Work Text:
If you had told Ilya Rozanov that shaking hands with a beautiful boy with freckles when he was 17 would have led to this, he would have laughed at you. He would have shook his head, said that this level of happiness was impossible, and lit another cigarette. Yet, here he was, over 20 years later, and he couldn’t imagine his life any other way.
They had started talking about the idea of children after the third year of teaching the hockey camps, not long after being married. Ilya had always loved children, with their honest eyes and big hearts. He loved the Pike’s children, how they called him Uncle Ily, how they lit up when he came through the door with little treats and gifts and tried to imitate him when he cooed at them in Russian. He loved the children at the camps, how they admired him, how they trusted him, how they desperately wanted to learn from him.
There was, however, a small part of him that feared having children of his own. Ilya knew what damage a parent could do to a child, the way some of it never quite heals. He knows what genetics he held, and how the fear of watching your parents fall prey to them changed how a child moves through the world. One night, he told Shane his fears in the dark of their bedroom, only for Shane to shut them down.
“Do you remember the All-Stars game in Tampa,” Shane had asked, still stroking the worry lines on Ilya’s forehead.
“Ah, yes, where you stated the obvious and then I cried in your arms before making you cry on my —”
“Yes, Ilya, that All-Stars game,” the eye roll obvious in his tone. “Do you remember playing in the pool with the other player’s kids?”
“Да, I still owe those children candy bars.”
Shane chuckled and kissed his forehead softly, and the last of Ilya’s worry lines smoothed out with the press of his husband’s lips.
“Everyone else was busy doing their own thing. Those parents had stuck them in a pool, said ‘have fun’ and then laid beside the pool in the sun. You saw that and jumped in the pool with them. You could have sat out and relaxed, drank beer, tanned your skin. You, Ilyusha, chose to entertain children that were not yours because you can’t stand to think that a child is not safe and loved and as protected as you should have been.” The tears that had been hovering in Ilya’s waterline now flowed silently down his cheeks, creating salted tracks on his skin. “There is no doubt in my mind that you will do the same for our children if we are so lucky.”
They applied for their foster license and filled their adoption profile shortly after that night — just in case.
Two years later, on a Thursday night, they got the call. A baby girl had been surrendered in the Angel Cradle box at the children’s hospital. Their case manager assured them both that she was healthy and safe, and while it wasn’t an ideal timing for them with practice season just kicking off, she needed someone. Ilya and Shane didn’t hesitate to jump into the car and drive to the hospital.
A nurse placed Ilya and Shane in a small room with soft lights while they waited. Shane paced, nervously chewing on his fingers, but Ilya sat and pondered what this would mean. They hadn’t told many people they were trying for this, just Yuna and David. They didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up if them adopting didn’t work out. They had picked out a room in their home for a child, but didn’t want to plan any decorations. They had pondered names if they adopted a newborn, but never settled on anything. They had talked about nannies, and decided against it, but hadn’t quite known what that would mean.
Then, Lisa Hayes walked in carrying a tiny pink bundle, and everything clicked into place.
The second his eyes landed on her tiny, perfect face, Ilya knew. He knew that this was their daughter, that they were meant to be a family — together. He could hear the case manager talking, but it was just noise once she was in his arms. Ilya knew Shane was listening more intently than he was, and he could get the rundown later. Ilya would rather soak in the first moments with his baby girl than listen to boring people talk about boring things, and the case manager was boring.
She was so tiny and pink, much too small for his big, clumsy, hockey player hands. She had pale skin, big beautiful eyes and soft dark curls that were peaking out from beneath the tiny hat the hospital had placed on her head. A tiny hand wiggled out from beneath the swaddling blanket and Ilya instinctively reached for it. She gripped onto his finger and he knew that he would do anything to make sure she felt safe and loved.
She started to fuss, ever so softly, and Ilya instinctively began singing to her the song his mother had once upon a time — a song he never thought he would hear again:
Спи, младенец мой прекрасный,
Баюшки-баю.
Тихо смотрит месяц ясный
В колыбель твою.
Стану сказывать я сказки,
Песенку спою;
Ты ж дремли, закрывши глазки,
Баюшки-баю.
Ilya didn’t know how long he had been softly murmuring to her when Shane placed a hand on his back. He hadn’t realized that the social worker had slipped out of the room and that he and Shane had been left alone with a baby, and it occurred to him that Shane had not yet held her.
