Chapter Text
Raised in a Rink (Legal Adults ONLY)
Elsie: The mountain is out.
E: Really? Are we talking about the Matterhorn? You have been in Europe for at least a week….
Elsie: I have my local sources keeping me up to date back home, E. It’s a big deal for the to be out this much in February.
Ruth: More like a sign of global warming.
Carlos: Just wait until you have to be in this chat in the summer months.
E: please tell me that you are heading back to your dad’s this summer?
Elsie: Maybe… not…
Ruby: Ummm why not? Do you have a reason to stick around Seattle in the off season?
Elsie: *sends a blurry picture of large snowcapped mountain from out of a plane window as a distraction technique*
Amber: You could have just googled that.
Rob: She’s avoiding the subject. Also Mt. Rainer doesn’t exactly move!
Elsie: Her name is Tahoma!
E: Six months and she’s acting like a local…..
Rob: And now she is avoiding replying to us.
Amber: Yeah, thanks Elsie *Sarcasm*. We are finally in the same time zone after you abandoned Rob and I for the pacific northwest and now you go silent in the chat.
Ruby: I have taken silence for granted.
Carlos: Tell me about it.
Ruth: Wait, Carlos it’s like 3am for you, why are you up right now?
Carlos: Insomnia. Also packing. Also telling myself this is all just to avoid jet lag.
Elsie: Abandoned you and Rob??? I was DRAFTED by Seattle, you know for my job.
Rob: Playing professional hockey. Wow, if only you had some east coast connections to professional hockey teams 🤔
Carlos: She just had to copy me and come out to the west coast.
Elsie: West Coast Best Coast!
Carlos: I am not prepared for all of you in real life.😒
Arthur: You knew what strange family configuration you were marrying into. The rest of us were just thrown together by our dad’s being best friends.
Rob: Or by being randomly placed in the same first grade class and somehow deciding that some feral little hockey child was going to be my best friend.
E: And then being the little sibling of Amber Pike’s ride or die.
Ruth: Switzerland is not ready for the chaos we are about to bring.
**
The squeaking of sneakers mixed with the whispering of students hanging out under the staircases. Handmade posters hung on walls that, while repainted within the last year, were already starting to chip. It all added to the general sense of good enough. As if the building knew most of its occupants would only be here for a short time, and the aesthetics were less important than the drama that happened within the walls.
It was starkly different from his high school experience.
After he had been adopted at twelve, he had no longer been a thorn in the New York Public School system’s side. Instead, he had subjected to the uniforms and the strictness of the best private schools his fathers could afford. The education was rigorous, the consequences for misbehavior severe, the tuition astronomical. In their defense, he had been a terrible teen both behaviorally and academically. What else had a college professor and his millionaire husband figure was going to happen when they adopted a twelve-year-old Puerto Rican kid and his seven-year-old half-brother who had been in and out of nearly every configuration of the foster system for six years? He had barely even spent any time outside of the Bronx and suddenly he was being chauffeured to school.
His fathers loved him, and they had undoubtedly turned his life around for the better; but shit, he had been a rough teen who had given them a handful and a half. It had taken him years to understand that they weren’t going to abandon him despite his attempts to be the worst son ever. For years he just assumed he had been part of the package deal, the older child they had to take for the sake of optics when it was really his cute little brother they wanted. It didn’t help that Diego was the perfect child. Ever so grateful for their fathers, Diego always listened, Diego had perfect manners, Diego followed the path they now had the privilege of taking.
But Carlos… Every therapy, every sport, everything had been tried before he finally understood. It was the summer before his senior year, attempt number five at finding a high school that was a good fit for him. His fathers were needling him over plans to attend college, he was trying to make them understand it would be a miracle if he didn’t get expelled from this high school.
The glass cases holding sports memorabilia had rattled ominously on the walls of the penthouse as Carlos slammed the front door shut after yet another argument between him and his rapidly greying father.
His father had the exasperated tone he had come to expect as he stood in the foyer, “Carlos, we are not getting rid of you when you turn eighteen. I don’t care if you go to college or not, but you need some plan for what happens after high school.”
“Yeah, well what if you die?”
That had been a low blow, especially when his father had always been very open about how hard it had been to lose both of his parents when he was young. His father’s face had flashed a broken grimace, making the retired athlete seem small for a moment before he gave a stubborn retort: “Then I will haunt you for the rest of your life Carlos. God knows my parents have.”
It hadn’t been the response he was expecting. The flippancy, the exasperation of his father throwing his hands up into the air and stepping into the kitchen to work on dinner as if this was a typical argument over curfew. After that he had been a better son, he actually made a plan for a future that his adoptive parents could bankroll.
Pops thought it was hilarious that after being such a terrible student, Carlos wanted to become a teacher. Dad had murmured something about how he had always been good at taking care of others, how he had taken care of his brother Diego even when they were in different foster homes.
Now at twenty-four, with a master’s degree in child development and early childhood education he walked into the North Vancouver high school gym, pulling his jacket a bit tighter. The Thursday night game would be well attended, especially when it was against their rival school from a neighboring suburb. The rivalry between high schools was often taken to a trivial level, yet he never voiced that opinion aloud. He understood the stubbornness and loyalty in sports fans of all calibers.
