Chapter Text
The decision had come straight from Coach Wiebe; Shane and Ilya would not be playing in any of the preseason games. It made sense; most teams didn’t risk their star players before the season even began. There was no reason to push, no reason to gamble.
But that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason had a name: Valeria.
Shane and Ilya had insisted they had everything under control. A plan, a system, contingencies stacked neatly on top of contingencies, like it was just another part of their routine. Like it was manageable. Like it was normal. And maybe, on paper, it was.
But paper didn’t account for the way Shane hesitated when travel dates were mentioned. It didn’t capture how Ilya lingered a little too long after practices, like he was trying to memorize something he wasn’t ready to leave behind. It didn’t show the silent conversations that passed between them; quick glances, half-finished sentences, the kind of understanding that didn’t need words but carried the weight of too many. They said they were ready, but in reality, they were nowhere near it.
So when Coach Wiebe made the call, firm and final, neither of them argued. Not even Ilya, who usually had something to say about everything. Not even Shane, who could turn silence into defiance when he wanted to. This time, they just… accepted it.
Relief came quietly, slipping into the spaces they hadn’t acknowledged out loud. It settled in their shoulders, in the way Shane exhaled after the meeting, in the way Ilya didn’t immediately reach for his phone to check the schedule again.
But here they were. NHL Opening Night had arrived faster than either of them felt prepared for, and somehow, by some small, merciful miracle, the game was home against Pittsburgh. No flights, no hotels, no unfamiliar spaces. Just the facility that Valeria had already learned her way around. It was the best-case scenario, and still, it felt like a lot.
They had planned everything down to the minute. Including walking Valeria through gameday the night before, which Dr. Markova had recommended to make her comfortable in the possible high-stress environment. So, they prepared her as much as you could “prep” a four-year-old for something like this.
Shane gave her a run-down in soft, careful explanations, crouched at her level while she nodded along with wide, serious eyes, like she understood every word. Ilya had hovered nearby, pretending not to be listening too closely, but stepping in to add details anyway, just in case.
The plan was relatively simple. Gabby would babysit during morning skate, despite Yuna and David offering to watch her. It was easier this way; Valeria could get used to the familiar rhythm of gamedays with Gabby, and Ilya and Shane would be able to focus. Then, they would all have lunch together. Shane, Ilya, Valeria, Yuna, and David. Then it was back to the rink as a family.
Valeria was most excited about the locker room. “The bumps,” she’s said very seriously, holding her tiny fists up to demonstrate, something Troy had taught her. “For good luck.”
Shane had smiled at that, something warm and almost disbelieving flickering across his face. He still could not believe that this was his life, that he was so lucky to have a family like this. Ilya had laughed outright, scooping her up and declaring that, yes, obviously, they would need her luck if they wanted any chance at winning.
And now, they stood just outside the locker room doors, everything suddenly feeling real. The hallway buzzed with energy. Staff moving quickly, skates clacking against the floor, and voices overlapping in a steady hum of pregame focus. The kind of Shane had lived in for years, the kind that Ilya thrived in. But this time, it was new.
Valeria stood between them, one hand tucked securely in Shane’s, the other gripping Ilya’s fingers, her small body vibrating with barely contained excitement. She craned her neck to look up at the door like it held something magical on the other side.
“Ready?” Ilya asked, glancing down at her.
She nodded immediately. “Ready.”
Shane squeezed her hand once, grounding her as much as himself. “Okay, let’s go.”
Inside, the room shifted the second they walked in. It wasn’t subtle. Conversations faltered, attention pulling toward the doorway as players took in the sight. Shane and Ilya, still in their suits, and between them, the smallest, most unexpected addition to opening night.
Valeria didn’t hesitate; she owned this locker room. She let go of their hands and marched forward with complete confidence, tiny sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor as she made her way to Troy first, of course.
“Hey Val!” Troy greeted her, scooping her into a hug.
“Uncle Troy!” she giggled.
He set her back on the floor carefully before reaching into his locker and pulling out a bag of fruit snacks. “I thought you might need a snack for the game.”
“There’s a ton of food in the box,” Ilya interjected.
“Yes, there is,” Troy continued, handing the fruit snacks over to Valeria, “But there are none of Uncle Troy’s fruit snacks up there.”
Ilya shook his head, and Shane just laughed.
