Work Text:
One
Mornings in the Hollander-Rozanov house were always, to be honest, a bit of a nightmare.
From the moment that Anastasia Hollander-Rozanova woke up, she could expect to be in a flurry of noise and annoying little sisters for at least an hour before she got to school. Their house was a non-stop amount of noise and lost shoes and arguments about hair scrunchies and incomplete homework. And at the center of the chaos, their dads were the calm port in the storm. Trying to keep up with three young girls was probably the hardest thing that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov had ever done. (At least, that was the joke they told the press all the time.)
Already, Anastasia could hear her younger sisters screeching at each other from across the house. If she had to place a bet, she’d guess that it had something to do with Annabelle’s missing white sweater.
There was a soft knock on the door, cutting through the volume of the screeching on the other side of the house.
“Come in,” she said, sitting up in her bed with a grumble.
A curly head of hair with grays at the temple poked in. “Nastyusha, are you awake?” her Papa asked with a yawn.
“Yes,” she rubbed her face. She huffed. “I can hear them yelling from up here.”
Papa glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, they’ve already gotten into it. I haven’t been downstairs yet, any idea what they could be fighting about this time?”
Anastasia pointed at the soft white sweater sitting on the back of her desk chair.
Ilya snorted, and she couldn’t help but smile with him. “Breakfast will probably be soon, don’t be late,” he said, tapping on her door before slipping out of the room.
When Anastasia made her way downstairs, dressed in jeans and her sister’s stolen sweater, her other father was physically standing between her younger sisters.
Annabelle, who had her long hair pulled back in a frizzy braid, was currently yelling at their much shorter sister, Aria.
“I know you stole my sweater!” Annabelle pointed an accusatory finger. “You were just asking about it!”
“You always do this!” Aria tried swatting at her sister, blocked only by their father. “You always blame me when something happens!”
“Because it is always you!”
“Girls, please,” Dad looked exasperated. “We will find the sweater. Stop trying to kill each other.”
“She stole my hat last week, too!” Annabelle tried to move around their dad, but he body blocked her. His hockey reflexes were still good for something.
“You lost your hat at the rink,” Anastasia cut in, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms. “I told you that you left it in the locker room, and you told me to shove it. It’s your own fault you lost it.”
All three of her family member’s heads whipped around to her. Annabelle, seeing where her sweater had actually wound up, looked like she was going to commit murder.
“You,” she snarled, and lunged for Anastasia.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Shane snatched her by the waist. “Anya, I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to ground you for a week.”
Annabelle looked up at him, distraught. “But Dad, the sophomore dance is Friday!”
“Exactly,” he raised an eyebrow. “Stop trying to kill your sisters before 8am.”
Annabelle huffed, and detangled herself from him, stomping into the kitchen. “I want my damn sweater back!” she shouted at Anastasia over her shoulder.
“Language!” Shane called after her, and then gave a look to his eldest. “Really, Nastyusha?” She grinned, and he sighed. “You are just like your father.”
“I take that as a compliment,” she lifted her chin.
The morning did not get better from there. Annabelle snipped at Anastasia. Anastasia snipped back. Aria wanted her revenge for being falsely accused. Shane just wanted to make pancakes. It took all of about ten minutes for the sisters to start shouting at each other again.
Anastasia did, rather quickly, clock the fact that her father was about three seconds from being overwhelmed by the noise and insanity. Where her Papa thrived in chaos, and could handle the mess and the shouting with the best of them, her Dad was a little bit more particular about the noise and mess. Her dads had never said anything directly to them about Dad’s…sensitivities, but she had an inkling of what might be undiagnosed in her dad. Like right now, with Aria singing along to the cartoon she was watching while Annabelle dumped her backpack out on the counter looking for her math homework.
“Girls, can we please–” Shane started, and was cut off by Annabelle screeching loudly when she accidentally ripped one of her papers.
“Aria, honey, can you turn down the–”
“Anastasia, will you–”
“Annabelle, don’t—”
She saw him taking in deep breaths. She tried to help, but that made it worse. Anastasia tried to turn down Aria’s volume, but her sister glared and turned the volume up louder. She moved to help pick up Annabelle’s papers all over the counter, which caused Annabelle to yell that she was a backstabbing, stealing, cheater and she wasn’t allowed in Annabelle’s room anymore. And Anastasia, ever her Papa’s daughter, couldn’t help but rise to the bait and argue with her sister about the time Annabelle hoarded her favorite pair of shoes for a month—
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Her Papa’s voice cut through the volume.
All four heads in the kitchen snapped over to him, still shirtless and wearing an old pair of Cens sweats. Ilya’s keen eyes surveyed the kitchen, landing lastly on his husband. Anastasia grimaced when she saw it had gotten to the point that her Dad had his hands on his head and was taking in deep breaths, looking entirely overwhelmed.
“Shane, take a walk,” Ilya said, and her Dad simply nodded and let himself be tagged out. Ilya squeezed his shoulder gently as Shane passed him on the way out of the kitchen, all three girls watching silently.
Papa never glared at them, was never angry at them, but he did turn a stern look at the three of them, his brow furrowed.
“Aria,” was all he said, in a very specific tone, and their youngest sister paused her cartoon. “Thank you,” he raised an eyebrow, stepping into the kitchen. “It’s barely past sunrise and my house is in chaos. What happened?”
And really, he should have expected all three of his daughters to loudly start defending themselves while pointing aggressively at the other two. He cleared his throat, and they all fell silent. He started with his youngest, tugging on her pigtails of dark hair. “Aria, what are the rules in the kitchen?”
She pouted. “No playing loud music or shows at breakfast.”
Ilya hummed, and turned to his middle child. “Anya, you know mess makes your father crazy.”
“I was looking for my homework!” She protested.
“Then dump it out on the couch,” he gestured to the living room. “Also, organize your backpack.”
“But Papa–”
He held up a hand, and turned to his eldest daughter. “Anastasia,” he said, and she winced at the full name drop. “How many languages do you speak?”
She shuffled her feet. “Three.” English, Russian, French.
