Chapter Text
Ilya is so… happy.
So so so very happy. Happy enough that he is almost unaware of just how sore he is. Almost.
The moment he pulls his son up to his chest, his heart splits evenly in two. Half still belonging to Shane, half now belonging to this shocking surprise, impossibly perfect, very pissed off little one squirming against him.
Ilya mourns the ability to say he's has loved him from the moment he found out he was pregnant, since the moment he found out was only a brief moment before he was collapsing to the floor, in labor. It gave him very little time to prepare for the overpowering kind of love parents feel for their children, but the moment Ilya lays his eyes on that little scrunched up, pouty face, he absolutely feels it.
"Are you cold?" Shane asks, softly, rubbing his hands up and down Ilyas arms.
"Mm mm, why?"
"You're shaking," Shane tells him, and shifts to wrap himself around Ilya's side better, more or less covering Ilya and the baby with his body.
One of the medics squats down at his other side, and offers him a warm, friendly smile. (Surprisingly it's non-judgmental— compared to some of the more shocked... and way more heated looks Ilya has seen from people watching in the crowd-- this medic must not be a hockey fan) "Okay Mr Rozanov, we're gonna get you two— er, three—" Shane nods, as if more confirmation he wasn't leaving their side was needed after he had very strongly told his coach as much. "—out of this hallway and to the hosptial."
Ilya doesn't mean to, but he hisses in pain as soon as he attempts to move. The gurney seems ten feet high from where he's at on the floor and the thought of putting weight on his jello legs seems impossible. To his surprise, however, he doesn't need to worry about that at all. "Shane… what are you doing?!" Shane answers — with an added smug little smirk — by hoocking an arm under his still bent knees, the other around his back, and hoisting him into the air.
"I got you," Shane whispers to him, shifting him so he tilts toward him. "Both of you."
Against Ilya's chest the baby sighs as if responding to Shane, now Ilya feels like he's trying to swallow a bowling ball of emotion. He relaxes in Shane's arms despite how bad his ego and pride wants him to pout and try to wiggle free. Shane carefully carries him over and gently places him down onto the gurney, then he places a kiss against his temple— and one down on the top of the baby's head— before stepping only far enough away for them to bring the rails up. "And we're moving," one of the medics says loudly, while another starts pushing the gurney forward.
Between the arena security, the referees, and their coaches, the crowd has been kept mostly away from them, but now they have to move through it to get out to the ambulance. Ilya can hear the shutter sounds of pictures being taken; he can hear people talking to their camera's for videos; he can feel every eye in the arena on him without even looking up to see just how many actually are on him.
Both Shane and the medics keep telling him to not look up, so Ilya keeps his eyes on the baby. His baby.
Holy fucking shit… he just had a baby.
The adorable, tiny face is finally relaxed from all his crying— Very justified crying, Ilya thinks. It was a pretty intense way to come into the world. It was a pretty intense moment for Ilya too. Pretty scary... completely life changing. For him… for Shane. Who is holding his hand and practically jogging alongside the gurney. Who gets up close enough to bring Ilya's knuckles to his lips every time they stop moving even for just a second. Who keeps asking is the baby is okay, every jostle the medics make over bumps, or around corners.
When he has absolutely no obligation to give a damn about this child at all. That realization makes Ilya the most emotional.
They reach the ambulance, and from the still opened side door to the arena Shane's name is called. It's Hayden and JJ. They both look very confused (very stupid… Ilya thinks, in attempt to push the emotions aside). The two run over to the ambulance, but Shane makes no efforts to get out.
"I'm going with them," Shane states, point blank.
"Yeah. We can see that," JJ says, not nearly as bothered as Ilya thinks he should sound.
"We just want to know—" Hayden chimes in. Why? Ilya expects him to say next. He looks from Shane to Ilya… to the baby. (Ilya swears he sees him smile— which means the shock of the traumatic birth is definitely kicking in now... and he is hallucinating.) "—what you need us to do?"
Oh.
He feels the tension leave Shane's hold on his hand. "Call my parents. ASAP. They— They already know that we're together and— Just tell them I'll call as them as soon as I can."
"You got it!"