“Ready for lucky bumps, kiddo?” Troy asked, looking back at Valeria.
She shook her head with a big grin. “Yes!”
Troy held out his fist and was quickly met by Valeria’s. She giggled immediately, clearly loving the lucky bumps already.
The room was silent for half a second before everyone broke out in laughter, soft and surprised, rippling through the team as other players started crouching down to her level for their lucky bumps
“That was perfect!” Troy assured her. “Now, you have to go get everyone else.”
Valeria nodded very seriously before she was off. Player to player, locker to locker, completely serious about her job, distributing luck like it was the most important responsibility in the world.
Ilya leaned back against his stall, watching her with something dangerously close to awe. He glanced at Shane standing next to him and muttered, “She’s got better pregame presence than half the team.”
Shane huffed out a quiet laugh, but his eyes didn’t leave her. “Yeah, she does.”
For the first time all day, the tension in his chest eased. The anxiety of playing on a new team with his fiancé had been overwhelming him the past week. Not that he didn’t love his new team, but everything was so public now, so many more eyes were on him. But having Valeria, their daughter, here with them, giving their teammates lucky bumps, weaving through the room as she belonged here, blissfully unaware of the weight of the day, made everything easier, lighter, more manageable.
Soon, the locker room began to pull back into its usual pregame rhythm. Dykstra had unfortunately connected to the speakers and turned on the worst pregame playlist Ilya had ever heard.
“Dykstra,” Ilya called. “Do not play this garbage music around my kid.”
The locker room broke out into laughter at that. Dykstra’s face had turned a bit red. “Sorry, Cap!” he called, pausing the music.
Valeria made her way over to Ilya and Shane upon completion of her very important job. “Did everyone!” she announced with a satisfied little nod.
“Everyone?” Ilya asked, crouching in front of her.
She nodded again. “All bumps.”
“I think you missed the two best players on the team,” Ilya added.
Valeria looked around, confused.
“Lera,” Ilya said, getting her attention again, “You forgot about daddy and me.”
“Oh!” Valeria said, giggling. Ilya and Shane held out their fists, and she happily completed the bumps. “Okay, now I all done.”
“Good,” Ilya said, tapping his forehead lightly against hers. “Now, we will definitely win.”
Shane smiled, softer, brushing a hand through her hair before straightening. “Time to head upstairs, bug.”
Thankfully, Valeria didn’t argue this time. She slipped her hand back into his easily, already half-turning toward the door where Yuna and David were all waiting. They had practiced the transition with her many times. She would go up to the family suite while Ilya and Shane got ready for the game.
“Ready?” Yuna asked, crouching to Valeria’s level.
Valeria beamed. “I did all the bumps.”
“I heard,” David said, offering his hand. “That’s a big responsibility.”
Valeria took it proudly.
Shane lingered for half a second longer, thumb brushing across the back of her hand before letting go. Ilya was quicker about it, but not by much, his fingers trailing just a fraction too long before he stepped back.
“Have fun, okay?” Shane said.
“Be good for Baba and Deda,” Ilya added, though his voice had already softened.
Valeria nodded like this was a very serious agreement, then let herself be led out into the hallway.
The suite level was already buzzing. The WAGs, partners, families, a mix of familiar faces and new, had gathered early, the space warm with chatter and anticipation. The moment Yuna stepped through the door with Valeria in tow, attention shifted almost immediately.
“Oh my god,” someone said, not even trying to keep their voice down. “That’s her.”
And just like that, Valeria was surrounded. Not overwhelmed, never overwhelmed, but noticed. Fussed over in the gentle, delighted way of people who had heard about her long before they’d met her.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Cassie said, kneeling down. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Valeria blinked up at them, taking this all in with careful curiosity. “I did bumps,” she informed them.
A chorus of soft laughter followed.
“I believe it,” Caitlin said. “We’re counting on you, you know.”
Valeria nodded, very solemn about this newfound responsibility.
Yuna and David exchanged an equally amused and relieved glance over her head as the tension from earlier eased just a little more. She was not just okay, she was more than okay, she was thriving.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the suite door. David opened it to reveal Harris, slightly out of breath, like he had jogged part of the way up.
“Hey—sorry, I just—” he held up a small, neatly wrapped box. “This came in this morning. I figured… better now than after.”
Yuna’s eyes softened instantly. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Harris grinned, stepping inside. “I try.”