Inside the area the bright lights hummed loudly, making it impossible to remember that it had been dark since 4pm. While the amount of daylight was slowly increasing as they came out of a dark and brutal winter, the workday was still carrying on. Especially for his wife, who was standing amongst the empty bleachers getting the pep band ready for the night’s game.
He had known Jade incidentally ever since he had been adopted, their families crossing paths in the summers and occasionally at charity events. He had been the dark and sullen teen, trying his best to do indulge in vices and the latest brain rot without being caught, while she had been motivated and goal oriented. Having picked up a trumpet sometime in middle school she had firmly become a band kid in a million different ensembles, while he had still fluttered about aimlessly. They hadn’t grown close until they both found one another at the University of British Columbia in their junior and freshman years respectively. Both executing the second step on their planned soft rebellion from their supportive families by moving to the other side of the continent. They were friends for a few years, relative acquaintances from a large network of chosen families they had left back on the east coast. They didn’t start dating until he began his student teaching, each of them surprised to find ease and understanding in the relationship. It had moved quickly into something serious. They had gotten married a year ago, in a small ceremony on New Years Eve in New York City. An inconvenient time and location for a wedding, but Carlos’s fathers expected nothing less of their son.
His wife looked up at him and smiled. He could tell she was exhausted, her messy bun was falling out in different places, there were dark circles forming under her eyes and before he had caught her eye she had been looking in the distance with a dull expression. He was tired too, but when their eyes met everything suddenly became a little bit easier, the world a little bit brighter. She smiled at him, her lips curling up as the bitchy statement slipped out easily,
“Hey you don’t work here.”
“Yet they always let me in.” He hopped down the last few steps wrapping a hand gently around her waist while giving her a peck on the cheek.
The group of band geeks watching them were not disgusted by the public display of affection from the married pair. “Hi Mr. Carlos!” Her band students called out gleefully as they welcomed him into the band section of the stands. Carlos returned their high fives, he had become the pep band’s emotional support mascot over the span of their relationship. “Sup Mr. Pike.”
He let the wrong surname slide. He certainly didn’t expect the three-year-olds he taught in developmental preschool to manage the mouthful that was his hyphenated last name, and frankly he found it hilarious to be referred to as Mr. Pike by Jade’s students.
His wife looked down at him with a raised brow, she was a full three inches taller than him, and this was exactly the sort of setting where most would assume she was one of the girls’ basketball coaches rather than the band director. “You really don’t mind?” She asked him.
“Jade.” He said softly, looking at the teenagers with a strange fondness, both missing and not at all wanting to ever relive that time of his life. “I work with preschoolers, at this point I’ll respond to anything.”
Jade Pike had become a teacher with the intention of spending less time among bleachers, and yet she found herself right back in them. The school’s girls’ basketball team would be heading into the regional finals if they won this match, and it meant longer workdays for her. The roar of a sports arena wasn’t unfamiliar to her; and by her fifth year teaching she should have figured out how to handle the chaos of her extra-long work days by now. Yet each year a new element of chaos thrown into the mix which made her head reel and her body feel as if it would need all of Saturday to just decompress from the week.
“Roper is coming to lead them right.” Carlos said looking around for her middle school counterpart who was supposed to relieve her within the next half hour. “Bags are in the car, and the flight is still on time.”
“Yeah, he is… It’s just…”
She leaned back against the railing, taking in a deep sigh as she felt her pocket buzz once more and a message flashed up on her wrist. The family group chat was, understandably, going off at all hours of the day for the past week. Normally she just brushed off being three hours behind the rest of her family on the east coast, the fact that most of them were currently in Switzerland right now didn’t help with the messages at strange hours. There was a small pang of guilt that she was still at work that they would be catching a red eye from Vancouver to Paris, using all their personal days and few of their sick days to head to Europe in February.
Carlos didn’t really understand the guilt that his wife felt. They got time off, so they were taking time off. “This does truly qualify as a one in a lifetime experience.” He said softly.
Jade scoffed, “It’s Ambers third Olympics.” She said stressing the point of third by holding up that many fingers. Amber had been a semi-professional pairs figure skater since she was twelve, but she also happened to be good enough at her hobby of recurve archery that she had qualified for the team and had earned a bronze medal at the 2036 summer games.
He smirked at her; it was exactly his first Olympics either. He had been in Salt Lake City four years ago as a spectator with his fathers. “Jade, it’s a good excuse to take some days off.”
She grimaced a bit at him, not wanting to rehash the argument, especially in front of her students. Instead, she found something else to needle him with, “We’re going to have to go through customs and you choose the most American looking outfit to exist?” She gestured at lightly distressed jeans, faded graphic t-shirt and an blue jacket with white embroidered stars all topped off by his worn-out Red Sox baseball hat.
“You married me knowing I was American.”
He smirked and felt his heart grow warmer as he watched his wife swoon very subtly before him. “Your dad is meeting us in Paris, right?” It would be Friday evening by the time they landed in Paris.
“Yep, at the airport. He got us a room to crash in Paris before we need to take the train to Lucerne.” Carlos said as he leaned his head a bit to pick her gently on the cheek.
Jade’s eyes fluttered softly as she tugged on the blue lapel of his jacket. “Does he know you borrowed his jacket?” Carlos nodded, even if his father hadn’t noticed it was missing for the past three years, he doubted that he would give him any grief over wearing the vintage item of clothing. “Too bad you didn’t steal his gold medal from his sock drawer.” Jade added in a whisper.