He raised his eyebrows, and gestured to her sweater. “And you still don’t have the words to tell your sister you borrowed her clothing?”
She crossed her arms. “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”
“Yes, you did,” he said.
“You always do this!” Annabelle started up again, but then fell silent at Ilya’s look.
“Who are the captains of this house?” Ilya asked.
“You and Daddy,” Annabelle pouted.
“And what do we do?”
“Listen to the captains,” Aria grumbled.
“And who is the alternate captain?”
“Nastyusha,” her younger sisters said, looking at the floor.
“And what are the three of you?”
“Linemates,” the three sisters grumbled.
“And what do we do to our linemates?”
“Listen to them,” Aria and Anastasia said right as Annabelle said: “Don’t kill them.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and softly cursed in Russian under his breath. “Okay,” he clapped his hands together. “Here is what is going to happen. Aria,” he came around, and pinched her cheeks until she giggled. “Put your show away for now, and when you get home tonight, you and I will watch the rest of it together.”
“Really?” she looked up at him with sparkling eyes, and he grinned.
“Promise. And you,” he turned to Annabelle, “Give me a minute, and I will help you sort through your papers, okay? We organize it together.”
Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. “Thanks, Papa.”
“As repayment, please stop trying to murder your sisters.”
She grumbled.
“And you,” He turned to Anastasia. “Please stop antagonizing your sister. It’s funny, yes, but we don’t need a war over an ugly sweater.” She snorted, and nodded. “Can you help clean up some of the kitchen?” He asked her, squeezing her shoulder. “So that when Dad comes back in, it’s not so bad?”
“You got it, Papa.”
“Thank you,” Ilya wrapped an arm around both Annabelle and Anastasia’s shoulders. “If you can make it to the weekend without any more murder attempts, I will convince Dad that we can get pizza on Saturday.”
That got a cheer out of all three girls, and then they leapt into action. Anastasia cleaned up the mess of ingredients on the counter while Aria went to put her iPad away, and Ilya and Annabelle moved the mess of papers elsewhere and began organizing it together. By the time Shane came back into the kitchen, Aria and Anastasia had made half a dozen pancakes themselves and were starting on the bacon.
“Sorry for the noise earlier, Daddy,” Aria said, and he kissed her cheek.
“It’s okay, bug, but thank you.” He tugged on one of her pig tails.
“Coffee?” Anastasia slid his favorite mug to him. It was one of those cheesy, photo print mugs that was covered in pictures of their family vacation to the beach a few years ago. Shane drank out of it every day.
“Thank you,” he kissed her cheek, too. “And breakfast looks great, girls.”
“Look, I made Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes!” Aria held up her plate.
“Way better than I could have made,” Shane peered closely.
“Papa’s helping Anya with her papers,” Anastasia said when she saw him look around the kitchen curiously.
He sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Your father is a saint.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” she snorted. “It’ll go to his head.”
But Dad simply smiled softly at that, that stupid love-sick look he always had about Papa.
“Good,” he said, leaning against the counter. “It should.”
When Ilya did come back in, he grabbed Shane’s face and peppered his cheek with kisses until Shane swatted him away. Anastasia smiled at them over her own bite of breakfast.
Pretty typical morning in the Hollander-Rozanov household, to be honest.
~*~
Two
Anastasia and Annabelle were enjoying a rare moment that they weren’t at each other’s throats. Annabelle was laying on her stomach on her bed, doing her homework, while Anastasia sat on the floor, leaned back against the bed frame doing her own school reading. Annabelle’s room had the best view of the woods around their house, so Anastasia liked doing her homework there when her sister would let her in. It wasn’t as pretty as the cottage, but her own room overlooked the street and the garage, so it wasn’t as relaxing.
She had properly paid the entry fee when she’d walked in and tossed a bag of sour gummies at her sister, and the two of them had been working quietly for the better part of an hour. It was moments like this that she was reminded that she didn’t actually despise her sister, and that they just might wind up being friends one day if they made it past their teenage years. Annabelle had even been nice enough to let her older sister pick the music, which was frankly, the greatest peace offering she’d ever given in her life.
The calm, however, was shattered by Aria barging into the room and slamming the door behind her. Her older sisters looked up, startled.
“Everything okay, bug?” Anastasia asked.
“Unless you have candy, get out,” Annabelle said.
Aria’s chin wobbled. “Daddy and Papa are fighting.”
Anastasia and Annabelle exchanged a look. Anastasia looked back at the youngest in the family, and patted the spot on the rug next to her. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Aria slumped onto the floor. “I just heard shouting in the kitchen.”
“I mean, that could be anything,” Annabelle rolled over onto her back, and began tossing her pen up into the air.
“You’re going to drop it on your face,” Anastasia chided, which earned her a glare.
Her sister ignored her. “Sometimes they just get loud, doesn’t mean they’re fighting.”
“It sounded like they were mad,” Aria insisted.
“Okay,” Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Where does it fall on the penalty scale?”
Immediately, Anastasia reached back and smacked her sister. “Shut up,” she hissed. “She doesn’t know about that.”
Aria’s eyes were wide. “Know about what?”
Anastasia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Now you’ve done it, Annabelle.”
“What?” Annabelle threw up her hands. “She was going to hear about it eventually.”
“Hear about what?” Aria whined. “What’s the penalty scale?”
“You know she can’t keep a secret from Dad,” Anastasia shot back.
“I can keep a secret!” Aria protested.
“No, you can’t,” Annabelle pointed a finger at her. “You totally ratted me out last Christmas.”
“You were breaking the rules!”
“Okay, both of you shut up,” Anastasia held up her hands. She looked at her youngest sister, her wide eyes and her signature pigtails she still hasn’t grown out of. Her tenth birthday was coming up this summer, and she was the biggest Daddy’s girl out of all of them. “Aria Irina Hollander-Rozanova,” she said. “Do you promise to not tell Dad and Papa about this?”
Aria held out her pinky finger. “I promise.”
Annabelle scoffed, and Anastasia chose to ignore it as she hooked her pinky around Aria’s. They very seriously shook on it.