Behind them, Marley bursts out the door next. "Roz!" His voice cracks and he looks more stressed than the night they won the cup. He runs to the ambulance and pays exactly no mind to JJ or Hayden, instead he simply steps around them. "Me and Lana will meet you two at the hospital."
"Okay," Ilya manages, although all the support (especially from Shane's friends) is only making him more emotional.
Ilya holds in those emotions until the medics finally shoo everyone away, and close the ambulance's doors. He looks back at the sleeping face smushed to his chest, curls forward to press his lips to the baby's forehead, and the tears start to, very steadily, pour out. "Whoa, whoa— Ilya! Are you okay? What's wrong?!" Shane asks, worriedly, the moment he notices. (He notices basically immediately.)
"Is okay. I'm okay… just— it is a lot." Shane can't get too close because the medics are on both sides of him, attaching IV's and wires to him, and too the baby— which has woken him up, and thoroughly pissed him off.
"S- Shh- sshhh…" Ilya shushes down to him, rubbing over his back. Shane scoots closer and places his own hand right under Ilya's, and the added weight must be just enough; the cries soften, then eventually stop. Ilya breathes a sigh. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Everything," Ilya says honestly. "Being here." His heart twists with another reminder of the truth. "You did not have to—"
"Hey… I am exactly where I'm supposed to be," Shane tells him, lowering his face so Ilya has to meet his eyes.
"I—" Ilya starts and his voice chokes him. He doesn't deserve this man— this kindness. "Oh god… I'm so sorry, Shane."
"For what?" Shane asks again, seemingly taken aback this time. Ilya doesn't even know where to begin. He's sorry for outing him— them— in this way. For probably traumatizing him at least a little with this birth as well.
For having a child by someone else…
"Ilya… it doesn't matter." He says it so calm, but so sure "I love you," he tacks on just as confidently. "Both of you." Ilya feels so very inclined to believe him.
The now quiet, but still very awake baby coos and squirms. He turns enough Ilya can see his face and despite everything happening… he feels an overwhelming sense of peace.
There aren't many people Ilya has loved in his life who love him back. There was his mother.
There is Sveta.
There is Shane.
Now, completely out of the blue, there is Iriney.
Seven pounds, eleven ounces— Ilya has absolutely no idea where it was all hiding at. He is perfectly healthy despite not receiving an ounce of prenatal care. With a head full of dark hair that sticks straight out in every direction, and big doe eyes that stay way too open and observant of his surroundings than what Ilya thinks would be normal for a newborn. He is less than a full day old and already has managed to captivate the hearts of everyone who has met him.
Almost everyone—
"You did not have to do that..." Ilya whispers, and pulls the ice pack off of Shane's busted knuckles to inspect them. He wants Shane to get them looked at by a doctor, he's almost positive his hand is broken. (He is one hundred percent positive Sasha's jaw is broken… God he hopes Sveta was able to convince him not to go to the cops.) Shane refuses, but hasn't said much else… up to this point.
"I'm sorry…" is what he finally says, now.
"What? You— no! Shane that's not what I—"
"He was just— and he called you a— I know I didn't really have the right to tell him to leave, but he— he didn't have the right to—" Ilya moves his hands from Shane's hand to his cheek, he brushes away the angry tears trailing down it, gently turns his face up to meet his eyes, then leans in and kisses him. Shane's shoulders drop and he sighs into the kiss.
"Thank you," Ilya says against Shane's lips. "For taking up for me. I am not upset you did that. I am upset you are now hurt."
"I can't even feel it…"
"Numbness is probably not good thing. Which is why I wish you would get it checked."
Shane rolls his eyes. "I'll think about it." His lips curve up when Ilya calls him a stubborn hothead in Russian. It spread wider across his face with Ilya translates. "I think maybe you liked it…" he teases. And… okay. Maybe a little tiny irrelevant part of Ilya did. He doesn't say this, of course, and instead puts the ice pack back on Shane's knuckles, dipping his head a little to (hopefully) hide the blush he can feel creeping into his cheeks. He can almost feel Shane's smile widening— turning flirty and suggestive— as he moves to steal another kiss.
The moment is interupted by Shane's phone ringing.