Pops had made sure it was properly displayed in the hallway near the linen closet in a glass case. He didn’t have time to correct her or ask if she could manage to steal some of her dad’s Olympic paraphernalia as they were interrupted by the loud blaring of an alto saxophone playing the first few notes of the riff from “Careless Whisper”. She turned her head and glared at the student who was close to having the tune banned within her classroom. “Sean.” She said through gritted teeth.
“Sorry Mr and Mrs P.”
“Do some actual scales.” Carlos said, muttering the single piece of musical information that he knew as he pulled away from his wife the illusion of their personal bubble shattered with the reminder that they were surrounded by a few dozen teenagers with loud instruments.
Sean pulled his saxophone away from his mouth and looked at his teacher with an impish grin. “Yooo miss P I have an age-appropriate crush”
One of the tenor sax players groaned. “Are you sure?” Jade too rolled her eyes, somehow, she always clued into the teenage gossip. While Carlos enjoyed her retellings as they relaxed in the evenings, he knew his wife was less than thrilled about being one of the adults the guidance counselor approached to confirm the validity of school drama.
“Cause the last crush you had was on a girl who was born in a year that started with a one.” The tuba player called out.
Sean blushed rather fiercely at that bit of. “Who is your age-appropriate crush Sean?” He watched his wife ask with a plastered media trained smile.
“Molly Hollander” Sean said with a proud smile on his face that was met with his bandmate’s groans.
“Dude… no!” The tuba player replied.
Someone put down the trumpet they were oiling, “The Olympics girl?”
“No way you have a chance with her.” A fellow saxophone player muttered with their reed dangling precariously from their mouth.
“Yeah, she is famous Sean, why do you only go for famous chicks?”
“She’s still in high school.” Sean said defensively. “She plays an instrument; she plans on going to university next year too… at least that what it said in the CBC doc…” He said clearly having gathered much of his information from the piece that had run about Molly Hollander back in December.
The trumpet player rolled their eyes, “The saxophone isn’t an orchestra instrument.” Molly Hollander had been shown in the documentary playing the viola in her high school orchestra back in Ottawa.
Carlos barely managed to hold back a snicker. Jade inhaled sharply and rested her face in the mask of someone who had been in front of media cameras her entire life. She often talked about how teaching was remarkably similar in nature to acting, he didn’t always agree. “You could at least, pick someone to have a crush on who lives in the same province as you.” Jade finally replied cooly.
Sean deflated, but quickly opened his mouth to reply, “Her sister plays for Seattle.” Sean countered back at the ready, clearly the boy had half of a plan to run into the Olympic bound athlete on his next trip down to the states.
"Should I let him know that you babysat her?” Carlos whispered in Jade ear so that none of her students could hear.
"Don't be cheeky Carlos." She snapped to hide the fact that she was flustered. She didn’t… she didn’t… she didn’t hide the fact that her father had been a professional hockey player. People put it together and she always confirmed it, but she never made a big deal of it either. Never went about filling in the details of the last names of uncles or cousins. She had grown up in a haze of fame. So had Carlos with a name like Grady-Hunter and both enjoyed the anonymity that life in British Columbia had afforded them.
Plus, to be fair, she had probably babysat about half of both the men and woman’s Canadian hockey teams for this year’s Olympics, and more than a few of the figure skaters as well. But they both just smiled at the bickering teenagers, knowing that they were literally having dinner with Molly Hollander with a matter of days. Carlos looked down at his watch as it buzzed with yet another message from their pre-Olympics filled family chat. “Our life is unbelievable.”
She looked at her husband, unable to hide the grin that was curling up her lips as she replied truthfully, “It always has been.”
**
Raised in a Rink (Legal Adults ONLY)
Arthur: Please don’t forget my peanut butter, Jade! 🙏🙏🙏
Ruth: OMG we are going to all be in one place in less than twenty-four hours!
Rob: When was the last time that happened?
Carlos: My wedding!
Jade: Our wedding!
E: Awww… I wasn’t even in the grown-up group chat then….
Rob: *crying emoji* Soon my baby siblings won’t be babies in the chat.
Elsie: Yes, Molly is desperate to know what we talk about in this chat.
Amber: She is going to be so disappointed that it is mostly the visibility status of American mountains.
Ruby: Are we adding Diego when he turns 18 too?
Carlos: He wasn’t exactly raised in a rink.
Rob: But he is still definitely part of the family
Ruth: Rob, saying that we are a family in italics makes it come across like we were raised in some sort of crime syndicate.
Elsie: Let’s just pray that Diego doesn’t end up falling in love with one of my little brothers… 🤮
Rob: Gross Elsie!
Ruth: Nooooo…. Not the baby Hollanders….*Sarcasm*
Amber: Papa would legit murder someone.
**
Sometimes he looked back at the 2021-22 season when everyone was worried about his playing with his husband and just laughed; because in retrospect the noise about potential conflicts of interest that the podcasters and bloggers had then was nothing compared to Ilya’s post-professional hockey career. If the Game Changers camps had taught him anything, other than making sure doors were locked, it was that he was good at coaching. Ilya, to the surprise of many, worked well with children and was able to give them directions they understood. He wasn’t intimidated by their silliness or memes; and most importantly he had developed an effortless way to improve and critique their technique without breaking down their self-confidence.