He spotted Valeria almost immediately, seated on the couch with Lisa and Cassie, swinging her legs as they talked to her as if she were the most important person in the room.
“Hey, Val,” he said, crouching in front of her. “Got something for you.”
Her eyes lit up. “For me?”
“For you,” he confirmed, already pulling his phone out with his other hand. “But—wait, wait—I gotta record it. Your dads are gonna want to see this.”
That got her attention differently. “Okay,” she said, sitting up straighter.
Yuna shifted closer, helping her settle the box in her lap while Harris angled his phone just right.
“Alright,” he said, grinning. “Go ahead.”
Valeria peeled back the paper carefully, focused, and determined, before lifting the lid. There was a moment of confusion before her eyes lit up. She reached in, pulling out the tiny jersey, the fabric unfolding in her hands. Custom. Hollander-Rozanov. #21
For a second, she just stared at it, then she looked up. “It’s mine?” she asked, voice small but bright.
Harris laughed softly behind the camera. “Yeah, kid. It’s yours.”
Yuna pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes shining. David just shook his head, smiling in disbelief.
“Well,” Selena said immediately, “we have to put it on her right now.”
That turned into a whole production. Yuna gently helped as Valeria lifted her arms obediently as the jersey slipped over her head. It hung a little big on her, the sleeves just past her elbows. Nonetheless, still perfect.
“Turn around,” Yuna said softly.
Valeria did. Number 21. Hollander-Rozanov.
The room collectively melted.
Harris lowered his phone just enough to grin. “Yeah… they’re gonna lose it.”
Down on the ice, warmups had already started. Shane skated a slow loop near center, stick tapping absently against the ice as he scanned the stands out of habit more than anything else. Despite tonight being their first game, locating the suite and grounding himself with the knowledge she was there had become second nature.
Ilya drifted closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against Shane’s. “You see them yet?”
“Not yet,” Shane said, eyes still searching. And then suddenly she had walked to the edge of the box, pressed up against the glass.
Shane stilled. “Ilya,” he said, sharper now.
Ilya followed his gaze, and just like that, everything else faded.
Valeria spotted them almost immediately. Her whole face lit up, hands pressing against the glass before she remembered, turning quickly, a little clumsy in her excitement.
“Wait,” she said, holding a hand up, though they couldn’t hear her. This time, she turned back just enough for them to see her back.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Ilya let out a disbelieving laugh, hand coming up to his helmet like he needed to make sure he was actually seeing it.
“Is that?” he started.
“Yeah,” Shane said, quieter. “Yeah, it is.”
Valeria waved wildly, bouncing a little where she stood, completely unaware of the way the moment landed, how it hit somewhere deep and immovable.
Ilya skated backward, still staring up at her, a grin breaking fully across his face now. “We’re definitely winning,” he said.
Shane huffed out a breath, something tight in his chest unraveling all at once. “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes still fixed on her. “We are.”
Up in the suite, Valeria pressed both hands to the glass again, beaming.
—
The game settled in quickly, but not easily. Opening night always carried a different kind of energy. Everything sharper, louder, every shift just a little more intense. The crowd hadn’t sat down since puck drop, the noise rolling endlessly through the arena in waves that never quite faded.
Up in the suite, Valeria had stationed herself firmly against the glass. She had tried sitting, which lasted maybe thirty seconds. Now she stood between Yuna and David, hands splayed against the barrier, eyes locked on the ice like she could track Shane and Ilya at all times, which, somehow, she almost could.
“That’s them,” she kept saying, every time one of them came into view.
Yuna smiled softly every time, brushing a hand over her hair. “I know, sweetheart.”
Midway through the first period, the shift started like any other. A clean faceoff win from Ilya, a quick pass back to the defense, and reset, nothing special…until it was. The puck came back up the boards faster than expected, a bounce off the glass that landed just slightly off-angle, awkward for anyone else, but not for Shane. He adjusted in stride, collecting it cleanly off his skate and settling it onto his stick in one smooth motion. A defender closed in immediately, but Shane was already moving, cutting inside, shoulder dipping just enough to slip past.
“Go, go—” David in the suite breathed, barely aware he’d said it out loud.
Valeria leaned forward, eyes wide.