Marley had grabbed all their things from both locker rooms and brought it with him when he brought Sveta the night before. Both of their phones have been blowing up every since they arrived. Shane steps out to take the call. They are trying to get a head start on damage control, but there are videos everywhere on the internet already. Speculation is running rampant. Ilya has this feeling of nausea wrapped in a strong desire to just disappear that he keeps managing to push down. It will break through eventually, he’s sure.
In the bassinet beside Ilya's hospital bed Iriney stirs. He squirms against the blanket swaddling him and scrunches his face up unhappily. Ilya watches him in wonder. So tiny and perfect… and angry— his lips pull down into an adorably pitiful frown and he lets out an equally adorably pitiful wail… and Ilya scoops him up. "Oy, bozhechki… chto sluchilos?"
Iriney fights at his baby straight jacket until Ilya caves and takes him out. He checks that he does not need to be changed, and that he's not hungry. So he gently adjusts him against his chest, and in no time Iriney's eyes close. By the time Shane returns, he is once again asleep.
“My parents—” Shane hesitates, closing the door behind him with one hand, turning his phone over and over in the other. “They want to come see you,” he eventually continues. “Both of you. If— if that’s something you’re cool with…”
“Oh.”
Ilya didn’t mean to vocalize his surprise out loud. He’s not sure what exactly he’d thought Shane was going to say originally. My parents are upset. My parents think I should leave you. Maybe not so harsh but more along the lines of: My parents send their well wishes. He definitely didn’t expect them to want to fly out to Boston to see him. To meet his son knowing—
“Shane. You told them he’s— that he’s not…” The words hurt to say out loud. He hates them. Despises that they are the words he has to say at all.
Shane looks at Ilya like he has a second head. “They are coming for you, Ilya. Because they care about you; and they were worried about you.” Ilya feels his lips flatten, he can imagine he doesn’t look very convinced. “Yes, I told them,” Shane sighs. “They asked to come after I did.” He looks at the sleeping baby in Ilya’s arms, and smiles. “They want to meet him, and they are going to love him— just like I love him.”
And oh… Ilya doesn’t deserve him. “Okay,” he says, because that’s all the new tightness in his throat will allow him to say.
“Okay,” Shane repeats. Ilya waits for him to pull out his phone to text his mom, or his dad. He doesn’t. He doesn’t excuse himself to call either. Ilya’s face must scream his confusion. “Oh, they’re already on the plane.”
“W- What?”
“She called me from the terminal,” Shane says, and his lips twitch upward. “They were coming regardless. They just would not have come to the hospital if you didn’t want them to.” And Ilya… well, he isn’t sure what to say to that, as Shane gently carefully takes the newborn up from Ilya's chest. He watches, too unsure of his own thoughts to speak, as Shane brings the tiny face up to his own, until the tips of their noses touch.
Identical profiles… Ilya thinks before he shoos away the irrational thought.
It’s late when Yuna and David call to let Shane know their plane has landed in Boston, and despite both Shane and Ilya insisting they get checked into their hotel to rest first… they come straight to the hospital.
Yuna is the first to peek around the door into the dimly lit room, letting Ilya know they saw Shane in the lobby. (He is busy working through their call list; people that they care about enough to know the full story, before they pretty it up for the rest of the world.) “You weren’t asleep, were you?” She asks in a whisper as she pushes the door open more, revealing David, whose arms are both lined with gift bags— one hand holding at least ten balloons, the other a drink tray of coffees.
“No,” Ilya replies, and his voice feels thick, scratchy… Emotional.
“Oh my goodness…” Yuna gasps, eyes going straight to Ilya’s chest where Iriney is once again curled up, asleep. She reaches for the sanitizer, and pumps a generous amount into her hands, then rubs it in without breaking eye contact. “You too,” she instructs David, who then looks at his overfilled hands. “Oh, just… put it down somewhere! We brought you both a little something. Just a few things,” she says to Ilya, and David rolls his eyes fondly.
“A few dozen things,” he says, teasingly, and drops the many bags in the corner; ties the balloons to a chair arm, and sits the coffee on the table, before also going for the sanitizer. “Oh, wow… look at that.” David smiles down at Iriney, then looks at Ilya, and it softens into— into something almost like pride. Warm, and comforting. He brings a hand up to Ilya’s shoulder and squeezes it.