As he placed her into Shane’s arms, all of the fear came rushing in.
What if he does not feel the same? What if he doesn’t love her? What if they decide we are not the right fit for her? What if I am too much like my mother? Or worse — my father?
Those fears dissipated the moment Shane looked at him with tears in his eyes and a soft smile painted across his face.
“She’s ours, if you want,” he said, not realizing that those five words cracked Ilya’s entire world wide open. “We just have to sign a few extra papers.”
After they took more time soaking in the joy of having their baby in their arms, Ilya asked what their case manager had told Shane because he had heard none of it.
“She’s only a few weeks old, was surrendered to the box about six hours ago, and she’s perfectly healthy,” Shane cooed, not looking up from the tiny sleeping bundle in his arms. He told Ilya that since she was surrendered with all of her paperwork, they could do a ‘quick adoption’ form, meaning she would be theirs officially by the time they left the hospital. His face twisted a bit at the fact that she had been given up this way, but he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on earth at the moment.
“They did tests on her to check everything out, but she passed every single one with flying colors.”
“Of course she did. She’s our daughter,” Ilya stated as easy as breathing. “Her greatness is genetic.”
Shane never bothered to correct him.
They had gone home the next day after a night of observation for Baby Girl Hollander-Rozanov. Lisa had came down after her shift to help put her in the car and give them some extra supplies they had floating around the ward to get them by for the first few days. Ilya had made her promise not to tell Wyatt but assured her that they would send an announcement out soon. She understood entirely, and whispered that she packed a tiny Centaurs jersey into the bag for them. Ilya really liked Lisa Hayes.
Instead of driving home, they drove straight to Yuna and David’s house. Shane had texted them from the hospital that morning, only stating they had a big surprise for them, and that they would be over as soon as they could. When the door popped open, Ilya could tell they were not expecting to meet their granddaughter, but Yuna was enamored with her immediately, and David looked as though the world had shifted on it’s axis. Ilya knew the feeling.
They had tossed around a few names last night while she slept but hadn’t settled on anything by the time they had left they hospital. So, when Yuna asked, Ilya wasn’t quite sure what to say, but Shane seemed sure.
“Alina May Hollander-Rozanova,” he said, beaming down at their daughter before turning to Ilya. “I know we didn’t decide for sure but — ”
“Всё идеально. Ты идеальна. Я тебя люблю,” he whispered because if he spoke any louder, he would begin to shout from the rooftops about how perfect his husband was, and that would wake their little girl.
A New Centaur has Joined the Team!
Shane and Ilya Hollander-Rozanov are proud to announce the addition of their daughter, Alina May Hollander-Rozanova, to their family. Everyone is happy and healthy, and while we can’t wait to see Alina hit the ice, we ask that you please respect the privacy of this wonderful new family.
— The Centaurs Family
The next few weeks were busy, and Ilya was tired in a way he had not felt before. They switched off who went to practice each day, never leaving Alina without one of them. It wasn’t sustainable in the long run, but since they knew they were against a nanny, this was the best option for now. They never missed a team meeting, one of them was always there, and each practice was recorded so the other could watch, observe, and make adjustments to their own game.
Coach Wiebe was extremely kind and understanding, offering to set up care at the barn for them once they felt comfortable, but they decided to wait until she was a bit older and had more of her vaccinations completed. They still had some time before their first road game, which means they had plenty of time to figure it out, but they still had a deadline that was fast approaching, and Ilya was worried.
They were working late one night on Alina’s room when it all came to a head. They had been painting her room a soft blue that Shane had spent days agonizing over when Shane had mentioned their schedule of games, making an offhand comment about having to look for a nanny soon if they wanted Alina to be comfortable with them before they left.
“We said no nanny!” Ilya said through gritted teeth, trying to suppress his anger as to not wake their daughter asleep in her bassinet across the hall. He slapped the paintbrush into the tray, little flecks of baby blue paint splashing against the plastic tarp beneath it. “You promised, Shane.”
“I don’t know what else to do though! It’s not like we can take her with us to the fucking bench.” Shane had that look in his eyes that burned into Ilya. Normally, he loved that look, often comparing his husband to an angry kitten, but this felt different — slightly pointed and angry, but with a touch of exhaustion that he had not seen. He had merely suggested revisiting the topic of having a nanny, but Ilya couldn’t imagine someone else raising their child. He wanted to miss nothing, wanted her to know that she was loved, and he had been on the receiving end of enough terrible care after the loss of his mother that he did not want that for their little girl. “I just wanted to talk about it, not make any decisions, Ilya.”