On the ice, Ilya saw it unfolding a split second before anyone else. He accelerated, drew the second defender, and opened the lane. It was instinct. It was trust. It was something they had built shift by shift, game by game, something that didn’t need to be called, didn’t need to be questioned.
Shane took the space and shot. The sound came first, the sharp crack of puck against stick. Then the net snapped back. For half a heartbeat, everything paused, and then the arena exploded.
Valeria startled at the noise, hands flying up to her ears first, and then she realized. “That was them!” she shouted, spinning back to the glass. “That was them!”
On the ice, Shane barely had time to process it before Ilya was on him, grabbing his helmet, shouting something that got lost in the roar of the crowd. But Shane was laughing, actually laughing. The kind that didn’t happen mid-game. The kind that slipped out when something meant something. His first goal as a Centaur.
The word had carried weight all week, expectation, pressure, uncertainty. A new system, a new role, a new version of himself, he was still figuring out in real time. And now, proof that it worked, proof that he worked here, on this team.
Ilya pulled back just enough to look at him, grin sharp and bright. “I told you,” he said, tapping the side of Shane’s helmet. “We will win.”
Shane shook his head, breathless, but his eyes were already lifting. Up in the suite, Valeria was bouncing now, pure, uncontained excitement.
“They did it!” she yelled, turning to Yuna and David like they hadn’t just watched the same thing. “They did it!”
“I think you might be their good luck,” David said, laughing.
“I am,” she said immediately.
Down below, Shane found her almost instantly. She was impossible to miss now; tiny, pressed up against the glass, wearing a jersey that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world.
She was pointing at him, then at herself, then turning just slightly like she needed to make sure he saw it again. Shane’s smile softened into something quieter, something deeper. He lifted a hand, tapping his chest once, then pointing up at her. I see you.
Ilya followed his gaze a second later and let out another laugh, shaking his head as he pointed up too, exaggerated, like he needed to make absolutely sure she knew. Valeria beamed. Mission accomplished.
As the line changed and Shane skated back toward the bench, the noise of the arena settled into something more distant, still loud, still overwhelming, but no longer the center of everything.
Shane barely made it back to the bench before it started.
“Hey—HEY—look at him!” Dykstra shouted, loud enough to cut through the lingering noise of the crowd. “Centaur gets one shift, and suddenly he’s a sniper?”
A glove smacked into his helmet as he stepped over the boards.
“About time,” Chouinard chimed in. “We were starting to think you forgot how to shoot.”
Shane dropped onto the bench, breath still uneven, shaking his head as he pushed his helmet back slightly. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, but the grin hadn’t gone anywhere.
Ilya slid in beside him a second later, knocking their shoulders together like it was nothing. “Not bad,” he said casually, like he hadn’t been the one who created the entire play.
Shane snorted. “You literally dragged two defenders with you.”
“Yes,” Ilya said, completely unbothered. “Because I knew you would score.”
“Uh-huh.”
A stick tapped hard against Shane’s shin pads.
“Hey—Hollander,” Boyle leaned forward from further down the bench, smirking. “You see your kid up there?”
That got a few more heads turning.
“Oh yeah,” LaPointe added, “what’s with the jersey? That thing’s unreal.”
“Twenty-one?” Young laughed. “That’s commitment, man.”
Shane ducked his head a little, rubbing at the back of his neck, but there was no hiding it now, the way his expression softened, the way his eyes flicked up toward the suite again without even thinking about it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I saw.”
Ilya leaned back slightly, stretching his arms across the top of the boards behind them, entirely too pleased with himself. “Of course she has good taste,” he added. “She gets it from me.”
“Pretty sure she got the number from both of you,” Young shot back.
“Exactly,” Ilya said. “The best parts.”
Shane huffed out a laugh, bumping his shoulder again. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you scored,” Ilya replied easily. “So we are both doing well.”
The rest of the game was a blur. Not in a way that meant it didn’t matter, but in the way that meant they were in it, fully and completely. Every shift sharper than the last, every play building on something they could feel clicking into place.
By the third period, the energy had shifted from anticipation to certainty. And when the final horn sounded, they had it, a win, opening night, against one of their rivals.
Up in the suite, Valeria jumped at the sound, then immediately started clapping, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, only that it was good.
“They won!” she said, turning to Yuna and David with wide eyes. “They won!”
“They did,” Yuna laughed, already reaching for her phone. “And I think someone helped.”