Yuna is busy trying to get her hair pulled into a somehow messy, but also neat, bun. She rolls her sleeves up, and jogs back over to the sanitizer one more time before finally approaching Ilya, waving her hands in the air frantically to dry them. “Oh sweetie! He is just perfect!” She beams, crosses her arms, then lets them fall to her sides. It’s very clear she wants to hold him, but she doesn’t ask.
So Ilya shifts Iriney into the crook of his arm and offers. “Do you want to—”
“Yes I want to!” Yuna quietly exclaims, excitedly. She gestures towards the big rolling chair, and David pulls it over to her. “Give him to me!” She scoops Iriney up into her arms and the first thing she does is bring his body close to her face to breathe in what she explains is that new baby smell. “It is intoxicating,” she insists, and backs herself into the chair.
“Good thing she’s not the one driving,” David whispers and Ilya bites his lips against the smile.
He watches as Yuna fawns over baby fingers and baby finger nails, baby socked feet— then baby un-socked feet after she pulls the impossibly tiny socks off to see his little baby toes, all with David over her shoulder, watching with that same fond smile.
At some point Iriney finally wakes up. He opens his eyes, yawns— Yuna looks ready to implode from the tiny baby sounds that bubble out of him— and he blinks up at the two new faces. “Well hello there,” Yuna says to him, rubbing her thumb over his hand that is grasping her pointer finger. Then suddenly she furrows her brows. She looks up at David and something is silently shared between them, before she looks back at Iriney.
This is it, Ilya thinks. The cuteness has worn off. It’s too much. He waits for Yuna to hand Iriney back, and then for them to excuse themselves out to the lobby with Shane. But Yuna’s face only softens, and she goes back to cooing at Iriney, like before.
It’s not until later that Ilya is explained the reaction.
The gifts had all been opened, cried about and graciously retrieved by Marley-- who takes them back to Ilya’s house.
Shane has wrapped up all the necessary calls, at least for the day, and plans for future visits from their friends have been made.
They are sitting quietly in the room, watching— per Ilya’s request— one of the videos capturing the entire incident… including Shane latching himself to Ilya by the hand, and the tenderest forehead kiss after he'd insisted on being the one to hoist Ilya onto the gurney. The video is titled: Rivals to Lovers to… Parents!?! Ilya might have laughed at it if it didn’t raise the dreaded question of not only telling the world about their nearly decade long situationship turned relationship… but also having to explain that Iriney isn’t Shane’s.
Ilya’s thoughts must be very loud, because suddenly Yuna turns off the TV, turns her attention fully to him, and says, “I’m going to ask you a question. Please do not think whatever answer you give me will change anything about how I feel. Okay?”
Even Shane and David seem confused, but Ilya nods anyway.
Yuna breathes out, licks her lips, and reaches for one of Ilya’s hands. “Are you certain… without any doubt, that Iriney is not Shane’s?”
Ilya’s voice abandons him. He wants to say yes he’s sure… because he doesn’t want to hope he’s wrong just to have the rug pulled from under him. He looks at Iriney. The longer he is here in his arm, the more the redness fades across his face. The more his looks change and mold. The more he— despite Ilya’s best attempts to not think it— does look like Shane.
Yuna looks at David, and holds out her hand. These two clearly have some kind of telepathic form of communication, Ilya thinks, because without question he pulls out his wallet and hands it to her. She reaches into a flap and takes out an old tattered around the edges picture… of who Ilya can only assume is Shane as a newborn. However, if he didn’t know better he would swear the picture he is looking at was of Iriney.
Ilya gasps, before he can stop himself. He looks from Iriney to baby Shane, back and forth, again and again and again. The same round chubby cheeks. The same eyes and nose and lips. The same dark hair, sticking straight out in every direction. They look identical.
“I know you can’t use a photo as a paternity test, that’s something that will be up to the two of you… if you want to have it done. But—” Yuna grabs Ilya's hand and squeezes it. “It’s worth a thought, maybe? For your peace of mind?”
It’s worth much more than just a single thought. It’s worth many thoughts. In fact, Ilya can’t stop thinking about it.