As retirement grew closer, he had always been leaning towards coaching but navigating where had been a minefield.
Ilya didn’t want to leave Ottawa, not with their still young kids, and he wasn’t ready to coach on the Centaurs until at least one more captain after Haas. So, the league was out. The professional women’s league had politely and discreetly made their inquiry known, but by the time he retired it was clear that at least Elsie had a shot of making hockey a career. He had watched for almost a decade as his daughters navigated the world of women’s hockey to see just how important it was for them to have female coaches who they could relate too.
Then there were the junior leagues, minor affiliates, elite youth squads, they all had reached out and offered generous packages but none of them had been the right feel. They all wanted Rozanov, the version of him that existed only on the ice. And while that Russian born terror was good at playing hockey, good for a viral fight, that Ilya Rozanov didn’t make a good coach.
So instead, Ilya Hollander ended up as the head coach of the University of Ottawa’s men’s hockey team.
Honestly, he loved it. He was surrounded by the cutting of ice and the rush of games, but the level of competition was different. He still managed to help players achieve their best, but he also found himself walking up and down the aisles of the team bus gently chastising them to finish their papers and homework. It was hockey and parenthood combined, and somehow, he got paid.
He still traveled with the team but it was far less than when he had been with the Centaurs, and he was able to watch more of his children growing up. After over twenty years of professional hockey, he hadn’t been downgraded for something comfortable but rather slid into a place where his experience as a player could be shifted into a more mentor status.
He really enjoyed coaching. What he did not enjoy was having to spend the past week and a half sleeping alone in a big bed an ocean away from his husband.
Getting the call to be one of the assistant coaches for the 2038, Canadian Olympic Men’s Hockey Team had been expected. Shane had stayed behind in Ottawa with their youngest children for the first bit of the competition, waiting to bring their sons over to Switzerland until it was closer to the hockey finals. He had been spoiled over the past two decades, getting used to spending four or five days at most away from Shane. Now it was like a strange unpleasant reminder of the first decade of their relationship.
He missed his husband even though he only had less than twenty-four hours left on the play clock before they were all reunited again. He ached to see his family, to see his kids, which was not what the Ilya at his first Olympics would have imagined.
The model of adulthood that he had been raised to want was cold and austere. Every adult he had known growing up had been statuesque in a way that made him wonder if they had ever contained childlike joy. For a very long time, he imagined a future like that. A house in Moscow filled with old antiques and riches but still empty. Large rooms that echoed with the ache of what was really missing. As a teen, before the idea of America really became a true possibility, he imagined playing a few years in the Russian leages, marrying some severe woman from a well-connected family and playing until his body gave out. He had assumed that by the time he was pushing fifty his life would be filled with a loveless marriage, a handful of well managed secret affairs and two children who tolerated him.
Even after meeting Shane and falling in love, he still thought about a future that was silent. For a very long time he couldn’t imagine himself getting to be old. Then Scott Hunter had pulled a smoothie barista onto the ice and hope blossomed in his life. Hope that was filled with plans typed and password protected by Shane and Yuna Hollander. A future, retirement in some quiet Canadian town with Shane that he finally had to strive towards.
It wasn’t perfect, it still wasn’t what he had really dreamed of. He was still pushing back his own milestones to make others more comfortable with his life, but it was a brighter future than before.
Then, in moments that seemed to drag in the moment but were nothing in retrospect, the world shifted once again. He was outted by accident, but he still got to play hockey professionally. He got married and was able to play on the same team as his husband! He was living in a quiet suburban street in Ottawa, with everyday neighbors whose name he knew. They won more cups, they adopted Elsie. They won another cup, their third together as Centaurs and then Molly came into their lives. He blinked, and suddenly he had two kids and a dog. It was some cheesy American sitcom fever dream. His husband’s exasperating best friend didn’t live next door, but Hayden Pike did like less than a mile upriver from them.
They both played professional hockey into their early forties. They retired with all the well-deserved fanfare and adopted their sons. Shane focused on the Irina Foundation; Ilya became a coach. He got it all, the job, the husband, the kids, the dogs. He got it all, and he still got to be his authentic self.
Now he was sitting once again in a cold hockey rink filled with Olympic colors and paraphernalia, but it was filled with none of the loneliness he had at his first games. Instead, here he was wearing the red of Canada, and was looking down at the men running drills who he coached. He kept his head down writing notes on his iPad about the line arrangements and trying not to smile too widely every time he caught his name badge.
Ilya Hollander. It was a finally that he couldn’t entirely believe. His brain still light up with joy every time someone called him Hollander in casual conversation.
“Papa?” He smiled down at his iPad had he tapped away a few more notes about Ellison, the goalie out of Seattle. He may never tended a goal seriously in his life, but even he could still tell that the kid needed to work on defending his right side.
Of all those who called him Papa, the only one who it could logically be at this moment was Amber. His two eldest were hopefully getting ready for a game of their own, both of his daughters had made the women’s hockey team. That was the singular advantage that his first Olympic experience had over all that followed, he didn’t have to manage and wrangle the location of anyone other than himself in Sochi.
