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Saturday mornings at the rink were supposed to be quiet.
Low lights. Fresh ice. The hum of the Zamboni still echoing faintly in the rafters. Just Shane, Ilya, and Irina—no press, no drills, no screaming fans. Just family time and tiny skates.
That was the theory.
In practice, it lasted exactly fourteen minutes.
Irina stood at center ice in a pink helmet that was slightly too big and skates that had cost Shane an embarrassing amount of money. She wobbled, knees bent with fierce determination.
“I do it myself,” she announced.
Shane crouched a few feet away, hands hovering just in case. “You are absolutely doing it yourself,” he said warmly.
Ilya stood on the other side, arms crossed in proud captain stance. “Strong edges,” he encouraged. “Bend knees. Control your center.”
“She’s a toddler,” Shane said.
“She must learn balance early,” Ilya replied solemnly.
Irina pushed off.
She glided approximately three inches.
She gasped like she’d just scored a Game 7 overtime winner.
Shane clapped. “That’s my girl!”
Ilya looked like someone had handed him the Stanley Cup made of pure fatherhood. “Did you see that?” he whispered reverently.
“She moved less than a foot.”
“She moved with intention.”
They were in the middle of celebrating a successful half-glide when the rink doors opened again.
Wyatt stepped in, holding a tiny pair of skates.
Behind him was his wife, Lisa, looking amused and slightly sleep-deprived.
Between them waddled a small boy in a blue helmet with dinosaur stickers.
Irina froze.
The small boy froze.
They stared at each other across the ice like rival captains about to drop the gloves.
“This,” Wyatt announced cheerfully, “is Isaac’s first skate day.”
Shane lit up. “Oh my god.”
Lisa smiled apologetically. “He saw Irina here last week and wouldn’t stop talking about it.”
Isaac pointed dramatically. “Pink!”
Irina pointed back. “Dinos!”
They both gasped like they had just discovered destiny.
Within minutes, Shane and Wyatt had them both near the boards, tiny hands gripping the wall for stability.
Irina leaned toward Isaac.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You fall?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Isaac said proudly.
She nodded solemnly. “Me too.”
Shane felt his heart physically melt into a puddle.
Wyatt elbowed him. “They’re already trauma bonding.”
Lisa laughed. “It’s the foundation of all good friendships.”
Ilya watched with narrowed eyes.
Isaac let go of the boards first.
He wobbled.
Irina followed.
They both immediately fell in synchronized slow motion.
There was a beat of silence.
Then laughter. High-pitched, delighted, completely unbothered.
Shane nearly cried. “They’re laughing about it.”
Wyatt grinned. “Power couple behavior.”
Ilya’s head snapped toward him. “What.”
Wyatt shrugged casually. “You know. Future couple. Childhood sweethearts. We’re witnessing history.”
Shane put a hand over his heart. “That would be adorable.”
Ilya stared at both of them like they had suggested trading Irina to another franchise.
“She is three,” he said flatly.
Wyatt smirked. “Exactly. Long game.”
Irina and Isaac had now discovered that holding hands improved balance by approximately zero percent but made them giggle significantly more.
They shuffled together across the ice in a crooked zigzag.
Isaac tripped.
Irina attempted to help him up.
They both fell again.
More laughter.
Lisa filmed discreetly from the stands.
Shane leaned against the boards, watching like he was witnessing something sacred.
“This is so cute,” he murmured.
Ilya crossed his arms tighter. “He pushed her.”
“He did not push her.”
“He destabilized her trajectory.”
“She’s learning physics,” Shane said dryly.
At one point, Isaac patted Irina’s helmet.
Ilya straightened.
“Did you see that?” he demanded.
Wyatt blinked. “He… touched her helmet?”
“Yes.”
Shane burst out laughing. “He’s not proposing.”
“Not yet,” Wyatt said helpfully.
Ilya pointed at him. “You are encouraging this.”
Wyatt beamed. “I absolutely am.”
The toddlers attempted a race.
By “race,” it was more of a determined shuffle toward a fallen hockey glove someone had left near center ice.
Isaac got there first.
Irina gasped in betrayal.
He handed it to her immediately.
Ilya paused.
Shane elbowed him gently. “See? Gentleman.”