He sits in the hospital bed and waits nervously for whoever is going to come to swab Iriney and Shane’s cheeks. They’d let Yuna pick them out. Let her vet them on expectations, protocol… but most importantly on their silence. They had also paid extra to get the results back as soon as possible.
Ilya stares down at Iriney, and can’t ignore the hope anymore. He doesn’t ask for much… The one true time he did, led to him getting Iriney. It feels selfish to ask for more than what he’s already been graciously gifted. He closes his eyes and silently asks for this one extra thing anyway. Just let Iriney be Shane’s.
He knows it doesn’t matter. Shane has told him, Shane’s parents have told him. Just let him be anyway.
There’s a soft knock at the door and an older woman walks in. Silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a serious professional look on her face. Not unfriendly, but she didn’t carry on much conversation either. She introduces herself and gets straight to business, swabbing Shane’s cheek first. Ten circles on each side. Then Iriney… who was not very happy with the foreign intrusion.
“Oh my what lungs, medvezhonok!” The woman’s serious demeanor cracks, and she smiles. Ilya must be looking at her in shock, because she laughs and explains her mother was Russian. “She would say my and my siblings all growled when we were angry! Moy Medvezhonok’s! She would call us!” She apologized profusely to Iriney as she moved to the other cheek and he began wailing— and a bit of it did sound like growling— again. “Ah! There. All done!”
“Thank you,” Ilya says, and brings Iriney up to rock him.
“Of course,” she replies, her demeanor much softer now. She smiles at the three of them, and shakes both Shane and Ilya’s hands. “I will have this back to you as soon as possible.”
Yuna must have paid a small fortune to the company because the lady came back with the results the next day.
Shane is with his parents, arguing with Crowell about how to approach all of this, and with his coach on taking paternity leave, to be with Ilya and Iriney, whether he— the team or the league— likes it or not. Ilya had hoped they would be back when she arrived.
The woman still wears a very professional smile on her face that Ilya can’t decide whether it is screaming good news, or bad. Maybe she assumed the test was done in hopes Shane wasn’t the father so a negative would be good news. Then again, she seemed very non-star struck by them— much unlike the nurses and other staff of the hospital have been— maybe she doesn’t know hockey, and in turn doesn’t even know who they are.
“You look very lost in thought, Mr. Rozanov,” the woman says as she fishes the results out of her bag. “Everything alright?”
“Uhm…” Ilya starts. He doesn’t want to say it is for now, might not be later… depending on what these results reveal. A part of him is starting to regret having the test done at all. The odds do not stack up in his favor— so rarely they ever do. God he is still so stupid.
She asks if he wants to wait for Shane to return and he shakes his head. He realizes she has found the folder with the results but is holding them close to her, and he makes no effort to reach for them. “Can I ask you a question?” Ilya moves his eyes from the folder to the woman’s face; he nods. “Will it even matter— the results?”
Ilya feels the strong need to say no. To defend Shane and his parents, because of course it wouldn’t matter. They have said— no… No. They have done more than just say so. He thinks of the bags of gifts the Hollander’s brought. He thinks of the moments Shane has spent cuddling Iriney before his parents ever arrived.
He thinks of Shane bringing Iriney up to his face. Seeing them nose to nose, before the thought of how similar they looked even creeped in. He thinks of how happy Shane looked. How natural it seemed to him. How comfortable. Shane is so often rarely comfortable in anything that’s not hockey. This was his Shane from their time at the cottage. He looked free.
All while thinking there was no possibility Iriney was his.
“It would not,” Ilya tells her confidently. “He— He loves Iriney. I know that.”
“Then you have chosen a good man to be your partner. One that loves you and your child unconditionally.” Ilya knows Shane does, and will. He smiles and nods in agreement with her. She returns the smile, now soft and warm; comforting. “Although, I’m sure you will be pleased to find that is not the case for your situation.”
Ilya furrows his brows; the woman hands him the folder. Circled in red on the first page is the DNA results. A 99.7% match. Shane is Iriney’s father. Ilya isn’t sure if he wants to laugh, or cry, or grab the woman and kiss her for this. Instead he just continues to stare at the results, the numbers, the words. Shane Hollander is confirmed to be a paternal match.
