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They play Montreal, and Shane almost feels sorry for them. They’re horrible, they’ve dropped massively in the rankings over the past few seasons, and they play like a snake with no head.
Shane almost feels sorry for them.
Almost.
The only person he truly feels sorry for is Hayden; Hayden who just shakes his head when they shake hands down the line. Not for the first time, Shane wonders if he’s even still having fun.
That night, they meet the Pike’s for dinner at their home. The kids beg to stay up late, and Shane finds himself with a very sleepy, but very determined Arthur in his lap while Hayden cleans up the table after dinner and Jackie is putting little Amber to bed. Next to Shane, Ruby and Jade are doing Ilya’s nails. He lets them do anything they want on them, and so every finger is a different color and laden with glitter.
“...and we can put the mermaid glitter on your left pinkie!” Ruby says, her tongue sticking out between her teeth in deep concentration.
“Rubes, tongue belongs in your mouth,” Hayden says off-handedly, not even looking at her while he clears up the table.
Ruby huffs but does it.
“What?” Ilya furrows his eyebrows at Hayden, who shrugs. “Her occupational therapist said that was important because… I can’t remember, but it has something to do with motor development.”
“Oh, wow,” Shane says quietly.
Ruby looks up at Ilya, who sticks his own tongue out at her, making her giggle. “Miss Beth says it helps me write better when my tongue is in my mouth!”
“Oh really?” Ilya asks idly, “Do you hold pen with your tongue?”
Both twins start giggling.
“Why does she do occupational therapy?” Shane asks, genuinely interested. In his lap, Arthur is cuddling against his chest now, hands fisted into the sleeve of Shane’s hoodie. He’s warm and soft and smells like baby and spaghetti sauce.
“She has a bit of a hard time concentrating at school, so her teacher recommended it,” Hayden explains, wiping his hands on his pantslegs before sitting back down at the table. Shane can tell Ilya is listening with perked ears.
“Is it like… a diagnosis?” Shane lets his voice dip a little lower, earning him a grin from Hayden.
“No, dude. It’s normal for twins, sometimes. Cause they’re born at a lower birth weight and shit.”
“Daddy!”
“-stuff, I mean. Sorry. Don’t tell mom!”
“I’m telling mom!” Jade exclaims, and Hayden grabs her before she can dash off, tickling her and blowing raspberries on her neck until she’s giggling so much her voice tumbles over itself.
Hayden is a good dad.
“And therapist is nice?” Ilya asks Ruby with his brows furrowed deep over his eyes.
She nods. “She’s really nice. We play games and shit.”
“Ruby Pike!” Hayden groans, making them laugh. “Do not use that word-”
“Daddy, you say it all the time!” Jade protests, earning herself another tickle.
Hayden groans, defeated, giving Shane a grin. “Kids, man. A mirror of yourself.”
“No, your kids are cooler than you,” Ilya tells Hayden very matter-of-factly, which sets off a bickering back-and-forth between them.
“Uncle Shane?” Arthur looks up at Shane; he has Hayden’s eyes but Jackie’s brown hair, and everytime he looks at Shane, Shane feels his heart melt because he’s so adorable.
“Yes, Artie?”
“Can I have nail polish, too? Like you did when you… when you were at our house?”
Shane blinks at him for a second, but then remembers. “You mean when your sisters officiated our real wedding?” It’s crazy that Arthur still remembers this; it’s been years since then.
But he nods.
“Of course,” Shane smiles. “What color do you want?”
Arthur’s eyes dart from Shane to the nail polish bottles to Hayden and back. Then, in a voice even tinier than usual, he says, “Daddy says boys can’t have their nails painted.”
“Oh really?” Shane says loud enough that it interrupts Ilya’s and Hayden’s bickering. “Your dad said boys can’t have their nails painted?”
Hayden already opens his mouth to defend himself, but Ilya immediately jumps on the opportunity to shame him before he can, wiggling his own painted nails. “Then am I not a boy?”