Valeria beamed.
—
The hallway outside the locker room was busier now, but familiar in a different way, postgame energy replacing pregame nerves. Players passed by in various states of exhaustion and adrenaline, staff moving around them like it was all part of a well-rehearsed dance.
Valeria stood just off to the side with Yuna and David, bouncing lightly on her toes. “Are they coming now?” she asked, for what had to be the fifth time.
“Soon,” David assured her. “They’ve gotta finish up first.”
Valeria nodded, but her eyes stayed locked on the locker room door, waiting.
When it finally opened, she didn’t hesitate. “Papa! Daddy!”
They both looked up at the same time, and just like that, everything else fell away.
Shane was still in partial gear, hair damp, jersey clinging slightly, tape loose around his wrists. Ilya wasn’t much different, helmet gone, but everything else still in place, like they hadn’t quite transitioned out of the game yet. It didn’t matter. Valeria ran straight at them.
Shane caught her first, lifting her easily as she collided into him, a soft laugh breaking out of his chest as he steadied her against his shoulder. “Hey—hey,” he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to her hair. “Easy.”
“We won!” she said, like he might not have noticed.
“I know,” he smiled. “I know.”
Ilya stepped in immediately, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head, the other brushing over the oversized jersey she was still wearing. “Of course, we won, we had you.”
Valeria leaned back just enough to look between them. “You saw?” she asked, twisting slightly so the number was visible again.
Shane’s expression softened all over again. “Yeah, we saw.”
“Best jersey in the building,” Ilya added.
“Wait—don’t move.” Yuna’s voice cut in gently, already lifting her phone.
“Please tell me you’re getting this,” David said under his breath.
“Oh, I am,” Yuna replied.
Shane shifted Valeria slightly on his hip, Ilya stepping in closer without thinking, one arm settling across Shane’s back, the other still resting lightly against Valeria’s shoulder. They didn’t pose— they didn’t need to. Valeria, front and center, jersey slightly too big, hands curled into Shane’s jersey. Shane, still catching his breath, but calmer now, anchored. Ilya, leaning in, expression softer than anyone in the locker room would’ve believed.
Yuna snapped the photo and then another. Then she smiled, “Perfect.”
Inside the locker room, the energy had shifted again, louder now, music starting up, voices overlapping as the team celebrated the win. Valeria stayed tucked against Shane at first, taking it all in, her earlier confidence softening into something quieter as the space filled up again.
Ilya noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said, tapping lightly against her arm. “Come here.”
Shane passed her over without hesitation, and Ilya settled onto the bench with her, letting her sit against his chest while he reached for a water bottle. “You did very good today,” he told her, handing it over.
She took it, nodding seriously. “I did all the bumps.”
“I know,” he said. “That is why we scored.”
From across the room, Troy called out, “Hey! Little lucky charm, think you can come to every game?”
Valeria perked up at that. She immediately responded with, “I can.”
The room laughed. Shane leaned back against his stall, watching them, watching her, something steady and full settling in his chest. Not perfect, not easy, but right.
Ilya glanced up, catching his eye for a brief second. No words, just that same understanding as always. We’re okay. Shane nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Yeah, they were more than okay.
—
The hallway outside media was louder than usual. Not in volume, reporters were always loud, but in density. More bodies, more cameras, more movement packed into a space that suddenly felt too small for everything it was trying to hold. Word had spread. Opening night win. Shane’s goal. And, everything else.
“Stick with me,” Shane said quietly, not looking at Ilya as they walked.
“I am always with you,” Ilya replied, just as quiet, but there was an edge to it tonight. Sharper than usual. Tighter.
Bood walked a step ahead of them, already scanning the room like he knew exactly what they were walking into. “Keep it short,” he muttered. “Answer what you want. Ignore what you don’t.”
“Yeah,” Shane said. Ilya didn’t respond.
The moment they stepped out, the shift was immediate. Cameras lifted. Voices sharpened.
“Shane, first goal of the season, first in this new system, what did that feel like for you?”
Shane leaned forward slightly, arms crossed in front. “Good,” he said simply. “I thought the line worked well tonight. We were moving the puck the way we wanted to.”
“Can you walk us through the play?”
He did. Clean, controlled, exactly what was expected. Credit to Ilya, credit to the system, credit to the team. Safe, professional, and easy.
