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The youngest campers were always scheduled for the last block of the day.
Their entrance to the ice could only be described as chaotic. Half of them had crooked helmets and mismatched socks, and the counselors desperately tried to herd them into something that at least resembled a line. As Ilya greeted them on the ice, one kid was already distracted, waving enthusiastically at his older brother who was headed back to the locker room to change. Another was already sitting down on the ice, seemingly deciding that trying to balance on the ice was just too hard.
Shane was in the midst of trying to finalize schedules for the following week, but he had brought the paperwork with him into the stands rather than locking himself away in the office. This was his favorite block of the entire camp. Not because the kids were particularly talented or impressive.
Because Ilya led this session. And Shane loved watching his husband transform into his best self around the youngest campers.
The second Ilya started the Tiny Tots session, his energy shifted. As he skated back and forth in front of the blob of tiny skaters that vaguely resembled a line, he exaggerated his stride, letting his arms flail dramatically like he was struggling to stay upright.
“Whoa!” he yelled, wobbling so hard a few kids gasped. “When did ice get so slippery?”
A chorus of giggles erupted.
“You’re gonna fall!” one boy cried between giggles.
Ilya’s eyes widened theatrically. “I might! If I fall, one of you has to catch me.”
That earned shrieks of laughter and at least three volunteers eagerly skating forward with their arms outstretched, ready to catch their coach.
Shane couldn’t help but smile despite the pile of paperwork in his lap.
Ilya crouched low so that he was at the kids’ eye level. “Okay, friends. Today we are learning the most important hockey skill of all.”
The kids leaned in with serious faces.
“Today, we learn to go really, really slow,” he said gravely. “Like turtles.”
He tucked his chin into his neck and skated at an agonizing crawl. One little girl laughed so hard she nearly fell over.
“Mr. Ilya, I’m not a turtle!” another girl said seriously.
“No?” Ilya gasped. “What are you then?”
“A unicorn.”
Ilya nodded like this made perfect sense. “Ah. Then you must skate with magic.”
He flicked imaginary sparkles at her skates while whispering a dramatic “woosh”. She beamed like he’d handed her a magic wand.
Shane felt his chest tighten.
Ilya spent the rest of the lesson fully committed to the bit, quacking at a group of kids who insisted they wanted to skate like ducks and pretending to be blown over by invisible wind when someone skated by him as fast as they could. When one of the smallest campers tripped, Ilya flopped down next to him immediately.
“Oh good,” he sighed, lying flat on the ice. “I was hoping to take a nap today.”
The crying stopped instantly, replaced by confused giggles.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“I keep falling,” the camper admitted quietly. “I’ll never be fast like you.”
“Want to hear a secret?” Ilya whispered loudly.
The camper nodded.
“I fall all the time,” Ilya admitted. “Just this morning, Coach Shane had to help me get up after I tripped on a cone.”
“Really?” the camper giggled.
“No lie,” Ilya replied with a wink as he stood and helped him back to his feet.
Shane pressed his lips together, blinking a little harder than necessary.
Ilya wasn’t just good with the kids, it was like it came instinctively to him. He met them exactly where they were: silly when they needed silly, gentle when feelings got big. He never rushed them, never made anyone feel bad for not knowing how to do something yet. And he celebrated things Shane never would have thought to notice, like a kid standing up without help or a glide that lasted half a second longer than the last attempt.
“Yes!” Ilya cheered when one little camper finally made it from one cone to the next without falling. “That was amazing! Olympic judges would be crying.”
“I wanna do it even faster,” the kid replied, breathless.
“Of course you do,” Ilya said warmly. “Champions always want to get better.”
By the end of the session, Ilya was clearly exhausted. His knees were bent and his hands were braced on his thighs, but he didn’t stop smiling. When the kids swarmed him for goodbye hugs, he took his time making sure to say goodbye to each child and point out something they had done well.
Shane realized he hadn’t moved in a long time.
When Ilya finally left the ice, after every kid was back with their parents, he looked loose in a way Shane rarely saw. It was like something inside him had settled into place.
Ilya spotted Shane and froze. “Oh no. You saw all of that, didn’t you?”
Shane laughed softly. “Every second.”
“Even the turtle part?”
“Especially the turtle part.”
Ilya groaned and leaned against the boards. “They think I am ridiculous.”
“They adore you,” Shane corrected gently.
Ilya shrugged, a little bashful now that the kids were gone. “They make it easy.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Shane said, his words slow but steady. “About us. And about what we’ve been talking about.”
Ilya fiddled with his sleeve nervously. “Yeah?”
“I get scared,” Shane admitted. “About whether we’re actually ready. And about if I’ll fuck it all up.”
Ilya nodded. “Me too.”
Shane glanced back at the empty ice. “But watching you today, I didn’t feel scared. I felt calm. Like whatever happens, you’ll meet them where they are and it’ll all be okay.”
Ilya swallowed. “I worry I’ll be too much. But also not enough?”
Shane cupped his jaw, his thumb warm against flushed skin. “You’re exactly enough.”
For a moment, Ilya didn’t say anything. Then he smiled, soft and bright in a way that made Shane’s chest ache.
“Okay,” Ilya whispered. “Maybe we are closer to ready than we thought.”
Shane pulled him into a quiet hug by the boards. The rink was nearly empty now, but his heart was full in a way that felt new and steady and right.
For the first time, their future didn’t feel overwhelming or intimidating, it felt exciting.