“Ilya?” Shane’s voice snaps him out of the trance he seems to have fallen in. “Is that—”
Ilya meets his eyes, and couldn’t hide the happiness if he tried. Tears are already flowing down his cheeks. “It is— He— He is…”
“Wait, seriously?” Shane walks over, and takes the paper from Ilya, reads it, then reads it again. “Oh my god! B- But we used protection… and— and you took—”
“I guess it did not work!” Ilya laughs, and cries, and is so grateful for nothing but abstinence being truly 100% effective. Later their doctor will jokingly inform them that this happens a lot more often than they would think.
But now… Now he reaches for Shane, and Shane discards the results to climb onto the bed with him and their son. Their son.
He melts into Shane’s embrace, and tucks Iriney securely between them.
Iriney is Shane’s son. Which would not have mattered if he had not been. But it means a whole hell of a lot knowing that he is.
“Should we do Hollander-Rozanov… or Rozanov-Hollander?” Shane asks, staring at the birth certificate form, and taps the pen on the edge of the clipboard, chewing on the drawstring of his hoodie. “We could combine them? Hollanov? Rozander?”
Shane’s brows furrow as he thinks about it, then he scrunches up his nose, and shakes his head. It matches the way Iriney’s face is scrunched up, very unhappy with the diaper change he is receiving. He looks so much like Shane, Ilya thinks his heart might just spontaneously explode.
Ilya wishes all this paperwork could wait until the morning… when they both are scheduled to be released from the hospital. But then they have an absurd amount of things to set into motion as soon as they leave, for Isha to get his Canadian citizenship, since he was born in the US. It is probably best to get as much paper work out of the way now, and well… Ilya had been having thoughts about this topic anyway—
“Or… we could just use Hollander?”
The tapping stops. The drawstring drops from between Shane’s teeth and he just… stares. Ilya stares back. Isha kicks his legs in the space between them and lets out a very unhappy wail.
“Ilya…”
Ilya shrugs. He tries to ignore the way his heart is picking up speed. Focuses on fastening the diaper around Isha’s hips, and getting him back into a fresh sleeper.
“Ilya.”
“What? Is just a name. Relax. And besides, he is your son, so he should have your name.
“He’s your son, too.”
“And he is named after my mother. He does not need to be named after my father...” Shane remains quiet. Ilya lifts Ireney up to kiss over his face… because how can he not? He’s too cute. Then he lays him against his chest so he will hopefully fall back to sleep.
“It’s your name, though,” Shane points out, breaking the unnerving silence.
Before Ilya can stop himself— which he entirely blames on the pregnancy despite it having never made itself apparent before… and the fact it is also now over— he replies, “It does not have to be…”
He glances at Shane, who looks dumbfounded. “Wait… do you mean—” Ilya prays he connects what he is saying, so he won’t have to admit it himself, out loud. “You take my name?”
Ilya shrugs again, allowing his lips to curve up into a grin. “Everyone I love most would have it. I would not mind having it as well.”
“Is this— Are you…” Shane blinks, and then laughs. “Was that a proposal?”
Ilya flattens his lips. “Well that depends…” he says.
“Depends on what?”
“What your answer would be.”
Shane stares at him. He stares at Isha. Then he smiles. “So much for the romantic candle lit dock proposal.”
“Yes well,” Ilya shifts Isha on his chest, and kisses the top of his head. “It seems our plan has already drastically changed, now anyway. Besides, less of a fire hazard this way, yes?”
“Shut up,” Shane laughs, rolling his eyes.
“So… is that a yes? Or…”
Another laugh and a gentle swat to Ilya’s arm, then Shane leans in for a kiss. “Yes, you asshole!”
“Language, papochka…” Ilya scolds, settling into the bed with Shane at his side, Isha on his chest, and a strong sense of peace with everything that has transpired in such a short period of time. He rests his head on Shane’s shoulder, watching him fill out the last name portion with only Hollander, and smiles. “We are parents now.” The words felt good on his lips. “We must be better influences.”
“We'll have to get a swear jar like Hayden and Jackie,” Shane laughs. “Oh fuck— I- I mean frick…” he continues, and Ilya laughs, exhaustion starting to seep in. “Jackie wants to know if you are okay with her throwing you a baby shower... once I can get you back to Montreal.”