“Decision was made long ago,” Ilya huffed, his words short and pinched. “We said no, and I mean no. She will not be brought up like that. Thinking we do not care.”
The ‘not like me’ was left unspoken.
Shane grew silent, which Ilya hated. He hated when his husband closed himself off. Ilya felt defeated, snapping at Shane always made him feel like shit. He didn’t want to fight with Shane, he hated when they fought. He just wanted to raise their daughter the best way possible, with no one but their family involved, but he knew Shane was right. All he could do for now was slump into the rocking chair they had tucked into the corner of their little girl’s nursery, and tuck his head into his hands.
It wasn’t long until Shane crossed the room on light feet to run his fingers through Ilya’s sweat dampened curls. The touch was grounding, pulling his body back to shore and out of the sharp waves that rocked his mind. Ilya felt himself lean into the touch, and sighed contently when Shane leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his head before sitting on the ground between Ilya’s legs.
“I can talk to mom about helping during the season, have her stay with them for road trips. It’s not perfect, but we have FaceTime, and phone calls, and eventually, we could probably bring her with us.”
Ilya thought that was an acceptable compromise, so they came up with a timeline. If Yuna and David agreed, Alina would stay with them during roadies until she was at least six months old, and then they would broach the topic of her traveling with them. It would mean someone would have to watch her during games, but they had a network of family within the organization that would gladly tend to the youngest member of The Centaurs team.
With their plan decided upon, Ilya stood up from the chair and curled their bodies together. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, his fingers still carding through his half-matted down curls, and Ilya clung to him like he had been lost at sea and Shane was a goddamn life raft. They stayed there, tangled together in their daughter’s room, light blue paint splattered on their clothes and skin, not caring that they needed to sleep, far too hungry for contact to be apart from each other any longer. Ilya knew they would soon be interrupted by Alina’s little angry noises when she woke up, but they needed this.
They needed each other.
It ended up being Uncle Harris who watched her during road games. With his role within the organization expanding, and his relationship with Troy, Harris accompanied them on every road trip now, and was more than happy to have assistance with his tasks. He would text Ilya and Shane pictures of Alina with her ear protection, wrapped up in blankets and jackets before each game, along with their box number so that they could wave to her after each goal.
Ilya loved having Alina at games. He had always played hard, and had long been considered a force on the ice. But something came over him knowing his little girl was in the crowd. He wanted to impress her, to give her something to be proud of. Sure, she wasn’t able to walk, or talk, or stay awake for an entire game, but he hoped that some part of her knew that he always played for her.
Yuna and David still came to every home game, joining the other families in the box, bouncing Alina on their knees. Shane grew up with this, always felt supported, and Ilya had grown accustomed to seeing them in the stands cheering them on, but there was something special knowing that there was someone who shared his name watching him play.
When they won The Cup, Alina was nearing 10 months old, barely crawling, and a touch too big to sit in The Cup but they did it anyway. Harris was there to document it all, big smiles painted across his face as he pulled his camera out. She giggled as they kissed her chubby baby cheeks, Ilya cooing at her in Russian.
“Ты самый ценный приз, малышка.”
They used the pictures he took to officially reveal her to the world.
“You’re spoiling her, Ilya,” Shane teased from the doorway as Ilya clipped a tiny crown into Alina’s soft curls. She was perched in his lap, facing the rather large mirror that was attached to her wall, and Shane’s soft smile was just visible in the reflection.
“невозможно,” Ilya pretended to be offended only to keep the bit up, but knew that Shane was joking. It was, of course, their princess’s first birthday, so nothing was off limits.
Ilya never really liked his own birthday. So often it had been forgotten when he was younger, so he never cared much for it. He would be damned if Alina ever felt that way. He didn’t care that she wouldn’t remember her first birthday, he wanted it to be special, full of love and celebration.
He fluffed her curls once more, admiring the smattering of freckles popping up on her cheeks. She was so beautiful — the perfect mix of them despite her genetics not being their own. It didn’t matter to Ilya, of course. She could look nothing like them and he would still think she was the most beautiful girl in the world, but he still loved the little pieces of them she had — Shanes freckles and dark hair, his curls and crooked smile.