“A couple years ago, we came up with the penalty scale,” Anastasia said. “It’s how we determine how bad one of Dad and Papa’s fights are.”
Annabelle resumed tossing her pen up in the air. “A two minute minor is your everyday, harmless bickering. That’s practically their normal state of being and nothing to worry about.”
“Four minute major is a little more tense,” Anastasia added. “One of them probably messed something up for real. Like when Papa booked us the wrong plane tickets for vacation and we got stranded.”
“But ultimately, they’re not that big of a deal, they apologize, and they get over it quickly.” Annabelle shrugged. “Dad was mad about the plane tickets for like ten minutes, snapped at Papa, and then he went into planning mode to handle it. Both of them said sorry, and it was fine.”
Aria nodded, and tucked her knees up under her hoodie, which actually looked like one of Papa’s old Centaurs hoodies with a faded logo and an 81 over the heart. (A perk of having pro-athlete fathers, they were all stealing their dads’ old gear all the time.)
Anastasia tossed her book aside at that point. She wasn’t getting back to her reading anytime soon. “Five for fighting is like, a really bad fight. They try to hide those from us.”
“I think the last one was like, what, two years ago?” Annabelle said.
“I remember that,” Anastasia winced. “Papa was pissed for a week straight. It's when we came up with the scale.”
Annabelle was now trying to toss the pen against the ceiling, because she was annoying. “But that, like, rarely happens. They’re pretty good about not letting fights blow out that badly, generally.”
“And then there’s a game misconduct,” Anastasia tried grabbing the pen from Annabelle, with no success. Her sister glared. “That’s only happened once.”
“That’s the worst one?” Aria asked, and she nodded.
“I don’t know what the argument was about, but Dad got so mad, he went and spent the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s house,” Anastasia shuddered. “Papa was a wreck. I think I was like, eight?” Aria would have been a baby at the time, so she definitely wouldn’t remember it. “They obviously made up, but it was bad.”
“I don’t like the sound of a game misconduct,” Aria’s voice was small. “What if that’s what’s happening now?”
Annabelle huffed, and sat up on the bed. “Only one way to find out.”
She shoved Anastasia’s head to the side and hopped off her bed. Anastasia tried to call her name, but Annabelle shushed her, and quietly opened her door. She peered down the hall, and then looked back over her shoulder, holding a finger up to her lips. She nodded her head out the door, and then slipped out. Aria and Anastasia looked at each other for two seconds before scrambling to their feet and following.
The three sisters carefully crept through the house, avoiding the patch of floor that always creaked when you stepped on it and hopping from rug to rug. When they reached the hallway above the kitchen, where the open banister overlooked the kitchen, Annabelle dropped down to an army crawl. Anastasia rolled her eyes, but followed in suit, the three of them creeping up to where they could just barely see but not be seen.
And yeah, sure enough, their dads were arguing.
“What the fuck do you want me to do, huh?” Ilya snapped.
“I want you to take this seriously,” Shane snapped back, crossing his arms. “You always do this, Ilya.”
“Oh, so I’m not allowed to make jokes now?”
Dad’s glare was murderous. “That is exactly what I’m fucking talking about.”
Annabelle looked over her shoulder and held up four fingers.
“I think you are taking this too seriously,” Ilya shot back. “I would be gone for a week, maybe two.”
“You don’t even know how long you would be gone.” Shane sounded incredulous. “Now is not a good time for you to fuck off. We have that huge meeting with the donors next week and the girls have semi-finals coming up soon.”
“I know!” Ilya threw his hands up. “And it’s not fucking off, Sasha asked me to come.”
“Oh, well if Sasha asked–”
“Don’t fucking do that, Hollander,” Papa cut him off. “You don’t get to act pissed just because I fucked him first.”
Anastasia’s eyes went wide, and she exchanged a glance with her sisters. “Five?” she silently mouthed, but Annabelle shook her head.
“Wait,” she mouthed back.
“You can’t seriously think I’m still jealous about that!” Shane glared.
“If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this fucking fight,” Ilya snarled back. “You have to fucking trust me, Shane.”
Shane exhaled, and the kitchen was quiet.
She watched her Dad rub the back of his neck, and then nod. “You’re right.”
Ilya blinked. “What?”
“Part of me is maybe still stupidly jealous,” Shane admitted, his shoulders tense. “But I do trust you. Of course I do, Ilya. I just don’t trust Sasha. Or particularly like him.” He stepped forward to Ilya, taking his hands into his own. “If you want to do this with him and Svetlana, I trust you. That’s never in doubt, okay? Not for a second.”
Ilya tipped his forehead against his husband’s. “It’s okay if you don’t like him, or if you don’t like the timing. I just don’t like feeling like you don’t trust me.”
“I do,” Shane cupped his face. “I trust you more than anything.”
Ilya nodded, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I do not have to go. I know the timing is bad.”
Annabelle kicked her to get her attention. She held up four fingers, and then made a fist, moving it to the side of her body. Linesman signals. Four for roughing.
Dad wrapped his arms around his husband. “It’s okay, I know this reunion is important for the three of you. If you want to go, I support you.”
They held each other for a moment, their faces tucked close together.
“I really am sorry,” Shane mumbled.
Ilya pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I picked a fight. You were right, I should have taken you more seriously.”
“I love you,” Shane said. “More than anything.”
Ilya repeated it back in Russian, and then kissed him deeper. Shane gasped into the kiss, and then Ilya was crowding him against the counter, lifting his husband up and grabbing his–
Anastasia and Annabelle simultaneously went to slap their hands over Aria’s eyes.
Which then, naturally, led to Aria slapping them back, and then the three of them smacking and shushing each other until they heard a “HEY!” from one of their dads. They all ran from the hallway giggling and smacking each other, ignoring the shouts from their fathers behind them.
~*~
Three
When Anastasia’s phone rang, the picture of her Papa making a silly, crosseyed face lighting up her screen, she was immediately concerned. Papa knew she had an afterschool study session, and normally didn’t call her. He shot her little texts often, little things he saw and thought of her. Jokes that he wanted someone to appreciate when Dad didn’t think he was being funny. But calling wasn’t really his style, especially when he knew she was studying.
