Chapter Text
June 9, 2024
To say Shane and Ilya were obsessed with their daughter would have been an understatement.
They couldn’t get enough of her.
It was in the way Shane hovered too close whenever she made even the smallest noise, his whole body going alert like he was waiting for instructions he didn’t quite know how to follow yet. It was in the way Ilya kept reaching for her without thinking, like his arms felt wrong when they were empty for too long.
She was barely two days old, and already she had completely rearranged them.
Every little thing she did felt monumental. The stretch of her tiny fingers, the soft, uneven rhythm of her breathing, the way her lips would purse like she was searching for something even in her sleep. Shane still couldn’t quite understand how someone so small had changed the entire shape of the room.
They took turns holding her, but neither of them really wanted to let go.
Even now, in the quiet hospital room, bags half-packed and discharge papers sitting untouched on the side table, Shane stood beside the bed with Sofia tucked carefully against his chest, like handing her back would somehow make this feel less real.
Ilya watched them from where he sat, elbow propped on his knee, chin resting in his hand. He hadn’t said much in the last few minutes—just watched. Memorizing. Like if he looked away for too long, he might miss something important.
“She’s staring at you,” Shane whispered, voice soft with awe.
Ilya huffed out a quiet breath, something fond and disbelieving all at once. “She cannot see me.”
“She can,” Shane insisted, even quieter now, like he didn’t want to disturb the moment. “Look at her. She’s—she’s looking right at you.”
Sofia blinked slowly, unfocused and sleepy, her tiny face scrunching just a little before settling again.
Ilya stood then, crossing the small space between them without thinking. His hand came up instinctively, hovering for a second before he gently brushed his knuckle along her cheek.
“She just ate,” he murmured, more to himself than to Shane. “She should be sleeping.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to,” Shane said, like that was a perfectly reasonable decision for a two-day-old human to make.
Ilya’s mouth twitched.
Neither of them acknowledged how neither of them had really slept either.
The panic hadn’t disappeared. It still sat beneath everything, quiet and waiting. But it no longer felt bigger than the two of them standing there with her.Not gone, not completely, but… softened.
Grounded by the weight of her in their arms.
A soft knock at the door broke through the moment, and both of their heads turned at once, instinctive, protective.
“Ready to go home?” the nurse asked gently, stepping inside.
Shane’s grip tightened just slightly around Sofia, his heart stuttering in a way that had nothing to do with fear this time.
Home.
Ilya glanced at him, something warm and steady passing between them.
“Yeah,” he said after a second, his voice quieter than usual, but certain. “Yeah, we’re ready.”
Shane looked down at Sofia, adjusting the blanket around her like he needed to make sure she was completely, perfectly safe before anything else happened.
“Hey,” he murmured softly, a small, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his mouth. “You hear that?”
Ilya stepped closer, shoulder brushing his, his hand settling briefly at the small of Shane’s back.
“We’re taking you home.”
Ilya reached for her first.
It wasn’t even a discussion—just instinct. One second Sofia was tucked safely against Shane’s chest, and the next Ilya was stepping in, hands gentle but sure as he slid one beneath her head, the other supporting her back.
Shane hesitated for half a second before letting go.
Not because he didn’t trust him. Just because… letting go felt unnatural now.
“Careful,” Shane murmured anyway, hovering immediately at Ilya’s side as if he hadn’t just been the one holding her.
“I am being careful,” Ilya replied, already turning toward the car seat sitting on the chair by the door.
It looked absurdly large compared to her.
Shane followed close behind, eyes locked on every movement as Ilya lowered her down into it, slow and deliberate, adjusting the tiny blanket so it didn’t bunch beneath her.
Her face scrunched faintly at the change in position, a soft, sleepy protest, and Shane’s heart jumped straight into his throat.
“She doesn’t like that,” he said quickly.
“She is fine,” Ilya said, though his voice softened just slightly as he steadied her with one hand.
Sofia settled almost immediately.
Shane did not.
“Okay, but make sure—wait, her head—her head—”
“I have her head,” Ilya cut in, not looking up, one hand already adjusting the padded sides so they sat snug against her.