“Daddy said it’s because you married uncle Shane,” Arthur explains. Ruby clicks her tongue, and, in a tone like she’s a smart little adult who has to pick up her little brother’s slack, adds, “Because you’re gay.”
Shane swears he can hear the record scratch of both him and Ilya raising their eyebrows at Hayden.
“No, no, that’s not what I said!” Hayden holds his hands out, shaking his head furiously, “That’s really not- oh my god, kids!”
Shane can feel himself actually getting a little soured at this, and he can feel Ilya tense next to him as well.
“We watched Dancing with the Stars on tv, and one of the dancers was this kind of feminine gay guy, and he had nail polish on and make-up-”
“He was so pretty!” Jade exclaims.
“-and the kids asked, why does he wear make-up and paint his nails, when that’s usually something women do,” Hayden gestures to his face to emphasize his point, “And I said, some men like to do it as well, and it’s okay,” Hayden gives Arthur a pointed look, “And then they asked why Daddy doesn’t wear nail polish or make-up, and I tried saying I don’t like it, but they kept asking why I don’t like it. And I tried to explain that a lot of people think it’s weird when men wear that kind of stuff, but that it’s still okay, and that most of the time it’s gay men who do that because they already have to be really brave and not fit into society!” Hayden gestures with every word, clearly trying to talk himself out of this. “Like uncle Shane and uncle Ilya!”
There’s a second of silence, then Ilya starts laughing. “Holy shit, Pike.”
“You try explaining gender roles to a bunch of little kids!” Hayden exclaims.
“Your point is so weak because neither of us are that kind of gay,” Shane says, and Ilya raises his eyebrows at him.
“Speak for yourself, I like my glitter nails.”
“Jackie has friends who are way more feminine than you,” Hayden tells them condescendingly, crossing his arms, “You’re not our only gay friends.”
Ilya gasps in mock-offence. “I am disappointed.”
“Anyway, the point is-” Hayden leans across the table and grabs one nail polish bottle at random, putting it down on the table in front of Shane and Arthur, “Arthur can paint his nails if he wants to!”
“Does that mean he’s gay?” Jade asks, and Hayden groans. “No! I don’t know! I don’t care as long as everybody is happy!”
Arthur happily reaches for the polish bottle, and Shane helps him open it. It’s teal with little pink flakes in it, and Shane remembers that they gifted the girls a set of these polishes for christmas last year; they’re organic and non-toxic and the set of five was 89 dollars.
Arthur holds out his little hand to Shane, and Shane does his best to paint his nails. When they’re done, Arthur holds out his hands before him, beaming at his new manicure.
“Do you like it, buddy?” Shane asks.
“I like it,” Arthur smiles, and then turns around in Shane’s lap, throwing his arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Shane hugs him back reflexively, squeezing his warm little body tightly, feeling his heart clench with love for his nephew.
The kids ask to be put to bed by their uncles, and of course Shane and Ilya do put them to bed. Arthur is easy; his eyes are already falling shut while Shane brushes his teeth. The girls are a little more hyped and take longer to calm down, but it’s late already, and after a few minutes of Ilya reading from their Encanto Bedtime Stories book, they both start snoring in their respective bunk beds.
When they leave the kids’ room, Shane very carefully closes the door behind himself so as to not wake the girls up again. Then, he reaches out, and pulls Ilya into a hug against the wall. Ilya deflates, his face burying into the crook of Shane’s neck with a heavy exhale. His arms wrap around Shane in a tight embrace.
Downstairs, Jackie and Hayden are on the couch, Jackie with her feet in Hayden’s lap while he’s massaging them for her. They’re clearly enjoying the rare moment of having a few minutes to themselves without the kids.
“Are they down?” Jackie asks when she sees Shane and Ilya descending the stairs.
Shane nods, and Ilya gives her a thumbs up.
“Thank you so much,” she smiles. There’s a glass of white wine in her hand, and the whole scene feels very intimate.
“I think we are leaving soon,” Ilya says, clearly feeling the same.
“No, you can stay!” Jackie tells them.