“Papa?” She answered.
“Hello, sweetheart,” and he sounded like he was in the car. “Everything is okay.”
That made her heart drop in her stomach. No one just said everything is okay if everything was really okay.
“What happened?” She stood up from the table, and her friends looked up at her with curious looks. She waved them off and stepped into the hallway.
Ilya sighed. “Your sister had an accident at practice,” he said, “She is okay, but she is going to the hospital.”
Anastasia knew immediately that he was referring to Annabelle, since her sister’s hockey practice had been written in blue on their huge family calendar in the kitchen. “What happened?” She asked again.
“Maybe something is broken,” he said. “Or could just be sprained, I don’t know.”
Her heart jumped. Annabelle was going to be crushed if she had to miss part of the hockey season. “Is she with you?”
“No, I am on my way to the hospital now. But I talked to her on her coach’s phone, and I promise she’s okay.”
“Okay,” she swallowed.
Her Papa sighed again. “I’m sorry to ask this, Nastyusha, but can you pick up Aria from her after school program? I was supposed to get her, and I can’t get a hold of Dad.”
“Okay,” she glanced at the clock on the wall. Aria did an after school crafting thing every other Wednesday, and it would be ending soon. “I can go get her.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you have your study session right now.”
“It’s okay, Papa. I’m happy to help.”
“Thank you, I’ll pick up those cookies you like later,” he exhaled. “When you get her, can you go get Dad? He was taking meetings at the Foundation all day.”
She nodded. Dad was going to freak out that he missed this. “Got it.”
“I will text you when I have updates, okay?”
“Okay, Papa. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
When he hung up, she pressed her hands over her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Annabelle was okay. It probably wasn’t even that serious, and her sister was being over dramatic. It was fine. It was fine.
Anastasia quickly gathered her stuff from the table and said goodbye to her friends, and rushed out the door. She was kind of freaking out, but she knew that her Papa wouldn’t lie to her to make a situation easier. If Annabelle had been seriously hurt, he would have been upfront about it, like that time Grandpa fell at the cottage and broke a hip. So she believed him that Annabelle was okay, or at least okay enough to not be panicking. But still, this was her little sister, and she was worried.
Aria knew something was wrong the moment Anastasia pulled up at her school.
“Why are you here and not Papa?” She asked, tossing her backpack in the backseat.
“Anya got hurt at practice,” she said, and Aria froze halfway to buckling her seatbelt.
“What?” her voice was high and panicked. “Is she okay?”
“Papa says she’s fine, but they’re on the way to the hospital now. We gotta go get Dad.”
Aria’s eyes welled up with tears. “Is she badly hurt?”
Anastasia’s heart clenched. Her baby sister had always been the most emotional out of the whole family, her little heart too big for her chest. She reached over and tugged on her sister’s pigtails affectionately. “Maybe something’s broken,” she echoed Papa. “But we don’t know. But Papa said he talked to her on the phone, so she’s awake and okay.” A few little tears fell from Aria’s eyes, and Anastasia wiped them away. “She’s okay, solnyshko, really.”
“Okay,” Aria’s voice wobbled. “Don’t tell her I got upset.”
Anastasia snorted. “I won’t.”
Aria was quiet the whole drive to the Foundation, where their dads spent a lot of their time. Neither Shane or Ilya had wanted to leap into any kind of coaching job that would take them on the road all the time as the girls were growing up, so working at the Irina Foundation was how they primarily spent most of their days. From what Anastasia knew, the Foundation had grown and grown since their dads founded it, and it was a massive operation now. Shane and Ilya ran the hockey camps, met with donors, and kept it running with their grandma. Dad was a consultant with the Cens, so they still got to go to games whenever they wanted, but today had been written on the calendar as a Foundation day.
“Dad’s gonna freak,” Aria mumbled as they pulled into the parking lot.
“Probably,” Anastasia said, twisting the wheel of her car. “So we’ll try to not freak out with him, okay?”
“Okay,” Aria said.
The two sisters knew their way around the Foundation headquarters pretty well at this point, with the building having been constructed just after Aria’s first birthday. They’d grown up in these halls, sleeping on the couch in Grandma’s office and learning to skate on this ice. They easily navigated through it now, waving hi to staff members they knew. They found their Dad in his office, going through paperwork.
Like father, like daughter, he seemed to know something was up the moment they walked in.
“What happened?” He stood up. “Is everything okay?”
“Annabelle broke her leg and is at the hospital and is never going to skate again,” Aria wailed, immediately throwing their plan to remain calm out the window.
Anastasia could see the moment her father’s heart dropped out of his chest. “What?”
She palmed at her sister’s forehead and pushed her back. “Anya’s okay, Dad. Aria’s being dramatic. We don’t know how bad it is, yet.”
“Oh, thank god,” he literally clutched his chest. “You can’t scare me like that, honey.”
Aria practically flung herself at Dad, blubbering her apologies. Anastasia fought the urge to roll her eyes at her little sister.
“Do you want to use my phone to call Papa?” She asked, holding up her phone.
“Yes, please,” he held out his hand. “I swear I’m turning into my father. My phone died and I couldn’t find my charger. Of all the days.”
She unlocked her phone and passed it over to him. “Don’t worry, Dad. I had it handled.”
Shane looked at her then, really looked at her. He reached up and brushed a thumb over her cheek, just like she’d done to Aria earlier. “You always do,” he said affectionately.
The three of them settled against Shane’s desk as the phone dialed. When Ilya picked up, his hello echoing on speakerphone, Dad sighed with relief.
“Ilya, it’s me,” he said. “How’s our girl?”
~*~
Four
Anastasia watched her dad walk to the bottom of the stairs and put his hands on his hips.
“Anastasia!” he called up in a stern tone.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m right here,”
“Fuck,” he muttered. And then louder: “Annabelle!”
Beside her on the couch, Papa snorted. “The A names were your idea.”
Shane cut him a glare. “Shut up.”
Anastasia exchanged a glance with Aria, and they both held up two fingers.
There was no response from upstairs.
“Annabelle Marie!” Dad said again.