Luckily the man standing next to Amber Pike understood Ilya was in no way her actual father. Now at least. “Amber, Rob.” He said as he looked up at the pair and gave a firm nod of his head.
The two of them had been tied at the hip since grade one, Elsie becoming their not so awkward third wheel shortly after. The entire trio had soon caught up to one another on the ice, and while Elsie had been pulled away to hockey, Rob and Amber had taken to figure skating, their long-standing friendship translating easily into a long-standing pairs partnership so serious that Rob had become a fully Canadian citizen in his preteen years for their sake of them competing together.
Rob and Amber were both in that awkward stage of being at the Olympics with a long stretch in between their participating events. They had taken to trailing him like twenty-something year old ducklings just when his work was starting. “Shouldn’t you be out causing debauchery?”
Amber flopped down next to him dramatically on the bench. The mischievous glimmer in her face had never disappeared, instead it had turned into a strange mixture of Hayden Pike’s persistently youthful face with a pastel violet hair. Amber luckily had begun skating professionally in a time in which women’s figure skating beauty standards were more relaxed than the tight buns and glittering costumes he remembered from his youth. Amber Pike had no desire to look like the figure skaters of the 20th century. She didn’t mind a flowing costume, if anything she loved the drama of some extra fabric to swirl about, but her aesthetic was solidly that of a woman who defined her own femininity.
“I’m bored.” Amber’s tone was unbecoming of someone who was legally allowed to drink in every nation.
“Hi bored.” Ilya took all opportunities for dad jokes that he got. He rolled his eyes at her and gestured to the stadium at large. “If only there were some entertaining sports events happening right around you.”
Amber just gave a shrug as she continued to flop in her seat; Rob sat down calmly in the bleachers pulling out his phone and no doubt scrolling through the app that was for Olympians to keep track of training and events, looking for something for them to do.
Rob Smith was the quiet one of the pair, though he could be chatty if he needed to be. Ilya had definitely seen that over the years. Rob may not have been his own kid, but he had certainly been a fatherly figure in the boy’s life. “Amber, are you just here so that Rob has an excuse to gawk at the hockey boys?” He asked her with a lack of tact that would have been crass to anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. “Wait how did you manage to get in here; this is a closed practice session?” He knew it was more likely that the pair managed to have skates and Canadian branded gear which let them into the space more than anything else.
Amber shrugged, “Not my fault the guard at the door didn’t know that either of your daughter have a closer resemblance to Shane than you.” Most serious attempts at convincing others that Ilya was her father had stopped around the time she was twelve. As funny as it was, and as much as he had leaned into being Amber’s ‘Papa’ over the years, he had always sharply reminded her that he was not legally responsible for bailing her out of any trouble she got herself into.
He took a few more notes on his iPad, noting how they needed to change the second line if they wanted to ensure an easier spot in medal contention. The US and the Swedish teams this year were strong, but the gold medal could go to any of the three of them. There was an extra bit of pride that he got from earning a win as a coach. The fact that so much of a game was out of his control because he was not the one on the ice made a victory seem sweeter. He wanted to do a good job, he liked helping others, being soft and supportive in a way that so greatly contrasted with the icy young center that had gotten him this far in his career.
As much as he enjoyed the company of the pair whom he had watched grow up he was also itching to tell them to go and enjoy themselves. For many figure skaters the Olympics were a singular event rather than the semi-annual reunion they had turned into for his extended sports family. He wanted to practically beg them to go out and enjoy being in their twenties until they were back here in a few years’ time, either worrying about parenting and childcare or adults somehow coaching exuberant youths.
“Seriously I am not entertaining you.” He said once more as he watched Amber’s leg bounce up and down as her eyes darted across the ice, following the puck in the scrimmage. She may have never enjoyed playing hockey, but she could follow it with the insider knowledge of someone who had grown up around it. Rob on the other hand was on his phone, texting away at someone and occasionally looking up to admire the men on the ice. Ilya always found it interesting how out of the two of them, it had always been easier for Rob to be gay. A gay male figure skater was practically the norm, while Amber was still always having to prove to others that she wasn’t interested in men. “I know you both have other family members in town.”
In fact, it would be a bon-a-fide extended family reunion within a matter of days. If anything, he was both half dreading and anticipating the big family dinner that was scheduled for Monday after Rob and Amber’s final portion of the competition. Not only were all of the Pike siblings making their way to Switzerland to watch their sister compete, all four of Rob’s moms and both of his siblings were either on their way or here in Lucerne. Ilya had traveled mostly alongside the men’s hockey team, but his two daughters had been on the plane as well, the pair of them doing their best to avoid knowing him unless it was convenient to them. He didn’t blame them for wanting to sometime pretend that they had normal, famous parents.
“I really don’t want to hang out with my moms.” Rob said looking down at his phone as if it was his mission to find someone else to hang out with rather than his mothers, who would likely want to spend their free time at a museum or historical place. “There is karaoke over with the Dutch group?” He phrased it as a question even though it was more of a demand.
“Is this showing off karaoke or drunk for fun karaoke?”
Ilya snorted. “Does it matter you’re just going to sing Chappel Roan either way.”
Amber glared back at him with a singularly snarky impression that he must have taught her over the years. “Yes, it matters.”