Shane hovered closer, practically shoulder to shoulder with him now. “The straps—don’t forget the straps have to be flat. They said flat. No twists.”
“I remember.”
“And the clip—” Shane leaned in, pointing like Ilya hadn’t been present for the exact same demonstration twenty minutes ago. “It has to go on her chest. Not too low. They said—”
“I was there,” Ilya said dryly.
But there was no real bite to it. If anything, there was something dangerously close to a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Shane, thoroughly ignoring that, watched like this was a high-stakes operation. “Not too tight though. You don’t want it to—like, restrict anything.”
Ilya paused then, finally glancing up at him.
There it was—that look. Soft. Amused. So obviously fond it almost felt unfair.
“You want to do it?” he asked, one brow lifting slightly.
Shane opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…No,” he admitted after a second, because the idea of actually being responsible for clicking something into place that held their entire daughter secure was suddenly terrifying. “You’re doing great.”
Ilya huffed out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh, shaking his head just slightly as he went back to adjusting the straps.
“They need to be snug,” Shane added, because of course he did.
“They are snug.”
“Like, two fingers—”
“I know how many fingers.”
Shane pressed his lips together, but his hands hovered anyway, twitching slightly at his sides like it physically pained him not to intervene.
Ilya finished fastening the clip, sliding it carefully into place at the center of Sofia’s chest before giving the straps one last check.
“There,” he said, a little more firmly this time.
Shane leaned in immediately, inspecting like a professional.
“…Okay,” he said after a moment, though he didn’t step back. “Okay, that looks right.”
Sofia made a tiny sound, something soft and barely there, her head tilting just slightly to the side.
Both of them froze.
Then, without a word, they both leaned closer at the exact same time.
“She’s okay,” Ilya murmured.
Shane exhaled slowly, though he still hovered close enough to touch her.
There was a beat of quiet. Then Ilya reached over, nudging Shane lightly with his shoulder.
“You are going to be worse in the car, aren’t you?”
Shane didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I’m just saying,” he said, already defensive, already hovering again, “you should probably drive slow.”
Ilya’s mouth curved, that same soft, fond expression slipping through again as he reached for the handle of the car seat.
“I always drive slow.”
Shane followed immediately as he lifted it. “Slower than that.”
It took them longer than it should have to get home.
Ilya, who had always driven over the speed limit—much to Shane’s constant chagrin—didn’t go a mile over it the entire drive. If anything, he hovered at least ten under, hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking more often than usual to the rearview mirror.
Shane sat in the back beside Sofia, one hand resting lightly against her chest like he needed the reassurance of feeling it rise and fall. He barely looked up the entire drive, his attention fixed completely on her, watching every tiny movement like something might happen if he dared to blink.
Every little sound she made—every shift, every breath—had his heart jumping.
“Is she okay?” Ilya asked quietly at one point, not taking his eyes off the road.
“She’s fine,” Shane said immediately, just as quiet. Then, after a second, softer, “She’s sleeping.”
Ilya nodded, glancing up at the mirror again anyway.
Neither of them mentioned how slow they were going.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Sofia had fallen fully asleep, her tiny hand wrapped tightly around Shane’s pointer finger.
Shane didn’t move right away.
He just sat there for a second, looking at her—really looking this time, like the motion of the car had been the only thing keeping him from fully feeling it until now.
They were home.
Through the front window, he could see the faint glow of lights already on inside.
His parents.
Waiting.
“Hey,” Ilya said softly from the front, turning slightly in his seat. “We’re here, malysh.”
The word landed warm and familiar, softening something in Shane’s chest.
“Should we let her sleep?” Ilya asked.
Shane hesitated, eyes flicking between Sofia’s face and the car seat straps, his brain clearly running through everything they’d been told. Then he shook his head, careful as he slowly slipped his finger from her grasp. Her hand twitched faintly at the loss, and his chest tightened.
“No,” he said quietly, reaching to adjust her blanket. “She shouldn’t sleep in here. Flat in her bassinet is best.”
Ilya didn’t argue. “Okay.”
