Chapter Text
“You know you could just… refuse. No one would fault you –”
A muscle in Roz’s jaw jumps, his lips twitching. Cliff abruptly ends his sentence right there.
“I mean – it’s kinda shitty of her to –”
“Shitty of her?” Roz raises both eyebrows and tilts his head forward, the picture of incredulity. “Is – is shitty of me to put her in this position!”
“Next time, use a condom,” Conny offers from Roz’s other side.
The same muscle jumps. “I do. I did.”
“And you’re sure you’re the father?”
“Yes. Did test. Is mine. So. I will take break for settling him.”
Roz ends up missing their road trip south – two wins, two losses – and while the org is sparse with details, speculation runs rampant. A family matter, the announcement had said, adding that the Raiders were recalling Gary Durmont from Providence.
Cliff tries not to read social media, as a rule, but Roz cannot right now, and so it’s kind of Cliff’s duty. There’s lots of wild guesses – the wildest probably Roz eloping with Hollander, like Hollander isn’t accounted for on the Metro’s Canadian swing – but nothing close to the truth.
At least Roz’ll get a laugh out of that rumour.
“Helllooo, did you miss me, assholes?”
“Swear jar,” Kaner yells, pointing at Roz’s stall. There is a jar there, lovingly decorated with strollers and hearts and diapers. Swear jar, a loopy, pink font proclaims, even though Roz hasn’t even told them the gender of his kid. Whatever, it’s just a colour.
Roz raises both eyebrows. “This is no,” he decrees, one hand pressed to his chest, “You do not want me coming back, so I guess I leave –”
“Noo,” Nosey moans. “We did miss you! Promise! So much.”
“Fine,” Roz allows. “But swearing allowed – unless you are suddenly babies, too?”
Roz holes up with his new kid for the entirety of the All Star break, refusing all invites to come out (understandably) and finagling for invites to his place (less understandably).
Finally, Cliff just shows up with some food (not meal-plan approved, but whatever) and a pack of diapers, because what do you even give a fresh single dad? If Roz turns him away, he can at least leave the offerings on his front step.
Roz doesn’t turn him away. He looks like he doesn’t have the energy.
“I’m coming in,” Cliff decrees, and that’s that.
Roz doesn’t even protest.
“You look like shit,” Cliff says as he pops food in the oven.
Roz’s place, usually immaculate, looks like a war zone. There is packaging everywhere, even on the couch, though Roz pushes it off so he can drop down onto it. He groans.
“You need a nanny, dude.” He isn’t sure what Roz did for the two games he played in before the break. Christ.
“Is hard.” Roz sounds pathetic. “How can I – has to be someone I trust. But…”
“Dude.” Cliff purses his lips. “Ask the WAGs. They’ll help you.” And they say Roz is the smart one.
Roz naps while Cliff piles up the cartonage and bubble wrap, putting protein shake bottles into the dishwasher and setting it to run. Cliff doesn’t have kids of his own, but enough guys have told them about the early weeks, and Cliff cannot imagine doing it on your own.
Trust Roz to be stupid about this, of all things. This, and the Montreal girl he claims he doesn’t have.
Which –
“Tell me this kid isn’t Jane’s,” Cliff says over food.
Roz blinks. Then he cracks up before sobering abruptly. “I have no Jane.”
“Not anymore, or…”
“He is not… Jane’s.”
Cliff may not be the most emotional guy, or the smartest, but he can get a job done. So he takes out the packaging of too many boxes while Roz disappears deeper into his flat, puts the other meals in the freezer, and squints at the instructions for building some kind of kid contraption that he can’t place. All the while, he valiantly ignores his curiosity.
He’s already invaded Roz’s personal space, he won’t invade his, like, bonding time with his kid either.
He cannot defeat the thing, however, so instead, he messages Kaner’s wife. It’s probably more useful, anyway.
“Marly?” Roz asks, his voice surprisingly soft.
Cliff whirls around, and – oh.
There’s a baby in Roz’s arms. Of course. It’s why Cliff ambushed him, after all. But it’s still… odd, to see Roz standing there, fully at ease with a tiny thing cradled to his arm.
Cliff is speechless.
“Tyoma, this is Cliff Marleau. He is idiot, but he is… my best friend.” Roz’s voice breaks on the term, his gaze trained on his kid. Damn, Roz.
“Marly, this is Artyom Rozanov.”
Artyom is tiny, though he’s lost the wrinkliness of a newborn. Cliff’s heart seizes.
“Hello, little one.”
Boston Raiders @RaidersMLH
Congrats to our newest roster addition – little Artem Rozanov. Can't wait for the draft of 2033!
[Picture Attached: Ilya, looking down at a bundle in his arms, wrapped securely in a Boston Raider's fleece blanket so only a tuft of hair is peeking out.]
> 🩷💜💙 Roz 💙💜🩷 @katanakatara
ROZ HAS A KID????
>> 🩷💜💙 Roz 💙💜🩷 @katanakatara
DEFINITELY did not have that on my bingo card...
>> Rock'n'Rozanov @raidersstan
Does he even have a gf???
>>> 'Is he goalie now?' @hollanovascotia
Hollanov Love Child real :D
>>> 🩷💜💙 Roz 💙💜🩷 @katanakatara
Maybe Vetrova??? Wtf...
two mins for slashing @heyitsLana
Dadanov will be the end of me #rip
Roz goes radio silent after the All Star Game is over, though he keeps Cliff updated with pictures that prove that he’s not dead yet, so Cliff lets him be. He even manages to build the contraption: a changing table, to which Cliff reacts with an appropriate number of hearts and party emojis.
Roz leaves him on read, which is probably fair.
When games resume, Roz is back, and he looks like he’s actually slept. “Thank you,” he tells Cliff. “I have found nanny.”
“Congrats,” Cliff says, and wonders if Roz will introduce the nanny of his own free will.