And then, from across the house: “What?!”
Anastasia winced. Her sister’s attitude problem had been bad lately.
“Can you come down here, please?” Dad crossed his arms.
“I’m busy!”
Shane’s jaw dropped, and he looked at his husband, whose eyebrows were raised.
“I’m gonna–” Shane started, and Ilya cut him off.
“I will handle it,” he said, standing up from the couch.
“Wait,” Anastasia found herself saying, and then all the heads in the room turned to her. “Let me talk to her.”
Dad rubbed a hand over his face. “Be my guest.”
Out of all the Hollander-Rozanova girls, Annabelle had always been the firecracker. Papa liked to joke that she came into the world pissed off and screaming. Anastasia was the level headed one, taking care of her sisters and stepping up when needed. Aria was the baby, the one who cried the most and needed the most tenderness. And Annabelle liked pushing people to their limit, her devil-may-care attitude and short temper grating on anyone who was within five feet of her. She’d always been feisty, but in the last few weeks, she’d been… worse.
She picked a fight with Papa yesterday. Papa. She’d always been Papa’s girl, riding on his shoulders and running to him first when she was scared. Ilya understood her better than anyone, and called her his mini-me. Anastasia had seen the hurt on her father’s face when Annabelle had snapped at him. Something was clearly up with her.
She’d been tense after getting home from practice, and snippy at dinner. The tipping point this evening was that Dad had asked her to help with dishes after dinner, and she’d simply rolled her eyes and stomped upstairs. He’d given her a few minutes, hoping that she would come back down, but she clearly hadn’t. And while she was sure that Papa probably could handle it, she felt a certain sense of ownership over the situation. She could talk some sense into Annabelle.
She didn’t bother knocking when she opened the door to Annabelle’s room, but she did stick a hand holding a bag of peanut butter cups into the room first, and waited.
“Fine,” Annabelle’s voice sounded weird. “Enter.”
Anastasia slipped in, shutting the door behind her, and was horrified to see that her sister looked like she’d been crying.
“Oh, Anya,” she said, coming over to the bed.
“Shut up,” her sister wiped at her face. “Give me my candy and leave.”
“What’s going on?” Anastasia sat on the mattress next to her.
Annabelle stubbornly looked away. “Nothing.”
“I’m worried about you,” she said softly.
“I’m fine,” her sister snapped.
“You’re clearly not.”
Annabelle buried her face in her hands. “Can’t everyone just leave me alone?”
She tugged her sister’s hands down. “No, tell me what’s going on with you.”
Her sister responded in a perfectly reasonable way. She threw an elbow.
Anastasia yelped, and then, for some godforsaken reason, she was wrestling with her sister. People who thought that only brothers wrestled had never seen the Hollander-Rozanova girls tackle each other. Annabelle put up a good fight, but Anastasia was stronger, and managed to pin her sister down.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Anastasia twisted her sister’s arm behind her back.
“No!” Annabelle tried to yank out of her grip. “Let go of me!”
“Tell me,” she pressed harder.
“You’re the worst!” Annabelle hiccuped, her voice watery. “I hate you!”
That got Anastasia to pause, taken aback, and her flinch was enough to give Annabelle the opportunity to throw her sister off and scramble away. Even worse, she’d started crying again.
“I hate everything right now,” she sounded angry, so angry. “I hate hockey! I don’t want to play anymore!”
Anastasia’s eyes widened. “Anya—“
“My teammates are the worst. They’re so mean, Nastyusha,” Annabelle sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “And I suck at it. I’m never gonna be as good as you, and everyone thinks I should be.”
“You are good. You’re a great player,” she didn’t know why that was the first thing she started with.
But her sister shook her head. “I suck. I’ve got the lowest ice time on the team. Everyone’s mean to me. My coaches suck. I keep getting compared to my varsity captain older sister. I don’t want to deal with it anymore.”
“You could join a different team,” Anastasia’s mind was already wheeling out solutions.
“I don’t wanna,” Annabelle hiccuped. “And Daddy and Papa are gonna be so disappointed in me. Everyone’s expecting me to be the best and wants so much from me and I can’t do it, I can’t.”
Anastasia tugged on her sister’s arm again, but this time it was to pull her in for a hug. Annabelle let herself be pulled, and collapsed into sobs. She was getting snot all over Anastasia’s favorite t-shirt, but she could wash it later.
She held Annabelle until she calmed down, drawing in shaky breaths and wiping at her face. When she finally pulled away and sat back on her rug, her eyes were red. Anastasia snatched the box of tissues off her desk and handed them to her.
“Thanks,” Annabelle said, and blew her nose. “Sorry for melting down on you.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Anastasia punched her. “You should have come talk to me sooner, idiot.”
Annabelle looked down at her hands. “I didn’t want to. It seemed stupid to complain about my problems when you just got accepted to go play D1 hockey, or whatever.”
“Yeah, I’m a hockey god,” she rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about your problems.”
Annabelle bit her lip, and then nodded.
“If your teammates are mean and your coaches suck, you gotta tell me, or Dad and Papa.” Anastasia leaned forward to catch her eye. “Is this cause of your injury? Does it still hurt?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s fine. But with everything else…” she exhaled. “I thought I just had to toughen up. That’s what Coach says.”
Anastasia raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever, in the sixteen years of your annoying existence, heard our fathers say that?”
Annabelle shook her head.
“And you know that Dad always says that when hockey stops being fun, we don’t have to keep playing.”
“I know,” Annabelle mumbled.
“So why do you think they’d be disappointed?”
“Because!” She threw up her hands. “They’re Shane Freaking Hollander and Ilya Freaking Rozanov! Because we have a room in our house with all of their trophies! Because we’ve seen their plaques in the Hockey Hall of Fame!” Annabelle sighed. “They’ve told us over and over that they’re okay with it if we don’t play hockey. Aria doesn’t, and that’s okay, but she gets away with whatever she wants.”
Well, Anastasia couldn’t argue with that.
“But with how good you are,” Annabelle gestured to her. “I feel like I’m living up to three people and coming up short. I’m not as good. I’m just not.”
