Chapter Text
Shane always picks up the phone on the third ring. Picking up on the first is desperate, eager. Picking up on the second doesn’t give him enough time to prepare himself for the conversation he’s about to face, especially when the call is unexpected. Picking up on the fourth gives him too much time to think about all the ways he can fuck up the call. And picking up on the fifth or later is too late and the person on the other end would probably think he’s lazy or an idiot who’s not worth calling anymore.
He picks up on the third ring. Always.
So when Shane’s phone starts ringing, echoing through the house from the bedroom upstairs while Shane is in the kitchen, both covered in flour as they attempt to bake muffins, he takes off up the stairs without bothering to even wipe his hands. Ilya knows he’ll regret that later when he’s cleaning off his phone and sweeping up any invisible flour residue left behind from his mad dash, but he also knows not to question his husband and his little rituals that Ilya finds so endearing.
The phone is already on the forth ring by the time Shane gets his hands on it, and he can feel a pit of dread sitting low in his stomach. He hates not picking up on the third ring, has completely dodged calls before because the thought of breaking his rule makes him feel sick. But the caller-ID flashes with the name of Nicole’s school and he knows he has to answer.
Nicole’s school almost never calls. Since their daughter started school, Shane and Ilya have received a total of three phone calls from the office. Once in Kindergarten when Nicole was deathly ill but had insisted to her parents that she was well enough to school, once in Grade One when she had tripped on the playground and wound up with an ankle double its usual size and a nasty scrape down her shin, and once last year as a warning when a student in Nicole’s Grade Two class had lice and the school wanted all the families to be aware and prepared.
Since she started Grade Three last month, they haven’t received any calls. Shane’s mind races with a million possibilities of what the problem could be, anxiety creeping up to squeeze his lungs as he accepts the call.
“Hello?” he asks. He hopes the person on the other end can’t sense his panic through the phone as he heads back downstairs, already preparing to race to pick up his daughter even though it’s only noon.
“Mr. Hollander?” the sweet voice of his daughter’s teacher, Miss Rhea, echoes through the phone speaker. Shane had always thought it strange that the teacher chose to go by her first name rather than her last, but he also knew that asking those sorts of questions seemed to cause more harm than good for him. “It’s Miss Rhea, Nicole’s teacher.”
“Yes, yes. Is everything alright?” Shane’s voice is frantic as he picks up his coat, struggling to put it on with his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder. “Is she okay?”
Miss Rhea lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh yes, Mr. Hollander, there’s nothing to worry about. Nicole is doing perfectly fine, as always.”
Shane’s sigh of relief was audible. He cast a look back at his Ilya, concern plastered across his husband’s face as he gestured for Shane to put the phone on speaker. “Good, that’s good to hear.”
“Yes of course, you know Nicole. One of the brightest children I’ve come across in my, admittedly few, years of teaching. And quite the star on the ice, I hear,” Miss Rhea adds with a laugh, clearly having been subject to one of Ilya’s many rants at school pickup about how his daughter is the future of hockey.
“I do, however, have something I would like to discuss with you and your husband, Mr. Hollander.”
Ilya takes a step closer to Shane. “I’m here as well, what is it?”
“Would both of you be able to stop in for a few minutes at pickup today?” Miss Rhea asks, voice nervous. “I think it’s better if we can speak in person about this.”
Since retiring from the league, the two hockey legends don’t have a whole lot to do besides care for their daughter and run the Irina Foundation. Days that were once scheduled to the minute with meals, sponsor events, workouts, and practice are now full of slow evenings at home testing out new recipes and searching for new books to read to their daughter. Trips across the country for mere days at a time have been replaced with long weeks at the cottage and the occasional family vacation when the bitter Canadian cold gets to be too much.
“Yes of course we’ll be there,” Shane replies without thought, always ready to drop everything for his daughter.
“Is something wrong? We should be concerned?” Ilya asks. He knows he’s being a bit of a ‘papa bear’ as Shane loves to call him, but he can’t shake the apprehension swirling in his gut. Call it overprotective and dramatic, or call it gut instinct.
There’s a brief pause, the line going silent for just a moment too long. “We can discuss when you two are here.” Miss Rhea’s voice is strained, trying to stay positive but wavering just enough for Ilya to catch.
He mutters to Shane, “That doesn’t answer my question,” keeping his voice low enough that Miss Rhea cannot hear.
“Nicole is doing just fine today and is currently outside for recess, absolutely no reason to worry.” Maybe he wasn’t quite quiet enough. “She is excelling in school, as always, and is an absolute joy to have in class. I just want to talk to the two of you about… somethings that maybe will help us to understand what she needs to succeed and thrive. You two have no reason to be concerned, I can assure you.”
The two men share a look. Shane’s face softens, while Ilya’s eyebrows pull together, uncertainty clear on his face.”
“Well we’re glad to hear that,” Shane pipes up. Thinking back to his own childhood, he remembers there being more than one day where he hung back in the classroom, nose buried in a hockey book, while his parents spoke in hushed tones to the teacher. It was never anything bad, as his parents would smile warmly at him afterwards as they led him to the car, promising ice cream on the way home. “Is that all for now?”
Shane cringes at the bluntness of his tone. He was never one for fluffy conversation, and frankly he had been itching to get off of this phone call ever since he missed the third ring.
“Yes, that’s all for now.” Miss Rhea’s voice is bright again, nerves having ebbed away. “I look forward to seeing you both this afternoon to continue our discussion. See you in a bit!”
“See you,” Shane echoes, while Ilya huffs out a quiet “Thanks.”
The call beeps to an end. Ilya fixes his gaze on Shane. His eyes are dark with worry. “Why are you so calm about this?” he asks sharply. “You have panic attack over planning a hookup at your house but when something is wrong with our daughter you are fine?”
Shane rolls his eyes, comeback dying on his lips when he realizes he has no rebuttal. “You heard Miss Rhea, she’s doing fine. My parents used to have these kinds of meetings with my teachers all the time and it always turned out fine. She’s a good kid, Ilya. We know Nicole. We have no reason to be worried.”
Ilya’s eyes drop from where they had been locked with Shane’s. Shane wasn’t usually a big fan of eye contact, so when he stared into Ilya’s soul like that, the Russian couldn’t help but put his trust in his husband.
“Okay.” He hesitates, chewing on his lip for a moment. “Okay. Is probably fine.”
“It will be fine,” Shane states. “Now can we finish up these muffins and clean up this mess before we have to go.” The flour had really settled into the grooves of his skin during the phone call, and Shane was painfully aware of the grimy feeling where his fingers still clutched his phone.
While Ilya would usually protest, suggesting a better use of their time whilst dragging Shane to the bedroom, he agrees without question, worry still heavy in the back of his mind.