That lasted about thirty seconds until the media finally asked what they really wanted.
“Ilya, there’s been a lot of attention over the offseason regarding your personal situation. How much did that factor into your preparation coming into tonight?”
The room shifted, subtly, but still there. Shane felt it immediately, the way Ilya’s posture changed beside him, the way his shoulders went just slightly rigid.
“We prepared like always,” Ilya said, voice flat.
The reporter didn’t back off. “There’s been a lot of speculation about how things have changed for you both. Does having that kind of added responsibility affect your focus on the ice?”
Shane inhaled slowly. Don’t interject yet. Let him answer.
Ilya let out a short breath through his nose, jaw tightening. “No, we are here to play hockey.”
Another voice cut in before the tension could settle. “Shane, can you talk about the moment after your goal? It looked like you were pointing up into the stands—”
Shane blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “Uh—yeah. Just… family was here.”
“Your daughter?” the reporter pressed immediately.
There it was, the shift from curiosity to intrusion.
Shane’s grip tightened slightly against the sleeve of his shirt. “Yeah.”
“How has becoming a parent changed the way you approach the game?”
That one wasn’t malicious, but it still struck a chord. Shane glanced sideways, just briefly. Ilya was already staring straight ahead, expression closed off in a way that meant he was two seconds from saying something he wouldn’t take back.
“Look,” Shane said, steady but firmer now, “it’s important to me. But when we’re here, we’re focused on hockey.”
“Right, but—” the reporter continued, undeterred, “you’ve both taken on a pretty unique situation—”
Ilya let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Unique,” he repeated, like the word offended him.
Shane’s head turned slightly. “Ilya—” he warned under his breath, but it was already happening.
“We played a game,” Ilya said, leaning forward now, voice cutting clean through the room. “We won. All three of us scored, and Haas and Barrett. That is what you should be asking about.”
The room went quiet. The reporter hesitated just long enough to make it worse. “Of course,” they said, but there was still that push. “It’s just that fans are really interested in—”
“In what?” Ilya snapped. He was completely done with these questions, done with the press. He wanted to leave. He wanted to grab Shane and march back to the locker room and take Valeria home. But, instead, he gave them a piece of his mind. “In my personal life? In his?” he gestured briefly toward Shane. “In a child who is not sitting at this table?”
Shane’s hand came down lightly, but firmly, against Ilya’s arm, grounding.
“Hey,” he said quietly. Not a warning, not a reprimand, just comfort.
Ilya exhaled hard, leaning back slightly, but his jaw was still tight.
Bood stepped in before anyone else could. “Do your job,” he said, voice calm but carrying. “Ask about the game.”
No one laughed, no one pushed back, because he wasn’t joking.
The reporters stood there stunned for a moment, collecting their thoughts, and wondering what to ask next. Another reporter, more cautious now, braved another question. “Bood, how did you feel about the team’s execution tonight?”
And just like that, the room shifted. Back to normal, back to the questions they should be asking, back to something they could all stand on without feeling like the ground might give out underneath them.
Bood answered easily, steering the conversation where it should’ve been from the start. Shane followed, calm, measured, and controlled. Ilya stayed quieter after that, not silent, but careful.
When it finally ended, the release was immediate. Cameras lowered, reporters started filing out, and the noise of the room fractured into smaller conversations as they headed for the door.
They didn’t speak right away; they waited until they were halfway down the hallway.
“I was fine,” Ilya muttered.
Shane let out a breath. “You were about to fight a reporter.”
“He was asking stupid questions.”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “He was.”
Ilya glanced over, something defensive still lingering there, but softer now. “He should not talk about her like that.”
Ilya was no stranger to personal questions from the media. He was Boston’s womanizing party boy, and at least one reporter was always asking about whatever girl he was seen with most recently. But this was different. Asking about his daughter and his family was completely different.
Shane’s expression shifted, just slightly. “I know,” he started, then stopped for a moment before finishing. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”
Ilya looked at him, searching for something in his face.
“Really,” Shane reassured him.
That seemed to settle something inside of him. “Okay,” Ilya said finally.
They walked a few more steps.
“Next time,” Shane added, glancing over, “maybe don’t start a war in front of the media.”
Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh. “No promises.”
By the time they reached the locker room again, the noise had faded into something familiar. Safe and contained. And somewhere down the hall, they could already hear her talking with one of the guys.