“I’m sorry,” Anastasia said. And she meant it. She never meant to put that pressure on her sister. Annabelle shrugged, and they sat in silence for a moment. “Do you really hate hockey?” Anastasia asked.
Annabelle sighed. “No,” she admitted. “I love hockey. I love playing it. I love watching it. I just hate all the expectations that come with it.” She scoffed. “I do hate my teammates, though.”
Anastasia kicked her, gently. “You gotta talk to Dad and Papa about this, Anya.”
“I know,” she leaned against her bed. “But I didn't know what to say.”
“So instead you bite everyone’s head off?”
“Shut up.”
“Exactly.”
Annabelle swallowed, and looked out her window. “I don’t hate you.”
“I know, Anya.”
“Sorry I said that.”
“It’s okay,” she squeezed her sister’s leg. “But I think our dads are about to lose their minds. Will you talk to them? Tell them what’s going on?”
Annabelle sighed, and nodded.
Anastasia stood up, dusted herself off, and held out her hand. Annabelle took it, and let herself be tugged out of her misery. She followed Anastasia downstairs, where Papa was tucked under Dad’s arm on the couch. Aria was nowhere in sight, and Anastasia hung back as her sister stepped forward.
“Daddy, Papa,” she wrung her hands anxiously. “Can we talk?”
Their dads sat up eagerly on the couch.
“Of course, honey,” Dad made space on the couch for her.
“Whatever you want to talk about, we’re here.” Papa said, and Anastasia slipped out of the room as her sister was pulled into a hug.
~*~
Five
The cottage was Anastasia's favorite place in the whole world.
They still went every summer, not because of hockey off season, but because of school summer break. For a few beautiful weeks every year, it was just sunshine above her and the lake in front of her. No stress, no worries, just their family enjoying the summer sun. It was heaven.
“Cannonball!” Papa shouted, running off the dock and crashing into the water.
All three of his daughters laughed in delight, splashing him when he came up for air.
“That was a baby splash,” Annabelle teased. “You’ve lost your touch, old man.”
Papa grinned at her. “I’ll show you old, malyshka.” He tackled her in the water, both of them flailing and laughing.
Up the hill, Dad watched while he worked the grill, their new puppy tied up on a leash not too far away. Aria had tried to take the puppy in the lake with them, but Dad said no. Anastasia had tried to get Dad to come down to the lake earlier, but he insisted on focusing on food instead so that they could eat right as they were done splashing around. She saw him now, wearing sunglasses and one of Papa’s old Hawaiian shirts. She could see the grin on his face from down the hill, and waved at him. He waved back, and that was just enough of a distraction that she didn’t notice her sister charging towards her until she was getting dunked under the water by Annabelle.
When Dad called for dinner, Papa helped each of the girls back onto the dock, and tossed their towels over their shoulders. The puppy, a scrappy dog from the shelter that Aria had named Dmitri, was so excited to see all of them that his wagging tail nearly knocked him over. Anastasia giggled and scratched behind his ears.
“Dmitri was jealous that he couldn’t go in the water,” Aria crouched down to give the dog a hug.
“And I’ll be happy later when I don’t have to bathe the dog,” Dad rolled his eyes. “Ilya, will you grab the plates?”
Papa hummed, and kissed his husband on the cheek before stepping into the house.
Aria flopped over on the concrete, and Dmitri covered her with kisses. “Daddy, how come you don’t have a pet name for Papa?”
Dad frowned. “A pet name?”
“Like a nickname. You know, baby or honey or whatever,” Annabelle plopped into one of the chairs and kicked her feet up on the table. Anastasia swatted her feet down, and her sister stuck her tongue out.
Their dad made a face at the nickname suggestions. Each of the girls had their own nicknames, and they got their fair share of honeys and sweethearts, but Shane never had the same for Ilya.
“I don’t know,” he flipped one of the burgers. “I haven’t ever thought about it that hard.”
“My friend Suzie says she knows her mom is mad at her dad if she calls him by his first name,” Annabelle added.
Shane snorted. “Yeah, not what’s happening here.” He poked at the veggies on the grill, a contemplative look on his face. “You know how your Papa and I had that whole…” he waved his grill tongs in the air. “Rivalry thing for a while?”
All three girls nodded. They’d heard about the famed Hollander-Rozanov rivalry, and the way their dads kept their relationship secret for years.
“Well,” Dad shrugged. “We called each other only by our last names for like… half a decade. It’s kind of stupid, but when the relationship got real and we started using our first names, it was kind of a big deal.” His cheeks pinked, the same way he always did when he talked about the early days of their relationship. Their dads kept a lot of that information pretty close to the chest, and the older Anastasia got, the more she had a good idea of why. “I guess once I was given permission to call him Ilya, I never stopped.”
Annabelle hummed. “Kind of weird that your pet name for your husband is just his first name, but okay.”
Papa came out with a stack of plates and napkins right as Shane snorted, and he raised an eyebrow. “What did I miss?” He asked, setting the plates on the table.
“Dad explaining why he doesn’t call you a pet name,” Anastasia started helping him set the table. “You guys haven’t exactly had a normal relationship.”
“Oh, I know,” Ilya said. “But it works for us.”
Dad began sticking the food onto the serving platters he had, and glanced up at his husband. “Do you want me to call you a nickname? Should I start calling you baby?”
Papa made a face, and shook his head. “I don’t want you to change a single thing about yourself.” He stepped closer to Shane, and kissed his cheek. “I will do the pet names for the both of us, yes?”
“Okay,” Shane grinned at him, and kissed him, completely forgetting all about the food.
Anastasia and Annabelle looked at each other and mimed gagging.
Later, when they’d eaten all the food, Anastasia watched from her chair as Papa put away the leftovers in the kitchen and Dad lit the fire pit, and Annabelle walked up to her. Without a word, her little sister shoved a hairbrush and a hair tie in her hands, and then sat down on the concrete in front of her chair.
Anastasia raised an eyebrow. “Did you forget how to do your own hair?”
“You always do a better braid,” Annabelle said over her shoulder.
