Chapter Text
They were going to be late. He’d given him warnings every five minutes like a toddler, he knew how important this was, and yet Shane’s husband moved at a most glacial pace.
No big deal. It’s not like first impressions meant anything.
Shane huffed out yet another sigh and tried not to pace the foyer as he waited for Ilya. A glance at his watch for the dozenth time in the last five minutes reflected the passing of another minute gone.
“Ilya?” He called out impatiently. “We need to leave. I don’t wanna get stuck in traffic.”
He mentally recited every single one of their qualifications in an effort to calm the low-grade buzz of his nerves.
We’re a perfectly normal couple. We’ve been very happily married for almost eight years. We’ve had very successful careers. We’re financially stable and more than capable of providing a stable home. We have a whole house with plenty of room for more. We have a support system of family and friends who are just as invested in this as we are. We’re CPR and first aid certified. We’ve filled out every possible form and submitted every document they could possibly ask for. We’ve allowed them to scrutinize every aspect of our lives, from the linen closet to the medicine cabinet and everywhere else in between. We’ve waited for so, so long.
The list went on and on in his head, but it did little to satiate the clench of his anxiety.
We want a baby.
The ache was dull but deep, the desire having long since carved a hollow pit in the depths of his most private thoughts. A wish he had only barely allowed himself to acknowledge outwardly for fear of drowning in the depths of how deeply he desired it. Not just for himself, but for Ilya, too. Together.
They’d always known they wanted children, a family of their own. It was a part of that illusive, dream-clouded “someday” that they’d refer to in passing, tucked away for later days. Bookmarked for a time with emptier calendars and fewer commitments to the league, to the foundation. Always carried from year to year, but hardly ever acknowledged until each step of the process forced them to bring it into the light.
Ever the planner, Shane had insisted they start the process for adoption shortly after the wedding. His extensive research told him it could take years for them to be screened and trained and deemed ready for potential parenthood, so they might as well put in the work early. Ilya had rolled his eyes at Shane’s proactivity but decided that maybe his husband was right on this one.
They agreed early on that they wouldn’t actively pursue anything until they were closer to the end of their careers, but if an opportunity were to come knocking, they wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to a change of plans. After all, as David loved to remind them, people make plans and God laughs.
That was almost five years before, and while they knew nothing would happen overnight, the passing of years without any change at all wore determinedly at the confines of their tightly held dream. No matter how many parenting and child development books Shane read and regardless of all the babyproofing that Ilya had to endure, the door to their lovingly designed nursery remained shut in waiting for a most-desired occupant. After a couple of false starts, the weight on their hearts grew exponentially with each disappointment. For all the hockey trophies, plaques, and medals held in their basement, how could this be the one dream to never come to fruition?
This was how they found themselves preparing to attend a family fair, as their case worker, Melanie, had delightfully referred to it. Ilya likened it to baby hunger games and had been reticent to display any degree of enthusiasm toward it since.
“Why don’t you two join us next weekend?” Melanie asked, forever chipper. “We’re inviting select families on our prospective roster to come meet a few of the kids in the Ottawa registry, just as a chance to get to know each other. It’s very low stakes and gives both families and the children an opportunity to connect in a neutral environment.”
“Kids?” Shane rubbed the back of his neck apprehensively. “It sounds great and everything. I’m sure you guys put a lot of effort into this, but we’ve indicated that we’re primarily interested in an infant.” He winces a little at the end, feeling as frustrated and helpless as ever. They must sound like assholes. What kind of people only want a baby when there are so many children who need good, loving homes?
Truth be told, they had discussed it. Endlessly. It was a conversation that always ended at an impasse. Ilya didn’t see what difference it made. Shane just wanted the experience to nurture from the beginning like everyone else got. Why should they have to settle for a different story, he argued. How is that settling, Ilya would volley back—on and on in an endless circle. It was maddening for both, inevitably leading to a conversation (read: argument) around the ethics and morality of adopting at all, when they had the means for surrogacy, though that had its own complicated implications. Around and around they would go until one or both were in tears.
Ilya could not bring himself to pursue surrogacy with his family’s medical history. A genetic link didn’t matter all that much to Shane, and he had plenty of cousins to carry on the Hollander line, so they chose shelved that conversation, for the time being. In the end, they had reached a delicate compromise and filed with interest in a child between the ages of 0 and 3, no sex or ethnicity preference, with the understanding that if somehow it didn’t pan out, they would reopen the surrogacy conversation when they were less in demand from all their external responsibilities. Though it was starting feel as though neither would ever be the right choice.