“You haven’t even tried to talk me into trading to Ottawa yet,” Hayden smirks.
“No, is useless anyway,” Ilya shrugs, “You say no everytime. Would rather stay with shit team.” Hayden flips him off.
“I feel like tonight’s game spoke for itself,” Shane tells him, giving him a crooked grin.
Hayden sighs with a somewhat regretful smile, and says nothing. Jackie reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and suddenly, Shane’s throat feels oddly tight.
“Hayden refuses to move out of Montreal for us,” Jackie tells them softly, her face soft as she looks at her husband. “The girls just started school, Arthur started kindy, we have a great daycare for Amber, my entire social circle is here… I told him we could do it, but…” It’s obvious in her voice and her expression that she would do it, really, but is also grateful that she doesn’t have to.
Hayden leans in her direction, giving her a soft smile. Shane rarely sees him like this, and it’s… strange. Strange but sweet.
“As much as I would like to play for a non-shit team, I could never do that to the kids and Jackie. I’d rather be shit in Montreal for a few more years than make them
uproot their whole life for me.”
Shane half-expects Ilya to snark at Hayden about this. But he doesn’t. He’s silent, nodding.
Later, in the car, Ilya is very quiet, and Shane can feel him think.
Shane himself is lost in his own thoughts, staring out at the passing headlights of the other cars.
Hayden is a good dad. Shane has known this for a long time, of course. Sure, he’s not around as much as he wants to be, and Jackie definitely takes on the brunt of the childrearing and caretaking and whatnot. But, all things considered, Hayden is a good dad.
But even good dads make mistakes.
Shane remembers the nail polish conversation. Hayden, trying his best to explain a complicated concept, and the message getting crosswired on its way to the kids. It was such a simple, minuscule thing, but the message which had settled in Arthur’s mind was ‘boys can’t wear nail polish’.
How would it go, explaining to a child why dad and papa couldn’t be together for the first ten years of knowing each other? Why they had to fight to be together?
Shane swallows hard, feeling a lump in his throat all of a sudden.
In silence, Ilya’s hand moves from the gear shift to Shane’s thigh, a warm, comforting weight. Shane wraps his own hand around it.
“Are you sad about Pike not wanting to leave Montreal?” Ilya asks, his voice soft and gentle.
Shane blinks, trying to re-orient himself because this is really not what he was just worrying about. “Oh. Um. I guess. I didn’t… I honestly didn’t really think he would want to get traded.”
He’s had this conversation with Hayden for too long to have any real hope of him actually wanting to join them in Ottawa.
“Is… is maybe right move for him to stay.” It’s obvious that Ilya is having trouble putting his thoughts into words. “He’s putting his family first. The kids.”
“Yeah,” Shane replies quietly. The word sacrifice is bouncing around in his head. To distract himself, he asks, “Did you enjoy spending time with the kids?”
Ilya hums, a small smile tugging on his lips. “They are getting so big now. They grow up so fast.”
“They do.”
“If we have our first at forty, the girls will be old enough to babysit,” Ilya says, and Shane can hear the bitterness in his voice. Before he can even open his mouth to say anything, though, Ilya pulls a face, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.” He sighs heavily, and it breaks Shane’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” Shane whispers.
“No, is okay,” Ilya says, much softer now. “It’s… it’s my problem. Not yours.”
“No!” Shane protests, “It’s not your problem. It’s… it’s ours. And it’s not a problem. It’s just…” He gestures, “A Thing.”
“A thing,” Ilya repeats with a tiny smile. “But, cup first.”
They’d talked about it, at length, when Ilya had returned from his session with Dr. Molchalina, having sorted out his feelings on the matter somewhat. In the end, they had come to the conclusion that they’d focus on the championship for now, focus on the play-offs, and both take notes of their emotions and thoughts during that period.
Shane couldn’t help but feel like it was a cop-out.
And he couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair, because straight MLH couples didn’t have to do this.