He got out first, moving around the car to unclip the carrier from its base while Shane grabbed the bags from the trunk, though he kept glancing over his shoulder every few seconds like he didn’t fully trust being more than a step away.
The air outside felt different. Sharper. Realer.
This wasn’t the hospital anymore.
This was… it.
By the time they made it to the front door, Shane’s grip on the diaper bag had tightened almost unconsciously.
Inside, the house wasn’t quiet. There were voices—low, familiar, careful in that way people get when they’re trying not to disturb something precious.
The door had barely clicked shut behind them before—
A blur of fur came skidding across the floor.
Anya.
Shane reacted before he could even think about it, stepping quickly in front of Ilya and the carrier, one hand coming up instinctively like he could physically shield Sofia from the excited energy barreling toward them.
“Hey—hey, girl,” he said quickly, dropping down into a crouch to intercept her. His voice softened immediately, gentling as his hands moved to scratch behind her ears, along her back, grounding both of them.
Anya wiggled against him, tail wagging so hard her whole body moved with it, nose already working as she tried to peer around him.
“Easy,” Shane murmured, more for himself than for her.
He reached into the diaper bag, pulling out one of Sofia’s tiny hats—a similar one to what his parents had brought over yesterday after meeting her, specifically so Anya could learn her scent before they came home.
“Here,” he said softly, holding it out.
Anya sniffed eagerly, her movements slowing just a little as she took it in, something curious and focused replacing the initial burst of excitement. Shane watched her carefully, like he was trying to read something in her reaction, his shoulders still tight.
“Are you ready to meet your sister?” Ilya asked, stepping up beside him, the carrier held steady and close to his body.
Behind them, Shane could feel more than see the quiet shift of movement—his parents hovering just a few steps back, giving space but very clearly watching, waiting.
Shane glanced up at Ilya, then back at Anya. He hesitated. Not because he didn’t trust her—he did. She was gentle, sweet, patient in a way that had always made him love her a little more.
But Sofia…
Sofia was so small. So new to the world that it felt like anything could break her. His chest tightened slightly, that same protective instinct rising again, sharp and immediate.
“I just—” he started, then stopped, exhaling quietly.
Ilya shifted a little closer, not crowding him, just there—solid, steady. “She’s okay,” he said softly.
Shane nodded, even if the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
Still, when he moved aside, it was slow. Careful.
Like he was letting the world inch closer to her one step at a time.
Anya didn’t rush in this time.
The initial burst of excitement had faded into something quieter, more curious. Her tail still wagged, but slower now, her movements more deliberate as she stepped forward, nose twitching.
Shane stayed crouched beside her, one hand resting lightly against her side, like he could guide her if he needed to—like he could stop anything before it happened.
Ilya lowered the carrier just slightly, not all the way down, just enough.
“Easy,” he murmured, more instinct than instruction.
Anya leaned in. For a second, Shane’s entire body went rigid, breath catching in his throat as her nose hovered just inches from Sofia’s face.
Then—
A soft sniff.
Another.
Sofia stirred faintly, her mouth twitching, her tiny hand shifting against the blanket but not waking. Anya froze for half a beat, then huffed quietly through her nose, like she’d come to some kind of decision.
Her tail wagged again. Gentle this time.
Shane let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders dropping just slightly.
“Okay,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Okay…”
Behind them, there was the faint, unmistakable sound of a phone camera clicking. Shane glanced over his shoulder just in time to see his mom lowering her phone, already smiling.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said softly, completely unapologetic. “This is going straight in the baby book.” His dad huffed out a quiet laugh beside her, arms crossed loosely as he leaned against the wall, watching the whole thing unfold with something warm and proud in his expression.
“She approved,” he added, nodding toward Anya.
Ilya’s mouth curved slightly, that same soft, fond look slipping into place as he glanced between them and then back down at Sofia.
“High standards,” he murmured.
Anya, apparently satisfied, shifted her attention back to Shane, nudging her head under his hand like she expected praise for her restraint.
“You did so good,” Shane said immediately, his voice softening as he scratched behind her ears again, relief bleeding through every word. “So good, baby.”
Ilya crouched a little lower then, carefully setting the carrier down on the floor now that the moment had passed, his hand lingering on the handle for a second longer than necessary.
