#ohbx

Ilya emerged from his bedroom to see his husband and his son, DJ, sitting on opposite ends of the couch at their cottage, reading. His son a Harry Potter novel, the latest series he was tearing through, and his husband, a hockey book, of course. 

“Where is our daughter?” Ilya asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee and added cream. Enough that if Shane knew how much he was adding he would likely be appalled. 

“She’s in the barn shooting hockey pucks, I think,” Shane answered looking up at Ilya with a light smile. 

Ilya nodded and ran a hand over his jaw that was covered in blond stubble, sipping his coffee. He slowly made his way out to check on her. 

It was Labor Day weekend, which historically had filled Ilya with a sense of anxiety about the upcoming season, especially for the first 8 years of his children’s life. He was nervous about leaving them, especially after spending most of the summers in what had become his favorite place in the world, with just his favorite people in the world. But this year he wasn’t going back. 

He would miss Shane, of course, while he was traveling in the season. But they had each won an MVP in Ottawa, and together they’d won 3 cups there. His injury the past year was what finally tipped the scale for him and allowed him to be honest with his husband about being ready to be done with hockey. Almost five full months after his ankle break and surgery, he was excited to be getting back on skates and working out, but he was glad to not have to rush back to tip top shape before the season started. He’d maintained his lifting weights regimen, as it helped quiet the demons in his head, and it was nice to spend quiet time with his husband in their gym, but he definitely wouldn’t miss two a days of conditioning. 

Ilya smiled when he entered their converted hockey barn that had synthetic ice and a goal set up in it. Before he even saw her, he could hear his daughter ripping shots against a board. 

He watched her for a few minutes, impressed by the rugged determination on her face as she pulled back and continued to put shots in exactly where she wanted them to go. 

Shane and Ilya’d had many conversations when their kids were tinier about how they didn’t want them to feel pressured into hockey. But similar to Shane’s family, without the pressure that Ilya had grown up in, their kids actually just did like hockey, and part of the amount of time they had spent at professional games as toddlers and now children certainly hadn’t hurt. Ilya wasn’t sure if their son DJ, would want to continue playing hockey once he got older and the time and emotional commitment got more intense, but Irina would. 

In most ways she was all Ilya. She was loud, goofy, and a bit mischievous. But her love for hockey reminded Ilya so much of Shane. She watched clips on Ilya’s phone of his juniors highlights whenever she could get her hands on it, she read children’s books about hockey from Shane’s parents cottage, she turned the television to MLH network whenever she got control of the remote. 

Ilya was grateful for how far the woman’s sport had grown over the past years, and even more grateful for the relationships he’d been able to form with such amazing PWHL players through his and Shane’s charities. They were both great inspirations, and great role models for his daughter. If anyone knew that the men in the MLH were not all as great of role models as Shane Hollander, it was Ilya. 

He was also grateful for Canada’s commitment to supporting their women’s junior and olympics programs, unlike Russia. He had no idea if she would reach that level, but he was glad the opportunity existed should she want it. 

Irina leaned on her stick and looked over at him. 

“Any tips?” Ilya tried to put his coach hat on, and take off his rose colored glasses that he always had on when it came to his children and any of their pursuits. But if all went according to plan he would be Irina’s middle school coach, a position he’d accepted already, but a team she was still a few years away from. So he would have to get better at offering her constructive criticism, something he shied away from because he’d hated his own father’s constant criticism of his game. And when they’d been littler it certainly hadn’t been necessary. But thankfully he definitely know how to be supportive, he would just need to get better at offering the criticism or coaching. Or not, Irina was so determined she’d probably figure it out with or without his help. 

“Shoot another one at the top right pocket?” Ilya requested, and she did, immediately. 

“Ok your aim is good, but if you slide your bottom hand up a few inches you’ll be able to get the puck off your stick faster.”

She slid her hand up, and ripped another puck into the top right corner, noticeably faster. 

“Nice!” Ilya beamed. Irina looked down at her hand and nodded, no doubt saving the information for later, knowing her. 

Eventually, he’d been able to convince his daughter to join him for breakfast and a swim, with promises that they had all winter for hockey but only one day left of summer really. 

——— 

Late that evening, as they drove back to their house in Ottawa, Ilya felt a lightness that he wasn’t sure he had ever felt, not really. It reassured him that he had made the right decision. He reached over and held his husbands hand.

“What’s going through your head?” Shane whispered to him, both kids were exhausted and asleep in the back seat. 

“Just feeling lucky, to have this, to have you,” 

“Being tired and sunburnt makes you sappy,” Shane said, but he was smiling as wide as can be.

“Da, Yes,” Ilya agreed, head lolling back onto the headrest. 

When they pulled into their garage, they both took a kid and tucked them into their respective beds. They still smelled like lake and the remnants of sunscreen. Which Ilya was sure Shane hated, but he probably like Ilya, was too tired to do anything about it. 

However, since he knew it would make his weary husband happy, Ilya stepped into the large shower in their room. His eyes were closed when he heard Shane enter the bathroom, he kept his back to Shane, playfully wondering if his husband could read his mind. 

He could, or at the very least they were predictable enough to each other after almost two decades. Shane stepped into the shower quietly, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist and resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya sighed contentedly. He leaned back into his husbands touch. 