He knew, logically, that not all straight couples had it easy- his own parents, he knew, had tried for another baby for years after he was born, failed IVF and all. But for the majority, it seems to just… happen. And on top of that, none of his teammates have to have discussions about who was going to stay home with the baby once it came, because it was obvious.
And even the other gay MLH players wouldn’t have to have this conversation on the same level they did. Shane is pretty sure Troy and Harris prefer dogs over children, but if they changed their mind in a few years, they wouldn’t have to have these discussions.
Shane blinks away the frustrated tears in his eyes, and reaches across the center console to link his fingers with Ilya’s.
-
Shane wakes up way too early the next morning, and decides to let Ilya sleep in.
Anya is still with his parents, so he decides to drive to pick her up, and buy breakfast for them on the way back. He leaves Ilya with a kiss and a text letting him know where he went.
His parents are awake, of course; Shane wonders if there’s a certain age where sleeping in becomes unappealing. Anya wiggles her way out of the door to greet him, spinning in circles from joy.
“Hey, sweet girl.” Shane bends down to greet her, petting her and letting her lick his hands. “Were you good for grandma and grandpa?”
“She was very well-behaved,” his dad says. He’s still in his pajama pants, carrying a huge mug of tea. “We watched your game on the tv.”
Shane’s mom pulls him into a hug and he kisses her cheek. “She was a very good girl. Convinced your father to let her sleep on the couch.”
Anya wiggles her butt, pure innocence.
“Yes, and she got some of our chicken we had for dinner last night,” David adds proudly.
“Don’t spoil her like that,” Shane smiles.
“It’s our duty as grandparents to spoil her,” David says. Anya loves him.
Yuna gives Shane a smile. “Come on in, I’ll make you coffee.”
They sit around the table, and Shane’s parents ask about the game and the trip to Montreal and how are Hayden and the kids? And then they tell him, at length, about how Anya has been doing, how cute she was, and how she spent her weekend with them.
And Shane, still replaying last night in his head, can’t help but think, they will make amazing grandparents.
And because all of a sudden, it feels like his chest is tight, he blurts out, “Ilya wants to have kids.”
His parents stop talking, both of them looking at him with wide eyes. A smile immediately spreads on David’s face. “Well, that’s great news!”
Shane inhales sharply, and sends a helpless glance his mother’s way. Yuna picks up on it, and reaches across the table, squeezing his arm.
“Ilya wants to have kids? What about you?”
“I do, too,” Shane mumbles, turning his eyes up towards the ceiling. Too hard to hold eye contact right now.
“...wants kids now?” David asks, immediately schooling his happy face into a more appropriate, thoughtful one.
Shane shrugs helplessly. “Kind of. If things were easier, yes.” He sighs, and lets his forehead drop to the table, muffling his voice. “I think it’s making him really sad and I’m worried.”
“Oh, Shane,” his mother coos, moving her hand from his arm to his head and running her fingers through his hair. It’s comforting and reminds him of when he was little, how he would curl up in her lap when he felt overwhelmed.
“He says he’ll stay home with a baby but I don’t want him to retire yet,” Shane grumbles miserably, “I want to keep playing with him. But I also want him to be happy. And having a baby is so complicated and raising kids looks so difficult and complicated and I’m scared I’d be a bad dad and do everything wrong and the kid will hate me-”
“Woah,” Yuna says, patting his head, “Slow down. You’re spiraling.”
Shane lets out an unhappy whine, feeling like a teenager.
“Shane,” his dad says gently, “Whenever you do it, raising a kid will be the greatest challenge of your life. That’s just normal.”
“When is Ilya’s contract running out?” Yuna is pulling out her phone now, going into analytical mode. She’s tapping on it, her nails making quiet noises on the screen.
“It’s so fucking complicated because we’re both in the league,” Shane mumbles into the crook of his arm. “Everybody else can just rely on their partner to take care of it, but for us, this is just another layer of complicated-”
David stands, walks around the table and pulls Shane into a hug. Shane melts against his dad, letting himself be hugged like a little boy; his dad smells like tea and generic body wash and safety.