Sofia slept through all of it.
Unbothered. Peaceful.
Sofia slept through all of it, warm and undisturbed beneath the blanket.
Shane looked at her, really looked at her, something quiet settling in his chest again—something steadier this time.
His mom stepped a little closer, slower now, like she didn’t want to break whatever this was.
“Can I?” she asked gently, nodding toward the carrier.
Shane hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, just—careful with her head.”
Ilya snorted softly under his breath.
Shane shot him a look.
His mom just smiled, already reaching in with practiced hands, gentle and sure as she adjusted the blanket slightly, her expression softening even more as she looked down at Sofia.
“Oh, she’s perfect,” she murmured.
Ilya shifted closer to Shane again, their shoulders brushing. “Mm,” he hummed. “She is.”
Shane didn’t look away from Sofia. “Yeah,” he said softly.
He didn’t add anything else.
He didn’t need to.
*** *** ***
By some miracle, the four of them fell into an easy routine over the next few days.
Easy, of course, being relative.
It wasn’t that things were quiet—far from it. The days blurred together in a haze of feedings and diaper changes, half-finished cups of coffee going cold on every available surface, and sleep grabbed in uneven, desperate stretches whenever Sofia allowed it.
But there was a rhythm to it now, a kind of unspoken understanding that settled between them.
Sofia would wake soft at first—little noises, small movements—before it built into something louder if they didn’t catch it in time. Shane almost always heard her before it got that far, his body still tuned to her in a way that made real sleep feel… optional.
“I’ve got her,” he’d murmur, already halfway out of bed.
Sometimes Ilya would let him. Sometimes he wouldn’t.
“Lay down,” Ilya would mumble, one arm already reaching for the bassinet. “You were up last time.”
“I’m not even tired,” Shane would argue, even as his voice came out rough with sleep.
Ilya would just look at him—one of those long, unimpressed looks that said he wasn’t buying it for a second.
“Bed,” he’d repeat, softer this time, but no less firm.
And more often than not, Shane listened. Not because he wanted to—but because Ilya had this way of making things feel… handled.
Mornings came slowly, not in anything structured, but in pieces—light filtering through curtains, the quiet creak of the house, Sofia shifting in her bassinet, still small enough that every movement felt like something worth noticing.
And Anya—always Anya—padding into the room like she was checking in, her presence steady and grounding in a way neither of them had realized they needed.
By midday, the house felt lived in again.
Shane’s mom would move easily through the kitchen, tidying as she went, something always simmering or baking like she didn’t quite know how to sit still when there was a baby in the house. His dad followed behind her in quieter ways—restocking things before they ran out, taking out trash without being asked, hovering just enough to be helpful without ever getting in the way.
It should have felt like too much. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many moving parts.
But it didn’t.
It felt… steady.
Safe.
Like they had something to lean on while they figured out how to do this on their own.
And in the middle of it all—Sofia.
Always Sofia.
She was still so tiny it felt unreal sometimes, her whole world contained in their arms, their voices, the soft warmth of the house around her.
But she was changing already.
Shane noticed it first, of course.
“She’s more awake today,” he said one afternoon a week after bringing her home, leaning over her where she lay stretched out on a blanket in the living room, her eyes blinking slowly up at him.
“She was awake yesterday,” Ilya pointed out from the couch, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice.
“No, but like—more,” Shane insisted, like this was a scientific observation. “She’s looking at things.”
“She has been looking at things.”
Shane glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Not like this.”
Ilya huffed quietly, but didn’t argue further.
Because she was.
Her eyes tracked slowly, unfocused but trying. Her hands moved more too, tiny fingers curling and uncurling like she was discovering them for the first time.
Shane reached down, offering his finger. She grabbed it almost immediately.
His breath caught.
“There,” he said softly, like he’d just proven something important.
Ilya leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched them.
“Yeah,” he murmured.
And for a moment, everything else faded—the noise, the exhaustion, the constant learning curve of it all.
It was just this.
This small, quiet moment.
This new, fragile rhythm they were building.
___
Shane lay awake, his body turned toward the bedside table where his phone was propped up.