All of their family had all shown up, despite it being the end of the off season, which was often considered sacred. Hockey families never do anything halfway, so Alina had a pile of gifts to open, a petting zoo, a bounce house, and a beautiful princess themed cake to destroy. She received so many toys and clothes that Ilya was concerned they would need to buy a new house just to fit them all. Everything was bright and colorful — everything his little girl could possibly want. But her favorite gift came from her Uncle Hayden.
He and Jackie had given her a dress-up set, and set of tiny hockey gear, just a touch too big for her tiny shoulders and legs, but Hayden made sure to hand her a separate gift all on his own, perfectly wrapped. Just a simple board book, but the title made Shane honk with laughter and Ilya turn stoic.
Goodnight, Loon
By Abe Sauer
“Oh my god, where did you find this?” Shane asked between heaving laughs. Ilya knew that Shane had told Hayden the story of their first trip to the cottage but he didn’t realize that he would hold on to it for a moment like this.
“We saw it in this little bookstore Ruby and Jade like and I just knew Alina had to have it,” Hayden said, looking rather pleased with himself, a smattering of chuckles bouncing around their family and friends. “We all know how much you love loons, Ilya!”
Everyone chuckled, and Ilya wanted to be mad, but knowing Hayden loved them enough to chirp in the form of a gift to his child meant more to him than he would ever let him know.
“Yes, let’s give мой кролик nightmares about stupid Canadian wolfbirds, Pike,” he teased, smile barely hidden. “Come on, Alina, that stays at Uncle Hayden’s house.”
He tried to gently pry the book from her hands, but her little fingers held tight as she emitted a rather deafening screech of displeasure. Ilya immediately released it, and Alina began flipping through the thick pages as if she knew how to read.
“A true Canadian,” Shane beamed, making no attempt to hide his amusement. Ilya rolled his eyes at his husband’s delight as Shane leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Don’t worry, she’ll forget about it in two minutes.”
They helped her open more gifts before letting her toddle around the yard with Anya, her Auntie Sveta close behind her, as they cleaned up. The book went in the pile of other books she received, and if Ilya buried it deeper in the pile to keep it from her sight, no one would be any wiser.
Alina did not forget about Goodnight, Loon. In fact, that stupid book became a staple in her bedtime routine. Ilya tried for a while to suggest other books to her, but she would pout until he grabbed her favorite book. It was directed more to the American side of things, but Alina did not care — she just wanted her favorite book.
For a year, she carried Goodnight, Loon with her everywhere. Almost every picture they have of her featured that fucking book. It accompanied her on plane rides, to the cottage, to Mémé and Pops house, to games with Uncle Harris, to the zoo. She would often forget it in random places, and they had learned to have several copies on standby just in case it was not recoverable.
When Alina was sick for the first time, Ilya read that book to her at least 40 times in one day in order to soothe her, bouncing between English and Russian. She was being spoon fed Tylenol and applesauce, and he and Shane both smelled of baby sweat and sick, but they knew if they stopped reading the book, she would scream. They even express shipped a plastic bath version so they could finally wash the sickly smell from her skin without fear of her becoming distressed. Soon, not even bath time was free of loons.
After a nasty hit landed Ilya in the hospital with a concussion, he had slurred his way through the words in Russian, eyes closed, no Alina to be seen, but Shane had proof on his phone and sent it to Hayden for blackmail. When he was more cognizant, Shane tried to tease him about it, but he did care. He liked that even concussed, his brain tried to soothe his little girl.
The pages of Goodnight, Loon were turned so often, and with tiny baby hands that they would often fray on the edges or begin to come apart, which is why Ilya was glad that they had a stack of them in their closet, awaiting their turn to be Alina’s book. Every time Ilya grabbed a new book, he envied an inanimate object for just a moment because those simple pages would be their daughter’s favorite thing in the world, and how beautiful was it to have her love.
For her second birthday, Hayden bought her a loon stuffed animal to go along with the book, and Ilya almost lost it.
“Абсоютно нет,” he scoffed as she pulled it from the sparkly pink bag, clutching it tight to her tiny body. For all of his belly-aching, Alina seemed delighted by the new toy. He and Shane shared a look, knowing they would have to ask where Hayden found this exact one so they could buy multiple — just in case.
It joined the book in the list of Alina Essentials, and her beloved Poot the Loon — named by Alina and Uncle Hayden — saw every Centaurs game moving forward. Uncle Harris introduced Poot and Neck-Neck, and the Instagram post he made about them did numbers. Something about the past and future generations of silent Centaur supporters struck the fans heartstrings, and Ilya couldn’t help but smile at how loved their little girl was.