“You two have figured out everything life has thrown at you up until this point,” David says, speaking into Shane’s hair, scratching his back, “Together. You’ll figure this out, too. And we’ll be there to support you, yeah?”
Shane hums, his eyes closed.
“And you two will be great parents. Every parent makes mistakes, it’s normal. We made mistakes, and you turned out amazing.” David squeezes Shane tightly, and Shane smiles beside himself.
“I’m scared they’ll be unhappy, or that they, I don’t know, won’t like me, or that they’ll get bullied in school-”
“Shane, every parent has these thoughts. When we found out your mother was pregnant with you, I couldn’t sleep for a week because I was worried about everything- whether you’d be healthy, whether we had enough money saved. And even once you were born, do you know how worried I was when you were the only Asian kid at your first hockey practice? I wanted to protect you from every weird look and every slur. Being a parent means worrying constantly. We still worry about you every day. But it’s your task as a parent to give your child the skills and the confidence to be themselves in the world.”
Shane sniffles.
“You can’t let that fear keep you from having a child if you really want one, yeah?” David adds gently, patting Shane’s back. “And you two already meet so many requirements to be good parents: you’re rich, you’re in a stable relationship, you love each other very much, you have a good social circle and us close to help…”
“Did you know children of gay parents are statistically happier than children of straight parents?” Yuna adds, giving Shane a reassuring smile.
“Did you look that up?” Shane asks, slowly freeing himself of his dad’s embrace.
“We saw a documentary about it,” David tells him. “It was very interesting.”
Shane scoffs; he can imagine the kind of conversation they had about it afterwards.
“Have you considered parental leave?” Yuna asks suddenly, looking up from her phone.
“...what?” He scoffs; it’s absurd, really.
“Parental leave,” she repeats, wiggling her phone in the air. “Ontario’s laws are really solid.”
Shane blinks at her, momentarily too stunned to speak.
“Ilya is the second best player in the league, the Centaurs wouldn’t want to lose him for good,” Yuna explains, “And neither would the league. We might have to sue for it, maybe, but I could see that going well, I mean, otherwise it’s a discrimination lawsuit waiting to happen. And I mean even if, he could probably return easily if he wants to-”
She keeps talking, but Shane’s brain stops registering the words, lagging like a blue-screening computer.
It can’t be that easy, can it?
-
Shane lets Anya sit on a blanket in the passenger seat on the way home, buckling her in with her car harness.
They stop at Starbucks to pick up breakfast for Ilya, and Shane orders a pup cup for her, which she devours with unbridled glee, her entire snout smeared with whipped cream. Shane watches her fondly. When she’s done, she lets out a happy sneeze and stretches to get in his face as if to say ‘thank you’, her tail wagging.
“You’re a good girl.” Shane pets her head, scratching her ear. “D’you want to go home to see Papa?”
Her ears perk up at the word, and she gives a little awoo.
Shane drives home, lost in thought. Anya still loves them even if they drop her off with his parents or at daycare sometimes.
There are so many thoughts swimming around in Shane’s head now, but in a strange way, he feels lighter, less anxious than he did last night.
He’ll talk to Ilya, they’ll figure it out. They’ll figure something out. And it might not be easy, but they’ll manage.
-
Ilya wakes up to an empty bed and a text message from Shane.
picking up anya, will get you coffee
i love you
sleep in so you’re rested for me later ;)
And so Ilya, good obedient husband that he is, goes back to sleep.
The doorbell wakes him an hour later.
He comes to with his head fuzzy, feeling confused, because why is Shane ringing the doorbell? He has a key.
But it rings again, and so Ilya rolls out of bed, almost trips over the pile of last night’s clothes (which he definitely needs to pick up before Shane returns) and stumbles out into the hallway to check the upstairs door monitor.
It’s Holmberg, standing in front of their front door on a fucking Sunday morning, wearing his running gear, hair sweaty.
Ilya presses the intercom button. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Holmberg shifts, looks up into the camera. “Sorry to bother you, but, um… can I talk to you?”
