And then I couldn’t think of anything else. I didn’t know if I’d even be a good father, but I at least wanted to try.” He left out the knowledge that six weeks in, he still didn’t feel like a good father. Shane paused, then added, because he knew Ilya would appreciate the dig, “Besides, if Hayden Pike can do it…”
“Ha!” Ilya barked. “You are not Pike. You are Lady Pike.”
“Hey! Fuck off, Hayden’s a great dad.” Shane half-heartedly tried to shove Ilya off his lap. Ilya’s body had no give under Shane’s palms.
“No no, it is compliment. That woman must be a saint to have, what, five children in the house now?” Ilya’s wide grin had banished the earlier shadows from his face.
It’s going to be okay, Shane thought for the first time. Ilya and Emilia can both exist in your life. You don’t have to give either one up. If the thought of them co-existing had crossed Shane’s mind before, he had never dared to entertain it, but today he let it take root and bud.
“How did you get Rose pregnant? You need to ejaculate inside for babies to be made, no?” Ilya was grinning wide, and flipped over on his stomach to follow his question by placing soft kisses on the inside of Shane’s thigh.
“Fuck you. Ejaculate? Paging Dr. Rozanov.” At least he could count on Ilya being insecure about Rose. Shane’s hand threaded through Ilya’s hair as he let his eyes close and pulse jump erratically with every additional kiss on his thigh.
“Hm, maybe we do doctor - patient roleplay later.” Ilya murmured against his crotch. Shane’s head fell back as Ilya placed hot open-mouthed kisses against him before grabbing the drawstring of his sweatpants and tugging down urgently.
“Ilya, Ilya, wait.” Shane opened his eyes, tugged on Ilya’s curls and scooted back so he could look at his face. “I don’t have the energy to do this properly. I’m sorry if you thought I invited you here to fuck - I really don’t have it in me right now.” Ilya swung one leg over Shane’s to straddle him and kissed him deeply in response.
“I invited myself. Besides, is not fucking. Just me taking care of you.”
“Asshole.” Shane murmured, grinning against Ilya's lips as he moved his hips upward, chasing friction, letting himself be taken care of.
—
Shane didn’t realize he was drifting off until Emilia’s cries jerked him completely awake. He had been lying on Ilya’s stomach in the south-facing guest bedroom, sunlight streaming onto his face.
“Let me get her.” Ilya extracted himself from underneath Shane to put on his joggers and slippers before padding into Shane’s bedroom. Shane took five deep breaths, steeling himself to return to dad mode before pulling on his own sweats and following Ilya into the other room.
Shane stood in the doorway of his room watching Ilya change Emilia’s diaper and hum softly at her the whole time. Emilia never let Shane change her diaper without a fuss, but here she was smiling and waiting patiently for Ilya to fish the wipes out of the wipes warmer.
Crack. The wipes warmer hit the floor and the plastic lid splintered into several pieces. Ilya didn’t even have the good grace to look sheepish about it and just shrugged.
“You don’t need gadgets to parent.” And for the first time, Shane felt insecure.
It was one thing to admit to yourself that you were struggling with fatherhood even if you chose it. It was another thing to see someone - notorious womanizer Ilya Rozanov, his brain helpfully supplied - walk into your house and know after two bottles that the formula you had on hand wasn’t cutting it. Where the fuck had he even learned to change a diaper?
Shane wanted to be mad, he wanted to yell at Ilya. Where did he get off being a more competent father than Shane? But Shane was simply too overwhelmed at the sight of Ilya doing normal, competent dad things to do more than grimace and go downstairs to put the next bottle in the warmer.
That night, Emilia fell asleep on the couch between Shane and Ilya as they watched a nature documentary on mute. It was 8 PM and Shane knew he could try and put her in the bassinet and risk her waking up in two hours or go down with her and get four to five hours of sleep in.
Ultimately the decision was not his as Ilya scooped Emilia up from where she was sleeping, and tucked her in under his chin, whispering something to her in Russian.
“I will take her and sleep. You take your time coming to bed.” There was something in Ilya’s tone that brooked no argument and Shane watched dumbfounded as his heart ascended the stairs and disappeared into the master bedroom.
Well, fuck, what was he supposed to do with himself now?
Shane absentmindedly picked up his phone and scrolled, and his eyes caught on the text from Hayden the day before. Had it really only been 36 hours since Ilya had found out? He pressed the ‘call’ button next to Hayden’s name.
“Dude, you can’t leave me on read like that. What the fuck is going on with you?” Shane’s mind supplied Jackie’s voice yelling “swear jar!” in the background.
“Sorry Hayd. Um, yeah so that post was real. Rose got pregnant last winter. There’s a baby girl? Her name’s Emilia. I didn’t know how to tell you.” Shane finished lamely and Hayden answered with a whoosh of breath on the other end.
“Man, that’s actually wild. When I said you should join me in fatherhood, it wasn’t actually a directive to knock up the next girl you sleep with. And Rose Landry too? I can’t imagine how she’s handling this.”
“None of us are handling this well.” Shane shrugged. “Rose is panicking about being outed as a mom, Emilia’s got colic, I’m not sleeping, and I haven’t even started lining up nannies and night nurses and all that stuff for when the season starts.”
“Okay, so first off, you gotta take care of yourself. You’re going to be a shit captain and an even more irritable person if you don’t actually get a routine that works for you. Second, Jackie and I have done this so many times now. I’ll call a couple agencies to find a night nurse with some availability and call our nanny and see if she’s okay with taking on two infants when you’re back.”
Shane was touched at Hayden’s offer to help without any hesitation. Was he actually suggesting that they share a nanny? That would make sense since Amber and Emilia were only a couple months apart and their dads shared the same, crazy schedule.
“Hayden, it’s too much, but I’m not going to say no. It would help a lot. Thanks man. Just like, make sure Jackie’s okay with it, okay? I don’t want her to feel like I’m adding a fifth kid to her household.”
“Hey, Shane, it’s all going to work out! I can’t believe we get to be dads together man! Our girls are going to be best friends. And look, now you get to find someone who’ll love you and Emilia and will help you with this whole parenting business.” As Hayden kept rambling on about their kids, Shane’s thoughts drifted to the Russian man currently curled up with his daughter.
Hayden, I think I’ve already found him.