“You must really love me if you didn’t just pass right out,” 

“Mm,” Ilya assented as he tipped his head back, letting Shane run his fingers through his hair. 

Ilya ran his hands over his face rinsing off, before turning and pressing a kiss to Shanes mouth under the water. He snuck his tongue in his mouth, briefly, borderline inappropriately, before stepping away, too tired to even escalate, but still wanting Shane’s mouth on his. He stepped out of the shower wrapping a towel around his waist as he watched Shane sigh contentedly before quickly washing his hair and stepping out of the shower after while Ilya brushed his teeth. By the time Shane entered their bed room, Ilya was in bed and actively trying not to fall asleep. 

When Shane joined him in bed, Ilya rolled over and dropped his head onto his boyfriends smooth chest. 

“Best summer ever,” he whispered quietly against Shane’s chest. 

“You say that every summer,” Shane teased, but Ilya could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Da, is truer every year,” he said, accent thick with sleep. Shane worked his hands into his hair. He scratched lightly and Ilya couldn’t fight off the sleep anymore. 

— 

Shane had returned to the rink after they’d sent the kids off for their first day of school. Ilya had worried that once he was home alone he’d feel the familiar feeling of dread creep back in, or at the very least anxiety, especially because he didn’t have a ton to keep him busy before Shane’s season or his coaching season started in October. But he felt weirdly ok. He had gone to PT after everyone else had left, worked out for a bit at home, and gone to the grocery store. He’d had a call with his agent about some potential opportunities for him to make guest appearances commentating on ESPN, TNT and Hockey Night in Canada, which sounded fun to him. Hamming it up on camera had never come with the pressure that he’d felt playing hockey. 

He’d taken Anya on a long walk, and then soon his kids were home, and he was back into his routine of he and Shane making snacks and helping with homework and watching his kids play mini sticks in the basement, occasionally joining as all time goalie despite his kids protest that he was too big for the goal, to which he responded, “Yes, that is what makes me such good goalie.”

As Shane made dinner, he called Ilya into he kitchen. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said, and Ilya just nodded, waiting for him to continue as he wrapped his hands around Shane’s waist. 

“I talked to Coach Wiebe today,” 

“Da?” Ilya responded in Russian now way more than he had in early stages of their relationship. Shane wouldn’t say he was fluent, but Ilya would say he functionally was. 

“He - uh- he asked me if I would want to be captain.” Shane sounded anxious.

“Очевидно, obviously” Ilya self-translated, because he wanted to make his point clear to his husband. “You are best player on team now, no? Or did Luca finally figure out how to use his left hand on a power play?” 

“Shut up,” Ilya could feel Shane rolling his eyes, but his words had no bite. “I’m trying to ask you seriously, if you would be upset if I took over as captain.” 

“Why would I be upset?” Ilya genuinely did not know.

“Because it was your role, your team for over a decade?” Shane said like it was obvious to him, and maybe it was, Ilya had been a big part of Ottawa.

“I chose to retire, and I am your number one fan now, so no, I will not be offended if you become captain,” Ilya said frankly. 

“Ok, I just wanted to be sure.” Ilya kissed him on the cheek, appreciating his thoughtfulness, and moved to set the table for their little family. 

Later that evening, Shane was helping Irina to braid her hair before bed. 

“Dad can you read to me?” DJ asked Ilya. It was something Ilya was insecure about as the kids had gotten older. He could read in English, of course, but out loud was difficult. He tried to leave it to Shane as they kids had progressed past picture books. And Harry Potter was British English, so while he was reading it along side DJ, it presented new challenges for his understanding of the language. 

“My son, you know I am not very…” He trailed off before he made a self-deprecating remark like calling himself stupid for having a different first language than the rest of his family. 

“Please?” He couldn’t resist. 

Ilya nodded. 

“You will have to help if your papa makes any mistakes, da?” 

“Da,” DJ replied and Ilya followed him into his bedroom, leaning against a pillow at the the foot of his bed. 

He read for longer than usual without making a mistake. First he mispronounced eschewing, and then asked his small son for assistance with  sumptuously, which he was pretty sure they sounded out correctly, before looking up to see Shane standing, leaned against the door frame. Ilya was waiting for him to correct, but instead he just smiled and nodded his affirmation. 

He finished the chapter and closed his son’s bedroom door, before he and Shane said goodnight to his daughter as well, and made their way to their bedroom. 

“I’m proud of you,” Shane said, Ilya was propped on their mattress, elbows behind his head, and he rolled his eyes. 

“I’m serious! I know you don’t like reading aloud,” Ilya’s brain snagged on the word allowed, or was it aloud, the second, he decided. 

“Thanks, is good for me I think, keeps me humble,” 

Shane laughed as he lowered himself down over his husband. 

“Imagine if I was this sexy, this good of hockey player, and I had perfect English reading,” Ilya emphasized his accent playfully. “I would be unstoppable,” 

“Asshole,” Shane whispered before pressing a kiss to his mouth. It was an amazing command of the English language that Shane possessed, to be able to make the insult sound so endearing and loving to Ilya. He almost didn’t mind it. Who was he kidding, he definitely didn’t mind it.