And there’s something in his voice that makes Ilya think, oh shit. So he presses the buzzer, and then grabs a pair of sweatpants from the laundry pile. He hopes there aren’t cum stains on them.
When he stumbles down the stairs, Holmberg stands in their entryway, looking sweaty and mildly uncomfortable.
“You ran here?” Ilya asks, squinting at him. His brain is still half-asleep, but it’s at least 12 kilometers from Bergy’s apartment to their house.
“Yeah.” Holmberg pulls a face, “Can I have some water, maybe?”
Ilya gestures for him to come into the kitchen and opens the fridge for some cold, filtered water.
“Thanks.” Holmberg drinks it way too fast and immediately flinches from the brain freeze.
“Slow down,” Ilya scolds him, turning on the coffee maker before taking a seat on one of the bar stools.
“Shane not home?” Bergy asks, leaning against the counter and stretching his legs a bit.
Ilya shakes his head. “Picking up Anya from his parents’ house.” He watches Holmberg for another second, then asks, “Did you run to my house to drink my water and ask where Shane is?”
Holmberg blushes. “No, man.” He takes another gulp of water, slightly slower this time, and avoids Ilya’s eyes. “You… you have mental health… stuff, right?”
Ilya can’t help but grin. “You mean mental health-charity or mental health-illness.”
“The,” Holmberg gestures, “...the second one.”
“Mental illness?”
“Yes.” Bergy chews on his bottom lip. “How did you… how did you realize you had that?”
Ilya gives him a long look. He literally just woke up, and he wonders if this is how Hayden felt when the kids asked him why men don’t wear make-up. “Because I felt like shit. All the time. Like, empty.”
Holmberg’s mouth forms a little oh. He’s still staring down at the counter.
“...and everything made me cry. And because sometimes I thought about… not being there anymore, y’know?” It’s still weird to talk about this, and to talk about this to another man. Another man who isn’t his husband. But Ilya does it anyway.
“And, uh… what did you do about it?” Bergy asks, his voice hoarse.
“Therapy.” Ilya lightly lifts his shoulder, “Meds. Before that I was kind of… what’s the word… self-medicating? I guess. With sex and alcohol and shit. But then Shane and I got together and I did not want to do that anymore.”
Holmberg puts the glass down on the counter with a controlled little clink. He’s still not saying anything, but Ilya can see the cogs in his head turning.
Bergy is not the smartest guy, maybe.
But he’s a good guy, he’s a good player, he likes a good party, and Ilya’s always seen him show up for his friends, always making sure everybody is having fun, always cracking jokes.
“People think depression is like… rotting in bed all day. Staring at walls. Not brushing teeth. But… is all that and also going to work and putting on happy face,” Ilya says, and then shuts up.
Bergy nods very, very slowly, then lifts a hand and runs it down his face. “Fuck.”
Ilya kicks out another one of the bar stools. “Sit down.”
And Holmberg sits, inhales.
“You remember when I, uh… when they called you as my emergency contact? Because of the fent?”
Ilya nods.
“The… the guy who gave it to me, he’s my… he’s my brother.” Holmberg frowns at the counter. “Or, half-brother. Our mom had him and a bunch of other kids before she met my dad, and then they had me… and our parents were really… really shitty, lots of violence and shit… I was little when Social Services took us away from them, and my foster parents took me in, but they split us up because nobody wanted to take five kids… me and our sister landed the jackpot, but our brother… he was too old, too difficult, and they put him into like… an institution?”
Ilya nods along, listening quietly.
“He never really recovered, got into drugs and all that shit… we kept in contact because I always feel obligated. And he’s… he’s just not doing well.” Bergy shakes his head. “And it’s like… I see him, and everytime I think, I’m not that unwell, so it’s fine. I have so much now, I fucking play hockey for a living, I earn so much money, I have an amazing girlfriend…” He sighs and hangs his head, trailing off.
Ilya reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Trauma doesn’t give a fuck how much money is in your bank account.”
Holmberg scoffs dryly, then sniffs. “Yeah.”