He stared at the image of Sofia, fast asleep in her bassinet.
The screen cast a soft glow across his face, the grainy black-and-white feed flickering slightly as the camera adjusted to the dark. In the corner, her stats updated in quiet, constant increments.
Heart rate: 132 bpm.
Oxygen: 99%.
Normal. Perfect.
Shane still checked them every few seconds anyway.
His eyes moved in a loop—numbers, her chest, numbers again, then the actual bassinet just a few feet away, like he needed to confirm both versions of her matched.
She barely moved.
Just the faint rise and fall of her chest, the gentle sway of the bassinet. Her pacifier sat loose in her mouth, tilted slightly to the side—a sure sign she was deeply asleep.
Shane noticed immediately. His fingers twitched against the mattress, like he was debating fixing it.
He didn’t.
But he didn’t look away either.
Beside him, Ilya stirred, shifting under the covers with a quiet yawn, movement slow and heavy with sleep.
A beat passed.
“You are staring,” he said finally, voice low and rough.
Shane didn’t look at him. “I’m making sure she’s safe,” he corrected softly.
Another small shift in the mattress, then warmth pressed against his side as Ilya turned toward him, one hand settling at his hip.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Shane resisted for half a second—just long enough to glance back at the phone, then at the bassinet.
Then he let himself be guided onto his back.
Reluctantly.
Ilya leaned in, pressing a soft, absent kiss to his cheek as he settled beside him again, hand still warm and steady against Shane’s side.
“You do not need to make sure she is safe,” Ilya murmured.
His gaze tilted toward the bassinet. His thumb brushed once, slow and grounding.
“That is why we have the owl sock,” he added, the words softened by sleep and accent. “It will tell us if she is not okay.”
Shane huffed a quiet breath—somewhere between agreement and resistance.
“I know.”
But knowing wasn’t the same as believing it yet.
His eyes flicked back toward the phone anyway.
99%.
Still perfect. Still fine.
Shane swallowed. “I just…” he started, voice thinner now. He trailed off as Sofia made a tiny sound in her sleep, barely more than a breath, her mouth twitching faintly around the pacifier before settling again.
His chest tightened.
“What if it misses something?” he finished softly.
The room didn’t tense.
It just softened into honesty.
Ilya didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his hand slid down Shane’s arm, fingers curling loosely around his wrist before gently guiding it down—lowering the phone just slightly out of his direct line of sight.
“Shane,” he said quietly. “Look.”
Shane’s eyes shifted to the bassinet.
Sofia hadn’t moved. Still breathing. Still warm. Still there.
“She is here,” Ilya said softly. “Not just there.” A small nod toward the phone.
A pause.
“And you would hear her,” he added. “Before anything else. That is why she sleeps right next to you and not in her beautiful room.”
Shane let out a slow breath, tension loosening slightly in his chest, even if it didn’t fully leave.
“…Yeah,” he murmured.
Ilya leaned in again, pressing a kiss closer to his temple this time.
“Sleep,” he said gently.
Shane hesitated.
Just for a second.
His eyes flicked once more toward the phone—
Then back to Sofia.
The pacifier shifted slightly again.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
He shifted closer, his arm brushing against Ilya’s, not fully relaxed—
but trying.
*** *** ***
July 2024
Shane bounced lightly on his heels as he measured out his granola, the motion more habit than necessity now, something that had become as much for Sofia as for himself. She was tucked snug against his chest in the wrap—warm, solid, real—her head tilted just enough to track him in that slow, unfocused way that still somehow felt intentional enough to make something in his chest tighten every time he noticed it.
“Daddy’s gonna have his snack,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head as he worked. “Then make you your bottle, okay?”
Sofia blinked up at him, her mouth parting slightly as one small hand worked itself free from between them, landing clumsily against his collarbone. Shane stilled for half a second, smiling despite himself as he watched her fingers curl—uncoordinated, but trying, pressing and tapping like she was testing something she didn’t fully understand.
“There you are,” he whispered.
Behind him, slow, familiar footsteps approached.
“You are allowed to put her down.”