One post-game interview was interrupted by Alina breaking through the media scrum, her dark curls bobbing up and down, Poot clutched in her grip as she launched herself into Shane’s arms.
Ilya and Shane didn’t necessarily hide Alina, but they were cautious when it came to the media. They knew how spiteful things could be spun, how dangerous reporters could be. But every reporter there had been briefed by members of Harris’ office on how to behave around the Centaur children and had been threatened to have their access revoked if there was any issues.
The reporters cooed as she curled into her Daddy’s side, her Papa rubbing soft circles on her back, and it didn’t take long for them to address her. One of the reporters asked Alina about her stuffed loon, and she perked up instantly, wiggling in Shane’s grasp.
“This is Poot and he helps Daddy and папочка win!”
The scrum began laughing at the beliefs of an almost three-year-old and her magical loon, but the look on Ilya’s face quieted them down quickly. He wouldn’t let a bunch of vultures ruin her whimsy.
Centaurs fans began holding up signs with loons on them, clever phrases like ‘Do it for Poot’ and ‘Only Here for Poot’ and ‘Poot the Almighty Loon’ adorning them. Ilya would be annoyed by them if it didn’t warm the cockles of his heart. The way their fans supported them and loved them was something he never expected. So, if he was taunted by loons for the rest of his career, so be it.
By Alina’s third birthday, it had became tradition. Jackie and Hayden gave her a normal present, and Hayden gave a secondary loon themed present to ‘taunt’ Ilya. That year, it had been loon patterned pajamas.
“смотреть, папочка! Like Poot,” she exclaimed while Hayden cackled in the background. She instantly tried to pull them over her birthday dress, and Shane had to coax them out of her hand with promises of wearing them to bed.
It was a game to Hayden, but somehow loons had become Alina’s weird little quirk. She had multiple books about them, artwork hanging in her room, and little drawings of loons decorated their fridge. Ilya had videos of her and Shane at the cottage making loon calls, and he knew there were pictures of the two of them asleep with Poot on his chest, Alina tucked into his side.
Ilya knew she would grow out of it, her weird little loon obsession, that eventually she would grow up and stop believing a stuffed animal helped her dads win hockey games, but he didn’t want her to. He wanted her to stay little forever, to always believe in magical loons, to always be made of pure sunshine, to always beg for him to read her book to her.
He would do so for as long as she allowed.
The thing Ilya had learned about being a parent is that every part of your being slowly morphs to revolve around them, and that eventually, you learn to embrace that. He had gotten his loon tattoo long before the idea of Alina had even crossed their minds, and no matter how often he explained to her that it was actually for her Daddy, she called it ‘flat Poot’. So, when he decided to get a tattoo for Alina, it wasn’t hard to decide what to do.
He had gotten the bear tattoo on his chest when he was far too young — a symbol for his motherland, a now tainted memory of a home that had never truly been his. He had gotten the loon tattoo for Shane, for the cottage — the home that he had been allowed to chose, that would always choose him. Alina was the home that he and Shane had made.
The artist who did his original loon did the second one. It was smaller, fluffier, and darker, trailing behind the larger one — their baby loon. The artist was more than happy to add more water to the original one, touching up the little faded spots that had appeared with age, making things more realistic. It was perfect, his home permanently etched into his skin in ink.
When he showed Alina and Shane, she had clapped her little hands together, and jumped up and down in excitement.
“It’s me! It’s me, Daddy, look,” she shouted, dragging Shane down to look at it with her. Her smile was as wide as her big hazel eyes, and she kept trying to touch it. “Did you know a baby loon is a ‘loonlet’?”
“Ла, very good, my little loonlet” Ilya said, holding back a smile as she giggled, high-pitched and stunningly happy. She was perfect, their little girl, their little loonlet, and it made his chest ache with the weight of it all.
He wasn’t sure what that weight was, but he chose to put it in a box in his mind so Alina would not see the struggle. He would address it eventually, but now was not the time. It wasn’t her responsibility to help him shoulder whatever burden his mind was giving him to carry now.
Ilya went about the night as normal as possible. He made dinner, did the dishes while Shane did bath time, read Alina her favorite book until she fell asleep, but the entire time, there was a tightness in his chest, a grinding feeling that twisted his ribs with each breath.