“Just sing Pink Pony Club and make everyone happy.” Rob said softly as he shouldered his bag.
Obviously, that wasn’t the right answer, at least not for showing off. “What’s your showing off song?” Ilya asked her, genuinely curious. He knew that Amber had done choir on and off throughout her schooling years more as a social activity to give her some friends outside of the skating rink and to meet any school arts requirements. Plus a focus on musical expression had a direct correlation on her skating.
“Good Luck Babe, in the original key.” She said with a smug smile.
Ilya looked at her proudly. “Okay, what do you want from me, spending money? Go have fun. Unless you need…” He paused and Amber scrunched her face knowing what he was implying.
A week before Amber was about to leave to participate in her first summer games as an Olympic Archer, she had been sat down at the Hollander’s kitchen table and informed of how Ilya was ecstatic that he finally had an in at the Summer Games to keep up his reputation as an international condom dealer for Olympic athletes. The nineteen-year-old had not be impressed.
“No thank you.” She said with a sharp scrunch of her nose.
Rob gave him a casual shrug, knowing full well he was a twenty something man in the best shape of his life surrounded by a vast sea of opportunities. “Might as well.” Considering that Ilya had been the one to teach him how to do a Windsor knot with his tie, Rob lacked a considerable amount of embarrassment of sticking his hand out to receive condoms as if it was a squirt of hand sanitizer.
Ilya reached into the backpack at his feet. Normally he charged, but Rob was basically family, and he had a fresh reinforcement of his supply being flown in within a matter of days. That was one advantage he took now that the Pike kids were all grown up, he could use them as runners in his long-standing operation. He handed Rob a few condoms with a wink “Have fun, be safe.”
He sent over his notes to the assistant head coach and zipped shut the backpack remembering that he had to make a delivery to some Italian snowboarders in about an hour. Amber rolled her eyes one last time for good measure, sticking out her tongue and half yelling out a cheeky “Bye Papa!” As if it was supposed to bother him.
He watched Amber and Rob leave the practice area, taking a moment to reflect on the absolute chaos that was his life. To sit here and watch hockey at the Olympics. They had done a good job of picking players for Canada who worked together well on a team, it was a good mix of those firmly in the middle of their careers and newcomers. They had the cohesion needed to match the skills they had all been chosen for, but the competition was fierce this year, and it was going to take more than just charisma to win a medal.
Cool Grown Ups of the class of ’34:
Ilya: My job is weird.
Kelsey: been saying that all along
Tiffany: Is this your midlife crisis?
Jackie: Can you please not have a midlife crisis while I am chaperoning half the Olympic village.
Ilya: I am not having a midlife crisis. I am just saying that my job is strange. I am paid to take notes on hockey.
Hayden: Well Shane, at least he already had the sports car phase. Maybe you should take up golf or something.
Brittany: To be fair, you are very qualified for your job.
Shane: You are a very good coach dear. You always have been, and I am glad that you found a career so fulfilling.
Ilya: Thanks babe.
Chelsea: Shane, be honest, you also like that him being a coach for the hockey team gives him an advantage of keeping an eye on Elsie and Molly.
Hayden: yeah, none of us can barge into our athletes’ kids’ dorms.
Ilya: It is advantage. I still get to keep an eye on my baby girls😉
Shane: Molly is still a minor; she needed an official chaperone regardless.
Kelsey: couldn’t Elsie do that?
Tiffany: And there were no other parental figures in that child’s life who were available for the next two weeks huh? *sarcasm*
Chelsea: Dinner at Casa Pike/Smith will be at 5:30pm tonight, pass that on to your dependents. Planning on making lasagna and salad then heading over to the men’s hockey game.
Tiffany: Shit Ilya do you have a game tonight? Keeping track of pairs and both hockey teams is so confusing.
Kelsey: realistically most people only have fam participating in one sport not three
Ilya: Ah, no. It is Swiss vs Japan. Jackie, I will be at dinner with Yuna and David. But my daughters have team dinner.
Chelsea: Go BBL!
Jackie: I’ll be there Chels and I’ll bring that wine from Friday night. I’ll ask Ruby if she wants to come but she might have plans with her friends.
Hayden: About to board the plane… AFK
Ilya: AFK, christ Pike showing your age much?
Shane: It’s good digital etiquette. Kelsey, AFK means “away from keys”, its an old chat room slang term from the early 2000’s.
Kelsey: o so from when i was-
Brittany: Pleaaaaase don’t remind everyone of your age hun
Chelsea: I know its been many years and was very mutual, but I will always tease your Britt about leaving me for a younger woman.
Ilya: I’m having dinner with the team, but I’ll see you after the game.
Shane: Good luck tonight! The boys and I are looking forward to watching their sisters kick some but in the quarter finals tomorrow night!
Tiffany: CANADA!
Jackie: CANADA!
Chelsea: CANADA!
Kelsey: CANADA!
Brittany: CANADA!
Ilya: CANADA!
Shane: CANADA!
Jackie: Final call for laundry in Casa Pike/Smith I’m about to start the washer.
**
All things considered, the day had started off normally. The snow blanketing the old city center created an idyllic setting of snowcapped roofs and trees, making it seem like she was living in a Christmas card as she walked from her apartment to her shift. The weather was cooperating to meet the expectations of a winter games; just enough snow on the ground to act as a perfect backdrop, but no major weather events threatening schedules or plans made years in advance.