Ilya scowled. “Strategic goodwill gesture.”
Lisa coughed to hide a laugh.
After twenty minutes, they were both exhausted but refusing to leave the ice.
Irina had decided Isaac was her “skate buddy.”
Isaac had decided Irina was “pink fast.”
They sat together on the ice, legs splayed, helmets slightly askew, discussing something in incomprehensible toddler language.
Shane crouched near them. “What are they saying?”
Wyatt shrugged. “Probably planning their wedding.”
Ilya made a noise of outrage.
It escalated when Isaac offered Irina one of his dinosaur stickers.
She accepted it with reverence and stuck it onto her helmet.
Ilya looked personally wounded.
“That is permanent,” he said.
“It’s removable,” Lisa assured him.
“But symbolic.”
Shane was openly grinning now. “You’re being dramatic.”
“He is marking territory,” Ilya insisted.
Wyatt was laughing so hard he had to hold the boards.
At some point, Isaac lost balance and instinctively grabbed onto Irina’s sleeve.
They both toppled over.
Irina popped up first and extended a tiny mittened hand.
Isaac took it.
They stood together.
The adults collectively melted.
Even Ilya hesitated.
“Okay,” he admitted quietly. “That was… acceptable.”
Shane beamed at him. “Progress.”
Then Isaac leaned forward and kissed Irina’s helmet.
Not her face. Just the helmet.
But still.
The world stopped.
Shane made a strangled delighted noise.
Wyatt slapped his thigh. “IT BEGINS.”
Lisa covered her face.
Ilya went completely still.
He slowly skated toward them.
“Isaac,” he said in his most captain-like voice.
The toddler looked up innocently.
“Yes?”
Shane bit his lip to stop laughing.
“You will focus on skating,” Ilya said firmly.
Isaac nodded solemnly. “Okay.”
Irina tugged on Ilya’s sleeve. “Papa, Isaac nice.”
Ilya looked at his daughter.
His entire expression softened instantly.
“Yes,” he conceded. “He is… currently acceptable.”
Wyatt lost it. “Currently acceptable!”
They migrated to the little practice nets.
Shane placed a foam puck in front of them.
“Okay, you two. Teamwork.”
Irina swung her tiny stick.
Missed completely.
Isaac tapped it gently toward her.
She swung again.
Contact.
The puck slid approximately two feet.
They both cheered like they’d scored on a breakaway.
Shane threw his hands up. “GOAL!”
Wyatt followed suit. “Future all-stars!”
Ilya muttered, “Future rivalry.”
After nearly an hour, the toddlers were flushed and exhausted.
Irina leaned against Isaac’s shoulder.
Isaac rested his helmet gently against hers.
Shane whispered, “This is criminally cute.”
Wyatt nodded. “We’re in-laws now.”
Ilya whipped around. “We are not.”
Lisa laughed. “Relax. They’re three.”
“Yes,” Ilya said darkly. “And he is bold.”
When it was finally time to leave, Irina clung to Isaac’s sleeve.
“Skate tomorrow?”
Isaac considered this gravely. “Okay.”
Wyatt pretended to wipe away tears. “The commitment.”
Ilya scooped Irina into his arms.
She waved dramatically. “Bye, Isaac!”
Isaac waved back. “Bye, Pink!”
Shane leaned into Ilya as they walked toward the exit.
“You declared a toddler your nemesis,” he murmured.
“He kissed her helmet,” Ilya replied stiffly.
Shane laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
Ilya adjusted Irina’s helmet gently, pressing a kiss to the dinosaur sticker.
“She is my daughter,” he said simply.
Shane smiled softly. “I know.”
Behind them, Wyatt called out, “Same time next week, in-law?”
Ilya didn’t even turn around.
“We will evaluate his performance,” he called back.
Shane burst into laughter so loud it echoed through the empty rink.
Irina giggled between them, completely unaware that she had just sparked the most dramatic rivalry of Ilya Rozanov’s life.
And somewhere in the stands, Lisa turned to Wyatt and said, “You realize this is going to be hilarious for the next eighteen years.”
Wyatt grinned. “Worth it.”
Meanwhile, Ilya held his daughter a little closer, eyes already narrowed in mock suspicion.
Nemesis identified.
Age: three.
Threat level: adorable.