She rolled her eyes, and gently thwacked her sister on the head. “Do you want to use your words, maybe?”
Annabelle glared at her. “Don’t parent me, Nastyusha. Do my hair.”
“Fine,” she manhandled her sister’s shoulders and head into place. “But no complaining about how hard I tug.”
“You know I have a sensitive skull!”
“Oh, I know.”
Annabelle only huffed in response, and they fell into an easy silence. Her sister’s hair was still kind of gross and tangled from the lake water, so Anastasia was gentle as she brushed through it. She started at the ends, working through the tangles methodically as she worked her way up to the base of Annabelle’s head. She let herself fall into the soothing rhythm of brushing her hair, watching Aria play fetch with Dmitri down in the lower yard. Annabelle was quiet as she began tugging the strands into a french braid, starting at the crown of her head and working down.
“Aria can’t braid for shit,” Annabelle said.
“She’s always had me or Dad to braid it for her,” Anastasia hummed.
“Yeah, well,” Annabelle crossed her arms. “Dad’s braids suck, too.”
Anastasia tugged one strand of hair more forcefully than necessary just to be annoying. “Okay? And?”
Her sister was quiet for a moment. And then, she said softly:
“Who’s gonna braid my hair when you go off to college?”
Anastasia’s hands stilled, almost at the end of the braid. She knew that her impending departure was coming, but she hadn’t talked about it that much with her sisters. She supposed, in a way, she wanted one last summer where everything was normal before she shipped off to Boston. She didn’t really know what to say now, knowing that if she tried to get sappy, Annabelle would bite her head off.
Her sister had been much happier in the last few months since she switched to a less intense, more fun-focused hockey team. It was like the spark came back into her, without the crushing expectations of her terrible coaches on her. Hockey was fun for her again, a weight lifted off her shoulders. It had also meant less arguments in the house, and for that, they were all grateful.
She finished tying off the braid, and smoothed her hair back. “I could try to help you get better at it, if you want, before I go.”
Annabelle looked at her hands, and nodded. “Okay.”
“And you know I’m always a call away–”
Her sister, predictably, groaned. “Shut up.”
Anastaia tugged on her braid.
“Ow!”
She leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around her sister. “I’m gonna miss you, too.”
Annabelle didn’t say anything, but she leaned back into the embrace, and that was enough.
“Psst!”
Both girls turned to see their Papa sticking his head out the back door. “I have Aria’s birthday cake ready. Now?”
Anastasia signaled to Dad, who immediately caught wind of what was going on and gave them a thumbs up.
“She already got a puppy, now she gets a cake?” Annabelle grumbled, and Anastasia shoved her head to the side as she stood up.
“You got the candles, Papa?” Anastasia slipped into the house behind him.
“Of course,” he said, “But I can’t find the damn lighter.”
“It’s by the grill, I’ll get it,” she said, quickly stepping out to snatch it off of where Dad left it. She came back and carefully lit all ten candles, and helped Papa lift it gently from the door.
“Okay, ready?” Papa asked, and she nodded, and slid the door open for him.
“Aria!” She called out in the yard. The sun was setting, the fire pit was going, and her little sisters were illuminated by the fireflies dancing around the yard. It was magic, just like every summer at the cottage was. Her sister looked away from her new puppy, and her face lit up at the sight of the cake. Anastasia grinned.
~*~
Plus One
Anastasia was quiet in the car, watching the trees go by.
Something soft played on the radio, lyrics in French that she was only half-listening to. She sighed heavily, and swallowed.
“What if they hate me?” she said, her voice small.
Beside her, in the driver’s seat, Dad had one hand on the wheel. “They’re not going to hate you. You haven’t even met them yet.”
“But they might,” She countered. “What if no one takes me seriously because of my famous hockey player dads? And they think that you guys just bought my way onto the team?”
Shane’s jaw ticked. “Then you prove them wrong. You’re a damn good player, Nastyusha. You just need to show them what you can do.”
That didn’t really make her feel better, it didn't stop the cycles of anxiety in her mind.
“But…” she exhaled. “I don’t know.”
Dad glanced at her again. She was kind of glad they were in the car for this, so she didn’t have to face him directly.
“Okay. Tell me what you’re afraid of happening,” he said gently.
She bit her lip, watching the countryside go by.
“I’m afraid that I’m not going to make any friends,” she said. “That everyone’s going to hate me before I walk in. Or that they’ll be fake nice to me, and talk about me behind my back. I’m afraid it was a mistake to apply to a school in Boston. I want to go there, I like the program, they’re good at hockey, but what if the fans don’t accept me? What if the whole freaking city is still holding a grudge against Papa and they take it out on me?”
She blinked, refusing to let her tears fall, because then she wasn’t really crying. “What if I hate being too far from home? What if I hate my teammates and I can’t make an easy switch like Annabelle did this year? What if Annabelle or Aria needs me and I can’t be there? What if I’m all alone and something happens?”
Dad reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. When she didn’t go on, he took a deep breath.
“I’ve told you about how your dad and I came out, right?”
She blinked, and looked at him, her brow scrunching up. “Um, I think so?”
He gave her a small smile. “I promise I’m going somewhere with this.”
She wiped at her eyes, still holding his hand. ‘“You told us that you kept the relationship secret for a long time, and then had to come out after Uncle Hayden’s video.” She’d heard enough chirps directed at her dad’s best friend to know that story, but it was always something they laughed about. Twenty years after the fact, it was a funny story they told.
“Right,” Dad nodded. “Truthfully, when we got outed, it was one of the worst moments of my whole life. It was awful.” He sighed, squeezed her hand again, and then put both hands back on the wheel. “The whole reason we stayed closeted for so long was because we were so afraid of everyone’s reactions. I was afraid our teammates would hate us, that we’d lose sponsorships, that we’d get kicked out of the league.”
“I didn’t know that,” Anastasia shifted in her seat.
“It’s hard to know how to tell your kids about that,” Shane admitted. “Especially because… almost everything we were afraid of came true, or nearly did. Especially in Montreal, my teammates did hate me, and accused me of throwing a playoff game for your dad. I did lose sponsorships, and we very nearly were kicked out of the league. If the commissioner had had his way, we would have been.”