He looked at their daughter’s face as she slept beside him, so perfect, so at peace, so content, and the box that was containing the weight broke. He could put a name to what he was feeling finally — grief.
Alina was the best thing that had ever happened to him besides meeting Shane. She was funny, and brilliant, and beautiful. She cared about the fate of the bugs on the sidewalk, and made sure Anya got bites of her dinner. She wanted to know how to say things in Russian, Japanese, and French, and would often ask for Ilya to read to her in his mother tongue. She liked going to the cottage, and loved swimming with her Papa. She begged to help Shane with dinner, and cried when they came home hurt from games. She was their biggest fan, telling people on the street that her Daddy and папочка were super heroes, and begging them to take her onto the ice with them after games. She was perfect, and she was theirs.
All because someone didn’t want her.
Once he had extracted himself from beside her sleeping figure, and shut the door behind him, it was as if the last pillar holding him up had crumbled to dust. He slid down the wall opposite her room, exhausted from keeping himself upright for too long.
Ilya was faintly aware that Anya was nudging him with her wet nose, but he was cemented to the floor, fossilized in that very spot. He heard her whine softly, and couldn’t reach out an arm to comfort her. She padded down the stairs, and once again, he was alone.
He didn’t even realize he was crying until Shane appeared in front of him with concern painted across his face. Ilya wasn’t in control any longer, he simple allowed himself to be guided to their room, to their bed, into Shane’s arms. They laid like that for longer than Ilya really knew — his face pressed into Shane’s neck, gentle fingers tracing patterns on his back.
It felt like he was actually drowning, his breath felt wet and heavy in his chest, his limbs weighed down like useless lumps of flesh rather than paddling their way through the dark inky black water in his mind. The only thing keeping him semi-afloat was Shane. His husband’s gentle touches, his deep calming breaths, his scent, his warmth — all tiny oars rowing his useless figure to shore.
Ilya hated feeling like this, like a lump of rotten meat thrown to feed the sharks below. He was better with Galina’s help, but he knew that an ocean raged inside of him that often took over and capsized the little boat he tried to navigate the choppy waters with. He would never be ‘healed’ per say, and he would always struggle to calm the waves of sadness that overtook him sometimes.
He was lucky to have his family, his support system. Shane would always be the one to pull him back to safety, his own arms paddling when Ilya’s gave out. And whether she knew it or not, Alina was the goddamn lighthouse on the shore, awaiting his return with her sunshine smile, and it was his job to tend to the light inside her. He would always take that job seriously, never allowing her light to fade — especially at his own hands.
When he finally was able to breathe a bit better, he kissed Shane’s neck and tried to pull himself away, but Shane didn’t release him. He held tight to him, clinging to him as he so often did. Ilya didn’t mind one bit — he preferred to be attached to Shane at all times, in fact.
“Let me hold you, Ilyusha,” Shane whispered, “just a bit longer.”
They laid like that for a while more, their breathing syncing along with their hearts, lulling Ilya back into calmness. When Shane’s hands finally slipped from their hold on him, Ilya settled back a bit so he could see Shane’s face, allowing himself to reach out and trace the freckles along his cheeks. He was still the most beautiful person Ilya had ever known, the years since their first meeting painted across his face, softening his features. Ilya loved the tiny crinkles by Shane’s eyes, and the little white hairs scattered in his hair, even if Shane hated them both. It showed Ilya that he had lived, and loved, and laughed, and persevered.
“Can you tell me why you were so upset?” Shane asked softly. “You don’t have to, but I want you to know you can.”
Ilya steadied himself with a few deep breathes, wiping the last of the remaining tears from his face, and asked the question that had been in his mind secretly since the beginning:
“How could someone ever look at her and not want her?” Shane sighed and nodded, as if he had been expecting this, and Ilya figured he probably had on some level. Shane knew him so completely by now that he usually knew what Ilya was thinking before he ever vocalized it. “She’s so perfect, and so loved, and the best thing we could have done. How could anyone give her away? How did they look at this perfect little girl and decide to leave her? Why did they leave her?”
“That’s not how I look at it,” Shane said, with that same determination he showed when trying to get Alina to eat broccoli. “The way I see it, whoever gave her to us knew deep down that they weren’t meant to be her parent. We don’t know exactly why they did it, but it was the best thing for them. And look what it got us, Ilya. That little girl is ours because of their decision, and I thank them for it every day of my life. She will never not know that she is so very loved, so very wanted, because you would never allow her to feel an ounce of that.”