“Is that the new plan? To get us back to Montreal?”
“I- I mean… I’d like that… if— if that’s what you want.”
Ilya had already expressed he had no desire to return to hockey— Boston or Ottawa for that matter— for the time being. Isha needs him. He can’t even fathom being separated from this still very much wide awake child, with strong vocal cords, and deadly sharp fingernails. Who is currently cooing and spitting up on his chest. But they have yet to discuss where that hiatus would be happening, and they have a while to wait for Isha to be cleared to go to Canada.
“Hollander… is a joke. Of course I want us to be wherever you are. The three of us. Together.” And god he feels light as a feather from just how much he means it.
Ilya is happy… and he is also ready for a very long nap once they get to Shane's— to their house.
The past nine weeks have been a melting pot of emotions. Happy, sad, ecited, frustrated. He has felt them all. He is sure Shane has felt them all too. From the carseat Isha grunts as if emphasizing he too has had to deal with their rollercoaster of emotions…
Isha.
Not the nickname Ilya thought he would be using for his son. He'd been testing Iriyusha, Iriyuka in the days after his birth— but alas… Isha is the name he has found himself using the most. And it wasn't even given to him by Ilya, or Shane. Not by Yuna, David… or even by Sveta. It was given to him by Arthur Pike, when Hayden FaceTimed him the morning they were released from the hospital. Jackie was saying hi, and letting the kids see the baby. Arthur's small face filled the screen and very confidently he said. "Hi Isha!"
"No, no… it is Iriney," Jackie corrects.
"Isha," Arthur repeats.
"Iriney."
"Isha!"
It was adorable. Ilya assured her he did not mind at all.
Sveta had been the second person to try out the name, having been in the room during the call as well. "Akh Isha! Skazhi svoymeu papa perestat upryamitsya i idti spat." (When Isha was being fussy and Ilya was fighting sleep to stay up with him… despite Sveta offering to help.) Ilya found himself using the name shortly after that. Then Yuna slipped up and called him Isha. David has a plethora of little nicknames he was already calling him, Isha was an easy addition to them. Lastly, Shane caved and began to use the name as well.
Ilya smiles at his son, picking up the pacifier he'd spit out and returning it to his mouth. "Is he okay," Shane asks, looking back at him through the rearview mirror. "We could stop… Take him out for a while." For a moment, Ilya almost says no. He wants to get to Montreal as soon as possible so they can actually be together… but— The world knows about them, now. They can be together openly, now. They no longer have to hide.
"Okay, we can stop," Ilya says. He could also definitely stand to stretch his legs, and eat something. He feels like he has been running on decaf coffee (so as not to affect Isha while nursing), some god awful postpartum energy bars he let Shane make for him, and the mere memory of a pack of cigarettes a day. He chews a lot of gum to try to subside the craving for nicotine… it only kind of works (but really it doesn't).
It's nothing new these days, having so many eyes on them. They not only made the headlines on every sports related channel… but they were making headlines on every news and current events channel in general. All around the world. They stop at the next exit, and it is no different. The looks they recieve walking together with Isha from Shane's car, into the store for snacks are the same as the stares they received when they walked together with Isha out of the hospital. The same looks they received walking into the courthouse to file Isha's birth certificate and to apply for their marriage license. Looks of shock, and disbelief. Looks of awe and admiration. Looks of disgust. Not as many as they had feared… but they still are there. They still hurt.
The looks didn't bother them nearly as much when they returned to the courthouse to actually get married only a few days later. It was nothing fancy. They were just happy they were able to do it before Yuna and David had to fly back home. Sveta and Rose were their witnesses. Rose had only just arrived that morning. She'd been trying to get a moment to come visit since Shane called her with the news.
Ilya wasn't sure how he was suppose to feel about her at first. He felt many things in the moments leading up to her arrival. But she walked into his house, she smiled at him with that classic Rose Landry smile, and she… apologized. "You are s- sorry... for what?" Ilya was genuinely confused.
"Not clocking him the moment he accidently sat down at my table…" she said. "Keeping him from getting back to you; where he belongs." She just has such a likable aura around her— as Yuna had tried to tell him when Shane brought up Rose wanting to come see Isha… and he'd been a little awkward. Ilya gets it now.