“That’s awful,” she said.
“It was,” he sighed. “But… throughout it all, we had each other. And at the end of it all, we proved them all wrong. We won two Cups together, got to retire on our own terms and start our family. We got you and your sisters.” He gave her a small smile. “Sometimes I wish I could go back in time to my younger self and tell him to relax a little.”
Anastasia snorted. Even in his golden retirement years, Shane Hollander rarely “relaxed.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he continued. “One of my worst fears did come true, but things got better after that.” He looked at her again. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen when you go off to college. I’m pretty terrified, too. I can’t promise you that nothing bad is going to happen. But what I do know is that you can’t control what’s going to happen, only how you’re going to react to it. And no matter what happens, your dad and I are gonna be right there with you.”
She nodded. Exhaled. “Okay.”
“If your teammates suck, if you hate Boston, if Boston hates you,” Shane said. “That’ll suck. It really will. But we’ll handle it, and your dad and I will do the best we can to take care of you. You say the word, we’re on a flight down to you. Okay?”
“Okay, Dad.” Some of the tension in her chest eased.
“I’m pretty sure Papa would fight the entire city of Boston for you.”
She grinned. “He’d win, too.”
“Damn right he would,” he grinned back. And then his face softened. “You’re going to be fine, Anastasia. And whenever you feel like you’re not gonna be fine, you call me, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Does that help, at all?” He sounded a little unsure.
“It does,” she exhaled. “Thanks.”
The radio hosts were saying something, but the volume was low enough that she couldn’t quite make out the words. The sunlight on the road ahead of them was coming in through the leaves on the trees above them, making patterns on the asphalt. She focused on these details as she let her nervous system settle, anxieties settled by her father’s words. Empty promises that nothing would go wrong didn’t help quiet the voices in her head, but the steady assurance that they would handle it together did.
“You can always talk to me,” Dad’s voice was quiet, breaking the reverie. “About anything, okay? You never have to hide anything from me because you’re afraid of how I’ll react.”
She frowned. “I know, Dad.”
He bit his lip, his brow furrowed. “Even if you feel like you’ve done something wrong, your dad and I will still love you, and we’ll handle it together, as a family. It’s…” he exhaled. “It’s important to me that you know that.”
She was a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. She understood that it was one of those moments where there was something her dad wasn’t quite saying, an old wound that was still festering. She wondered how much more of his past hurts she didn’t know about, would never learn about.
The older she got, the more aware she became of the world around her and the lives of her parents beyond just being Dad and Papa, the more she thought about those past hurts that made her parents the people they were today. Whatever her Dad had been through in those rough years of being closeted and the horrible time being outed had made him into the person next to her in the car, his voice soft and earnest.
“Okay,” she said. “I understand.”
He nodded and gave her a small smile, his freckles scrunching up with the laugh lines on his cheeks. “I love you, more than anything.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
“Who knows,” he shrugged. “Maybe you’ll redeem your Papa in the city of Boston.”
She twisted her hands in her lap. She’d been wanting to ask about this for a while, and now seemed like the perfect chance. “So you know how it’s really hard to put my full last name on a jersey?”
“Yeah,” Dad snorted. “That’s kind of our fault.”
“I was kind of thinking for college, I could…” she bit her lip. “I could just have the name Rozanova on the jersey.”
Dad blinked, glancing at her with wide eyes.
“Obviously I love my full last name,” she felt her cheeks warming. “And would use it elsewhere. But I don’t know, I was just thinking about how I want everyone to know who I am. Want to have Boston love Papa’s last name again.” She looked out the window. “I don’t know, maybe that’s stupid.”
“Nastyusha,” Dad reached over and squeezed her hand again. “I think that’s great. And I think Papa’s gonna cry his eyes out.”
“Really?”
“He’s gonna sob like a baby.”
“He’s such a softie,” she snorted. “Really, you don’t mind?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I think it’s great, honey.”
“Okay,” she said, just as Dad pulled down their driveway. Out in the front yard, Aria was playing fetch with her new puppy, and Annabelle was sitting on the porch swing with Papa, who waved at them as they pulled up. The last few days of summer were golden and bright, and Anastasia’s chest felt buoyant with it.
“Alright, you grab the grocery bags, I’ll haul in the bag of dog food,” Dad said, throwing the car into park and turning off the engine.
When she stepped out of the car, she was immediately mobbed by a four legged ball of fluff and energy. “Aria, call off your attack dog,” she called out, bending down to scratch behind his ears.
“He just wants love!” her little sister whined.
“Did you get my ice cream?” Papa called from the porch swing.
“Yes, I got your stupid ice cream,” Dad rolled his eyes, opening up the trunk and lifting the giant bag of kibble over his shoulder. “Even though the price went up on it.”
“We are millionaires, Hollander, I think we will be fine.”
“It’s the principle of the matter, Rozanov.”
Anastasia grinned, watching her dads lovingly bicker. She wouldn’t get to see that every day in Boston, and her move-in date was swiftly approaching.
Annabelle leaned over the edge of the porch railing, shooting a glare to where Anastasia was standing in the driveway. “Hurry up, Nastyusha, before the ice cream melts.”
She couldn’t even bring herself to roll her eyes at her sister, a phantom ache in her chest of how much she was going to miss this in a few short weeks. “Coming, coming,” she called back, gathering the bags from the back seat and shutting the car door with a kick of her foot.
Papa got up from the porch swing as she came up the stairs, reaching out to help her with the bags. “Did you have a nice afternoon with Dad?” he asked, helping to lighten the load, just like he always did.
She smiled at him. “Yeah, I did.”
The two of them carried the bags into the house, while her sisters paraded into the house behind them, loudly arguing about something unimportant. For a lazy summer day, the house was suddenly bustling with movement as everyone moved to help put away the groceries. All three sisters made fun of their dads for excessive kissing in the kitchen, to which their dads chirped them back, and their new puppy tried his best to get in everyone’s business.
It was chaotic. It was messy. It was perfect. It was home.
Anastasia wouldn’t have it any other way.