The games had officially started the week before, though Ruby Pike had been in town for almost a fortnight. While she wasn’t an athlete, she was one of the many medical professionals volunteering their time and expertise during the games. As such she had been in Lucerne helping with medical checks and dealing with the preliminary trials and events that happened before the formal opening ceremonies.
She was renting an apartment in the old city center with a few other Canadians who had been chosen to be on the medical staff. Four were nurses similar in age to herself, with one lone doctor who normally worked with the skiing team during the regular season. The six of them sharing a two-bedroom apartment was a sharp flashback to university dorm life. Coffee was always brewed, an alarm was always threatening to ruin someone’s sleep, and somebody was always vying to be next to shower. It was fun to revisit that period of her life, but it made her appreciate her own apartment back in Ottawa with no roommates. Still, she had chosen to have the full experience rather than stay in the fancy mansion in the suburbs which her parents were renting to form Pike base camp. Other than her mom and dad, the only other non-participating adults staying the entire length of the games were Yuna and David, and she didn’t feel like hanging out sipping expensive wine with retirees every night of the week.
Today she had not been woken rudely by someone else’s alarm and managed to avoid the hangover that came from clubbing with her baby sister. That felt like a massive win as she bundled up to walk through the city center to the smaller local ice rink that was being used for practicing rather than the larger custom-built venues on the outskirts of town. With athletes coming from all over the world, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to request a 2am local time practice session, so the rink was continually open. The ice rink in the historic center of town was a boxy brutalist piece of construction, nestled side by side with old pastel plastered buildings with elaborately hand designed facades. Somehow through the maze of cobblestone pedestrian avenues and the narrow modern roads the building miraculously managed to blend it with its neighbors. A schedule was written up on a large rolling white board in the shoebox of a lobby, and there was always someone sitting on the lone modernist bench head down at their phone. Ruby chatted briefly with the nurse coming off duty, an Australian who had willingly taken the night shift before settling down in a front row ringside bench.
Back home she was a traveling nurse who specialized in sports health. She could easily fill her days being the on-call nurse at various sporting events across Ottawa, spanning anywhere from professional sporting events to local community rinks. While she preferred when it was a guarantee that her skills would be called upon during a hockey game of any caliber; she had also spent more than enough time as a warm body in a closet-sized health room handing out band aids for scraped knees.
The Japanese men’s skating team had the first hour of the ice, followed by the American women’s team. This rink was mostly used for the figure skaters practice, through the third hour of her shift was marked by a German men’s hockey team running though drills and conditioning. By the time the fourth hour of her shift came and went the ice had been run over countless times by a Zamboni driver, Anders whom she conversed lightly with in their own variations of French.
Around midday there was a two-hour block of open skating for the Olympians, used more as an excuse to give the rinks staff a break from frantic trainers and athletes’ requests. No one specific team could reserve the rink then, but it was normally visibly hogged by the same countries, easily distinguishable based off their patriotically branded gear. Despite this being the time of day when Anders sneaked off to his office to take a nap, this was often the busiest time of Ruby’s shift as the nurse on duty.
She sat by the rink ice rink, oblivious to the chilly atmosphere. In fact, she had shed off her layers to just a long sleeve shirt and her annoyingly noticeable medical staff lanyard. As soon as the clock stuck eleven, Ruby put down the tablet which she had been using to chat with on the many apps that those in the Olympic village used to communicate and placed her feet firmly on the padded floor beneath her. Her shifted into a state of alertness that she had mastered during her hospital rotation in nursing school. Predicting the collisions before they happened, anticipating what injuries might happen and hoping that the athletes on ice would be able to have the same foresight and avoid them. Of course, she quickly learned that most athletes did not process the same mind reading skills of prediction that her Uncle Shane did.
Frankly, it was a job that took up far less of her mental capacity than her normal one. She was used to nasty sprains, bloody faces and having to do enough impromptu dental work that she was considering taking some courses in dentistry just to round out her skillset. She got some choice in which shifts she picked up, but she stuck mostly to ice-based events; feeling more comfortable with her feet slipping on indoor ice than riding ski lifts.
There was a hiss, the sound of a metal blade scraping into the ice that was just wrong to her seasoned ears. Ruby was reaching for the medical kit before she even found the issue on the ice. She hopped the barrier and glided across the ice in her sneakers in a barely controlled slide that spiked her adrenaline.
Two figure skaters, given their build and pulled back hair, were sitting on the ice. It would have seemed as casual as a chat in the park if not for the fact that the French woman was crouched down alongside a shaking girl. The kid, maybe not even a teen yet, could have been mistaken for her student if it wasn’t for the red and while branding marking her as Russian. The young girl was clutching at her leg, a long but shallow gash forming in her tights from where she must have slipped and scraped the blade of her skate alongside her shin.
There were large wet tears in the Russian girls’ eyes, and the French skater was rubbing the girls back in small circles as they locked eyes. “She tripped.” The woman said instinctively in French and then looked down at Ruby’s badge.
She was aware that logically one of the reasons she was likely chosen to be a medical volunteer was the fact that she was bilingual in both French and English. Another part of her brain whispered that it was due to her family’s very large connection to sports. Hell, if it wasn’t such a major conflict of interest, she would have assumed that Yuna Hollander would be running the IOC.