"Weren't you two only together like six weeks?" Sveta had coyly chimed in, curling her lips up into a smirk when Ilya shot her a glare.
"That is six whole weeks too long," Rose rebutted dramatically. Ilya quickly decided he really liked her.
By the end of their little courthouse wedding, once the witness signatures had been signed, Sveta had decided she really liked Rose too. "Alright newlyweds, I am very sure you want to go do disgusting things to each other and make Isha a sibling while grandma and grandpa are here." She did not seem fazed in the slightest at the looks of horror she got for the statement from all it involved. "So, I am going to give Rose tour of Boston. We will meet later for dinner? Should be enough time, yes?"
Now two of Ilya and Shane's best friends are best friends as well.
Ilya scrolls through their wedding day photos as he feeds Isha. He still can't quite get over the fact he is no longer Ilya Rozanov— legally, he is now Ilya Hollander. It's strange. He loves it.
He will still go by Rozanov professionally. If he ever goes back to hockey, he will still wear the name on his jersey. But when he signed his name after swiping his credit card inside for a coke he put Hollander and he hasn't stopped smiling about it since.
Shane walks out of the store and has a bag filled with goodies. (Goodies being a couple souviners he passed on his way out that made him think of his boys— his words; Ilya felt embarassingly giddy about it— that he just had to get them. For Isha it was a stuffed loon. For Ilya it was a Hollander Jersey. Ilya nearly shot coke through his nose. "Oh?! I leave my amazing cup winning team to take care of your child and you try to convert me to the dark side!" Before Shane can even chirp back Ilya grabs the jercsey and holds it close to his heart. "I will wear with pride, moy lyubov. I will be the best hockey husband in the history of hockey husbands."
"Technically you are the first hockey husband... at least that's married to a man."
"So I have headstart. Scott Hunter's poor Kip stands no chance."
"You're such a… jerk." Shane rolls his eyes, but is smiling, and he takes Isha so Ilya can stand up. (He quickly changes into the Jersey as well.)
"But I am your jerk," Ilya says, proudly posing in his new attire, "and you love me."
"Eh…" Shane says teasingly, turning to walk back towards the car.
"You love me Shane! Admit it!"
"Eh…!"
"Shane!" He tacks on a pout and trails after them, knowing Shane will only deny him so long. He is proven right when Shane stops about half way to the car, nearly causing Ilya to collide with him, turns around and with his free arm pulls Ilya into a kiss in front of god and the entirety of the supercenters parking lot.
"Ye tebya lyublyu," Shane says and if he hadn't been holding their child Ilya would have picked him up and carried him back the rest of the way to the car… thrown him in the back seat and done very innappropriate things to him that are not supposed to be done in public."Let's go home," Shane says against Ilya's lips.
"Let's go home," Ilya repeats completely blissed out.
The moment they enter Montreal, Shane turns on his GPS, which Ilya finds odd because Shane prides himself on rarely ever needing directions. A very manly stereotype, sure… but Shane is actually very good with remembering his way around places. So Ilya is shocked Shane doesn't know how to get back to the home he has lived in nearly a decade.
It's not until they take an exit leading them away from the city, towards the suburbs that Ilya understands why he needed a GPS. First he wonders if they are going to stop by the Pike's house. Or, he thinks, maybe its a different teammate of Shane's. Why they need to stop at anyone's home first is beyond him, but he doesn't question it.
His confusion clears when Shane turns into the driveway of a house with a For Sale sign by the road, that is covered by a SOLD sticker. A beautiful house. Huge front porch with a porch swing. A good mix of modern and farmhouse. "Shane…" Ilya manages, fairly sure he's reading the situation correctly but not wanting to assume to quickly. "What is this? Where— Where are we?"
Shane rounds the circle driveway, and stops right in front of the front door. He gets out and goes to the back seat to open Ilya's door, remaining quiet until Ilya slips Isha out of the carseat and climbs out of the car. He slides an arm around Ilya's back and they both look up at the house. Ilya spots a sign hanging by the door that reads The Hollander's est. (2008) 2018.
"We're home," Shane says, sealing the words in with a kiss.