“What if she grows up and wants to know? What if part of her knows that she was not someone’s first choice and that haunts her?”
Like it haunts me?
“She’ll probably ask eventually. And when she does, we tell her the truth. She’s smart Ilya, we can’t hide this from her.” Ilya’s heart stuttered at this, knowing that eventually their little girl would know someone didn’t choose her. He knew what that did to him, the hurt that it had caused, and he hated that Alina could ever feel that way. “What we will do though, is tell her how wonderful she is, how fiercely she is loved, and how made for our family she is. Okay?”
Ilya grounded himself once more by laying against his husband’s chest, feeling the steadiness of his heart, the waves inside his body slowing down to match the gentle thumping beneath him.
“я так сильно тебя люблю,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat as he spoke them into the soft cotton of Shane’s t-shirt.
“я тоже тебя люблю,” Shane whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his head before wiggling out from beneath Ilya’s weighty frame. Ilya went to open his mouth to complain about Shane leaving but when he began tiptoeing over to the door, he realized what Shane was doing.
They hadn’t done this in a while, not since Alina was much smaller, and they only did it on particularly bad days. Usually, it was Ilya setting her sleeping body on Shane’s chest after a long day of pouring over statistics and game tapes. Her presence always calmed Shane, easing him into an easy sleep. Typically, Ilya wanted Shane, but the second that his husband’s hand turned the doorknob, he knew he needed their daughter.
Their daughter. Their perfect, beautiful, kind, smart daughter. Their greatest joy, their lighthouse, their Alina May. Their greatest prize.
They had won many trophies, together and apart. They were considered two of the greatest players to ever play the game, and Ilya had no doubt that their jerseys would hang beside each other’s in the hall of fame. Ilya didn’t care about the accolades. The trophies were shiny, the money was nice, but the second Shane walked back into their room with Alina’s sleeping form in his arms, none of them mattered. He never needed another award, could retire tomorrow, and he would be blissfully happy. As long as he had Shane to come home to, and Alina asleep in his arms, he would be perfectly fine.
Alina finally asked shortly after her fifth birthday.
“Daddy? папочка? Where did I come from,” she asked casually, not even looking up from her coloring book. He looked over at Shane, both of their eyes wide with a mix of terror and confusion. “My teacher said that you adopted me, but I don’t know what that means.”
The look on Shane’s face morphed into anger, and Ilya already knew that a phone call would be made as soon as this conversation was over. They both sat down with her at the table, and Ilya gently nudged the crayons from her hand as he slid the coloring book away from her. He had been dreading this day, and while he wished they didn’t have to do it at all, he knew that having all of her attention was better than having to repeat things.
“Well, малышка, your daddy and I knew we wanted to be parents, but we cannot have babies on our own —”
“Because you’re both boys?”
“Yes, we are both boys,” Shane answered while Ilya stifled a laugh. “Sometimes families look different, and that’s okay. But we knew we wanted a family. So, when you were born, your birth mom said that we should be your dads. She knew we would protect you, and love you, and that you were made to be our little girl.”
“So, I do have a mom?” Alina was always so sure of herself, loud and confident — Ilya was always so proud of that. But this question made her shrink in on herself.
“You do, солнышко, of course.” Ilya’s heart sank deep into his chest. He knew what it was like to have a mom once and then no longer have her. He had to explain it far too many times in his youth, and now he was worried that he had doomed his daughter to the same fate.
“Did she not want me?”
The dam inside Ilya broke, and he could feel the tears falling hot from his eyes. He tried to hide it, not wanting to upset Alina, but their little girl was perceptive like her Papa. She hopped down from her chair, and crawled into his lap, lifting the edge of her little dress to dot the tears from his eyes as he had done with his own shirt for so many years.
How did someone ever give her up?
He pulled her in tightly, clutching her to his chest before he spoke.
“Your мать knew that she could not be your мать. She knew that you were meant to be our baby, and I know that doesn’t make sense really, but we will never give you up or leave you — okay? You are моя малышка, and your daddy’s. And we love you more than you will ever know. And we are so lucky that we adopted you. это судьба.”
“What does that mean, папочка — это судьба?”
Ilya kissed his little girls curls, nuzzling in to inhale the hint of her strawberry scented curl cream before looking over to Shane, tears in his eyes, soft smile tugging at his lips.
“Meant to be, малышка. We were meant to be.”