“Believe me, I am expert on this,” Ilya tells him.
“Did… I know it was really different with you two, but did it affect your relationship with Shane?” Holmberg asks, and for the first time in a few minutes, he glances at Ilya.
“Yes, of course.” Ilya nods. “Badly. Shane asked me, all the time, what’s wrong? But I didn’t tell him until it was almost too late.”
Bergy nods, then exhales, putting his face into his hands. “Fuck.” It comes out soft and broken.
“You need to talk to her, yeah?” Ilya doesn’t know Stella very well, but she seems nice and kind and sweet.
Bergy nods into his hands. “Why does this feel so fucking embarrassing?”
“Because people think depression is weakness. But it’s an illness. You’d treat migraines or broken bone, yes? So, you treat mental illness, too.” Ilya leans in a little. “Tomorrow, you go to Terry, and you ask him for list of good therapists. He has that. Mine speaks Russian. She’s great.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Holmberg mumbles.
“Because it is! Is way, way easier than living with this shit, I promise you.” Ilya stands and, in a split-second decision, decides to give Bergy a hug.
Bergy stiffens when Ilya wraps his arms around him, but then his posture softens. “Thanks, man. Sorry to bother you with this.”
“Nah, is fine. Do you want coffee?”
Holmberg exhales sharply, and nods. “I’d love a coffee.”
Ilya nods, and grabs a mug from the cupboard. After a moment of silence, he says, “There’s plenty of guys on the team who will get it, yes? You can talk to me, Troy, whoever.”
Holmberg nods again.
“Does Stella know you’re here?”
Bergy blushes and shakes his head with a contrite wince. “No… we, uh… had a fight and I just told her I was going for a run to cool off.”
“Bad,” Ilya tells him flatly and puts the mug under the spout of the coffeemaker. “Call her now while I make you coffee, and tell her where you are. And to pick you up. Because I want to have hot lazy Sunday sex with my husband when he returns.”
“Ew.” Bergy pulls a face, but immediately grabs his phone.
“Hi, we’re back!” Shane sounds like he’s in a good mood; the front door falls shut and then Anya’s nails scramble across the hardwood floor.
“Where is my baby?” Ilya calls, and she comes bounding into the kitchen and straight to him, wiggling against his legs and whimpering in joy. Ilya picks her up like a baby and kisses her face as she squirms in his arms.
“We picked up some coffee for you on the way, they had this new spring flavor, toasted coconut coldbrew latte-” (Shane must be in a great mood if he’s getting Ilya something this sugary, and after last night, this makes Ilya feel oddly relieved.) “-I got you one of those, and we got a pup cup-”
Shane enters the kitchen, a big smile on his face and a cupholder and a paper bag in his hands. When he spots Holmberg, he stops abruptly. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi.” Bergy waves awkwardly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your sappy married couple-time. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
“Hey, no problem.” Shane glances at Ilya, who tries to make a meaningful I’ll tell you later face at him behind Bergy’s back. “I’d have gotten more food if I’d known-”
“It’s fine,” Holmberg says quickly, giving Shane a grin, “Really, dude.”
Ilya puts Anya down and she happily runs over to Bergy, trying to lick the sweat off of his legs.
Shane walks around the kitchen counter, putting down the bag and handing Ilya the cup, briefly frowning in confusion. Ilya pulls him into a kiss, mumbling a soft “Thank you” against his lips. Shane leans into him for a second, then steps back, breaking them apart much sooner than he would have if Holmberg wasn’t here. Ilya tries not to resent Bergy for it.
Stella pulls up in front of their house a few minutes later; she drives a pink Fiat 500 which Ilya can’t wait to see Holmberg fold himself into.
Before he leaves, he gives Ilya another awkward “Thanks, Cap”. Ilya nods at him, seeing him off.
“See you tomorrow,” Shane tells him.
Stella waits outside the gate, waving at them from her car. Holmberg gives her a big hug when he meets her, burying his face in her hair, and Ilya feels soft watching it. She hugs him back, stroking his back and kissing his cheek before they get into the car with a last wave. Ilya hopes they’ll use the drive home to talk.