“Oh, we’ll have some babies and toddlers too. Didn’t I mention that?” Melanie pressed on. “Some foster families have agreed to bring a few of the little ones out for some fresh air. I think everyone’s itching to feel the sun again at this point.”
“Right,” Shane squeaked, brightening a little at the idea. “I think we can swing that.” He rifled through their calendar to find that they were somehow, miraculously, back at home and had no game the following Saturday. They were giving up time on a precious weekend rest day in an already jam-packed early March, but perhaps it would be worth the sacrifice. He hoped Ilya wouldn’t be upset that he’d agreed to it while they were still in season. The Centaurs were doing remarkably well, despite their aging defense line—hope for a Cup this year was not entirely off the table just yet.
“Wonderful!” Shane could practically hear her grin through the phone. “I really think this will be good for you guys. It’ll show the other case workers that you’re serious about this and get you guys some nice facetime with them so they can get to know you, see who might be a good fit. Squeaky wheel and all that!”
“Yeah, of course,” His stomach tightened preemptively. He’d felt like a squeaky wheel for the last several years, but okay. Whatever it took.
The clomping of Ilya’s footsteps on the stairs brought Shane back to the moment at hand. He looked up to find Ilya pulling a sweater over his head. He was more put together than Shane imagined he would be—sporting dark grey corduroy trousers paired with a light grey henley and forest green crewneck. He tugged on his boots and looks to Shane for approval.
“This okay?”
A light flush passed over Shane. In part because he loved this color on his husband, but also slightly out of embarrassment. He knew he’d been kinda manic about this. Okay, maybe a lot. But it was only because he cared so much. It was agony to have this all be so completely out of his control. The parts that he could influence felt monumental in comparison.
“Yeah,” He gave an appreciative nod of approval, “you look great.”
Ilya’s eyes softened a little as he stepped closer to smooth out the collar of Shane’s white button down peeking out of his navy pullover.
“I like this one on you.” Shane gave the top of Ilya’s shoulders an affectionate rub, an excuse to touch the soft knit.
Ilya hummed quietly. “Do you know what it is made of?”
“Isn’t this cashmere?” Shane rubbed the fabric between his fingers appraisingly.
“Hmm, probably, but is also father material.” He couldn’t help the smug, satisfied smirk that tugged at his lips.
Shane groaned. “Oh, my god. That’s…”
“Is good joke, no?” Ilya allowed himself a little chuckle as he pulled Shane into his arms.
The brunette conceded a moment for a shared breath. It’s grounding, and very much appreciated. More so when Ilya brushed his lips gently over Shane’s temple.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a colossal maniac about this,” Shane grumbled against Ilya’s neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
Ilya tutted at him sweetly. “Is okay. It’s been…hard for both of us.”
Shane pressed his face into the warm musk of Ilya’s cologne. Maybe if he buried himself deep enough, he could forget about how close they’d come before, only to have it evaporate into thin air with apologies and platitudes. “I’m sorry, the mother has had a change of heart. We hope you can understand.” The first time had hit like a wrecking ball to the chest, but the second… “They’ve chosen another family but we’re sure it’ll be your time soon.” The second had nearly shattered them entirely, adding insult to their already pulverized hearts. He wasn’t sure he could take a third disappointment.
“This is good, right?” Shane looked up at Ilya, uncertainty shining in his eyes. “We’re not like… I don’t know, setting ourselves up for failure? We don’t have to go. We could just stay home and--”
Ilya gently plucked him from his burrow, cupping his face tenderly with both hands. “No, moya lyubov, no,” he ran a soft caress over Shane’s freckles. “We already said we would go. It would look worse to back out now. And besides, this is only silly park thing. We’re only going to show face, no? Show them we mean serious baby business.”
Shane nodded, the tears in his eyes threatening to spill. “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself. Again.”
Ilya’s swiped gentle thumbs under Shane’s eyes. “And after the season is finished, we will put our shoe down, like we talked about. Maybe explore other options as backup, yes? But not until after. Right now, no big dog in the game. Nothing to lose.”
Shane managed a small smile. He loved it when Ilya got English idioms adorably wrong. But he’d made a fair point. There was no use in spiraling right now. He took a few calming breaths before meeting Ilya’s eyes again.
“Are you ready?” Ilya reached for their coats from the hooks by door, helping Shane into his.
“Yeah, let’s do this.” Shane slipped his hand into Ilya’s warm palm.
It was time for them to face what would come next and there was no one else he would rather be stepping into the unknown with than the man beside him.
Ilya led him out the front door toward the Range Rover in the driveway. “Good, because we’re going to be late.”
Shane scoffed in half annoyance, half fondness.