“Did she collide with someone?” Ruby asked also back in French. Her knowledge of Russian was mostly confined to curse words and species of fishes. Even if the younger skater wasn’t in some form of shock, she knew that most Russian athletes were pressured to only speak their mother tongue.
The other woman shook her head. “She landed on the wrong edge coming out of a double axel.”
Ruby fell to her knees, moving quickly to work on the Russian, pulling aside her ruined tights to expose the long yet shallow gash, rubbing it quickly with antiseptic before pulling out a long sterile bandage to covering it. In her professional opinion, it wouldn’t need stitches, but she left the covering attached lightly so that the Russian team could handle the scrape as they wished.
A shrill voice called out a name, and the kids eyes filled with panic. Ruby kept her mouth shut. She knew the reputation Russia had with their athletes; she knew that it had only been in the last few Olympic games that the country was even allowed to participate. It wasn’t a surprise when the girl pulled herself up as Ruby gave her a nod and skated away to an angry male coach waiting to lecture her against the boards.
Ruby began to pack up her medical kit, putting the no longer sterile equipment in a bag for disposal “Aren’t you cold?” The French skater asked as she gestured to Ruby’s lack of layers when she herself was in thick leggings and thermal shirt.
Ruby shook her head, “I was raised on ice.” She didn’t exactly brag about the fact that there were multiple photos of her sitting inside of the Stanley Cup, but she was certain that her first pair of shoes had been skates courtesy of her favorite uncle.
The French skater slid up to standing and offered a graceful hand out to Ruby to help pull her up as well. She didn’t need the help, but she took it anyway. Feeling how the young woman’s hands were rougher than she had expected, watching as her pale eyes flickered over her form in an examination that felt too personal while all the chaos of an open skate was surrounding them. The French skater was holding back a small smile. “Merci.” She said her crisp voice perfect.
Ruby was fluent in French, but language failed her as she shuffled back to the boards, her eyes torn between the little Russian skater getting chewed out by her coach and the French woman who was hiding a smile as she looked back down at her footwork, focusing on her warm ups and trying to find her meditative groove once more. She sat back down on the bench, scanning the dozen skaters who rotated around one another with an astronomical level of precision and awareness.
She swept back into her vigilante sweep of the ice, but her eyes kept falling back on the French woman. If Ruby had to guess, she would assume they were close in age. With her rich knowledge of figure skating, she could assume from the repetitive nature of her movements that she was practicing part of a routine, concluding that she was a competitor for France, and not a trainer. A woman in her mid to late twenties was nowhere near a medal contender like the little Russian girl who was wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, yet she seemed to be having a better time.
Ruby knew that she could snap a photo of the woman subtly, give her roommates someone to search for on social media or in the directory of participants they had, but Ruby had always appreciated anonymity. She had grown up influenced by notoriety and fame, and while she understood that there were those who truly did seek that lifestyle out as an achievement, for many fame came with a loss of control. She did her best not to judge others by status or wealth. If the French skater said something more to her, if she reached out or showed an indication of wanting more than a passing connection, sure Ruby would welcome that. But she wasn’t going to pursue the woman, not at least when she was on the clock.
She dug her heels into the padded floor tiles as she watched the young Russian skater head back out onto the ice and attempt her jumps again. She was going to be in Luzern for the next two weeks, and maybe luck would be on her side.
**
Chosen Family (In Italics) Adults
David: Good morning everyone. It is a wonderfully cold morning here in Lucerne, with a high of 3C and no chance of snow.
Tiffany: Good morning David. Are you interested in joining us to visit the transport museum this morning?
Yuna: Thank you again for graciously letting us borrow your house Luca. Are you sure you are okay with us taking it over this long?
Luca: Yes. I want to enjoy my last chance in the village, and I really didn’t mind crashing in the apartment over the garage last week. It’s was plenty of space for me. I know I have spent plenty of time at Hollander residences over the years.
Yuna: Yes, dear but this is all of us. (It really is a lot)
Luca: Yuna it is fine.
Shane: Mom, it really is fine.
Yuna: Okay, just checking.
Troy: The Drovers are wishing all of you luck from Ottawa! 🎉🎉🎉🎉
Ilya: Thank you Troy. I miss you too, hope you are enjoying retirement.
Troy: I am, and honestly, I was never a huge fan of playing on Olympic teams. Just not quite the same as the Cens.
Elsie: Thanks Uncles Troy and Harris. Molly says thanks too.
Harris: When is Molly joining this chat?
Rob: On Feb 20th as she keeps reminding us all.
Shane: This is the adult’s only family chat.
Harris: What is the difference between the chat’s
Hayden: No swear jar.
Arthur: Hey just left London now. So see most of you within the day!
Ruby: AHHHH BABY BRO!
Amber: So glad you can come and support all of us!
Jackie: Keep me updated with all your train connections please.
Ilya: Why train? Isn’t plane faster?
Arthur: Okay some of us are not millionaires with access to private jets and we care about the environment.
Jackie: Very rarely does anyone in this family not fly commercial.
Arthur: I like the train. Plus, it’s a more comfortable way to work on my thesis.
Ruby: Nerd.
Jackie: Ruby stop bullying your brother.