“They’re cute together,” Shane says quietly, then lets out a surprised squeak when Ilya hugs him tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. His arms immediately encircle Ilya, though, and Ilya melts into his embrace. “Hey.”
Ilya hums, muffled by Shane’s t-shirt.
Shane just holds him for a long minute, and Ilya feels like they both need it.
Eventually, Shane pulls back just a fraction so he can look at Ilya. His eyes are gentle, his face is soft, and Ilya loves him so much. “Can we get dressed, take Anya on a long walk and just talk?”
He cups Ilya’s cheeks in his palms, and Ilya nuzzles into them, closing his eyes. “Yes.”
“Okay.” Shane’s lips are soft on Ilya’s when he kisses him.
-
“Barrett.” Ilya points at Troy and gestures at him to follow. Troy narrows his eyes at him, but does it.
“What do you want?”
Ilya makes sure nobody is listening, leaning in. “Keep an eye on Bergy.”
Troy pulls a confused face. “What?”
In brief words, Ilya recounts the gist of what Holmberg told him the other day; Troy’s confusion morphs into a serious expression as he goes on.
“Okay, fuck,” he says under his breath when Ilya is done.
“Yes, fuck.” Ilya sticks out his index finger and pokes Troy in the middle of his chest. “So, you keep an eye on him, too.”
“I mean I will, but why me? I’m not super close with him.”
“The young guys treat you differently than they treat me,” Ilya explains; Troy smirks.
“Yes, you’re their daddy.”
“Yes, I am everyone’s daddy,” Ilya says very seriously. “But you know. Traumatized bitch to traumatized bitch, just keep an eye out. Yes?”
Troy huffs. “Yes. Of course.”
Ilya smacks his chest. “Good. This will be good practice.”
“Practice for what?!” Troy bats Ilya’s hand away.
“For when you become captain.”
Troy’s eyes widen. “Me?! The fuck are you talking about? I can’t-”
“Yes, yes.” Ilya gives Troy a very serious nod. “We all know you think you are shit person, you are horrible, but is not true. Hasn’t been true for a long time.”
Troy huffs, crossing his arms.
“Listen.” Ilya lowers his voice even more. “I might… I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m saying, I don’t know when. But, there will come a time when I am not Captain anymore.”
Troy gives a fake gasp. “Roz, are you telling me you’re pregnant?”
Ilya lightly swipes at Troy’s head, and Troy ducks out of his range with a snicker. Ilya can feel himself blush, and ignores it. “What I’m saying, asshole,” he tells Troy, “is you better be prepared. You don’t think you can do it, but I think you can and that is all that matters.”
“Wow,” Troy says flatly, but Ilya knows him well enough to see the emotion in his eyes.
“This team needs a good Captain, and you are that. Whether you like it or not, you are… Role Model.”
Troy scoffs again, rolling his eyes. “Sure.”
“Barrett, you came out before I did, you stand up for things that matter, you’re a great player, you’re smart, everybody on the team likes you-” Ilya gestures, “You cannot deny it. And like I said, I don’t care what you think of yourself, I am just stating fact.”
And for once, Troy doesn’t disagree. He shifts on his feet, re-crosses his arms. “...you’re not… you’re not leaving soon, are you?”
Ilya shrugs. “Maybe not next season but…” He pulls a face, lets it hang in the air.
Troy nods very slowly, turning his eyes down to the floor. “Wow.”
“Yes, wow, is crazy,” Ilya says, and reaches out to roughly pat Troy’s cheek. “Time to grow up.”
Troy gives an unexpected laugh. “Okay. But, you know what that means.” He bumps his fist into Ilya’s chest. “We gotta win the cup.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Ilya agrees, grabbing Troy’s hand and pulling him into a brief and very manly hug.
It is what Shane and Ilya landed on during their two hour walk on Sunday as well: this season, they would win the cup.
And then, they’d make their plan to embark on a new, scary, exciting journey.
Together.