Shane didn’t turn, just peeled the lid off his yogurt one-handed with more practice than he’d expected to have by now. “I’m aware,” he mumbled.
Sofia made a small sound as he shifted his weight, and his bouncing resumed automatically, as if his body had already decided for him.
“She is only one month old,” Ilya continued, stepping up behind him, quiet amusement threading through his voice. “She will not go anywhere.”
“I know that,” Shane said, a little more defensive than he meant to sound, glancing down at her as if he needed to double-check anyway.
Her hand slid to the neckline of his shirt, bunching the fabric in her fist, and he adjusted instinctively, one hand coming up to support her head even though the wrap already did most of the work.
“I just—” he started, then trailed off as he shifted his weight again.
Ilya stepped closer, close enough now that Shane could feel the warmth of him at his back. “You just what?” he asked more quietly.
Shane hesitated, then admitted, softer, “She settles faster like this.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie—but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
Ilya hummed like he knew that. His hand came up to brush lightly over Sofia’s back through the wrap, gentle and absent in the way that always seemed instinctive for him, like he couldn’t help himself.
“She would also settle in her bouncer, playmat or bassinet.”
“Mm,” Shane replied, scooping another bite of yogurt, though his attention had already drifted back to her.
Sofia shifted again, her cheek pressing more fully into his chest as her body softened. Shane stilled immediately, watching the tension drain from her tiny frame.
“There,” he murmured, almost triumphant. “See?”
Ilya snorted softly. “Very convincing.”
Shane nudged him lightly with his elbow. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
The pause that followed settled easily between them, familiar now in a way that didn’t feel fragile anymore. Then Ilya added, softer this time, “You can put her down, you know. For five minutes.”
Shane didn’t answer right away. He just looked down at her—at the way her grip on his shirt had loosened, at the steady rise and fall of her breathing, at how impossibly small she still felt despite how quickly she was already changing.
“…I will,” he said finally. Then, after a beat, “After I eat.”
Ilya huffed out a quiet laugh and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Shane’s shoulder. “Of course.”
Shane smiled faintly and took another bite of yogurt.
He didn’t stop bouncing.
For a few seconds, the only sounds in the kitchen were small, domestic ones—the soft clink of his spoon against the bowl, the quiet hum of the fridge, the faint rustle of fabric as Sofia shifted against his chest.
Then, because the silence never stayed empty for long anymore—
“Well,” Shane murmured, glancing down at her as he chewed, his voice slipping automatically into that softer, quieter register he seemed to use just for her, “we’ve got a big offseason ahead of us, kid.”
Sofia blinked slowly, her eyes drifting somewhere near his collarbone, her mouth opening just slightly like she might respond if she could.
Shane huffed a small, amused breath.
“I’m serious,” he went on, nudging the spoon absently against the edge of the bowl before taking another bite. “Training camp’s not for a while, but that doesn’t mean we slack off. Gotta stay in shape, right?”
Behind him, Ilya moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, already reaching for the bottle parts, measuring, warming—movements practiced enough now that he didn’t need to think about them.
“She can barely stay awake for more than forty-five minutes,” he said dryly, not looking over. “I do not think conditioning is her top priority.”
Shane ignored that completely.
“We’re gonna start you early,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly like he was letting her in on something important. “None of this waiting until you can walk nonsense. We’re talking—skates as soon as physically possible.”
Ilya snorted quietly, shaking his head as he tested the temperature of the bottle.
“She cannot hold her own head up,” he pointed out.
“Minor detail.”
Sofia made a soft, almost questioning sound, her fingers twitching where they rested against Shane’s chest, and he immediately shifted his hand up to steady her, thumb brushing lightly over the back of her tiny hand without interrupting his train of thought.
“You’re gonna love it,” he promised her, softer now, more certain. “Cold rink, early mornings, the smell of the ice—” he paused, then added, “—okay, maybe not the smell part. That’s… acquired.”
Ilya glanced over at that, one brow lifting slightly.
“Very convincing,” he muttered.
Shane smiled to himself, eyes still on Sofia.
“You don’t have to play,” he amended after a second, voice gentler, more thoughtful now as he watched the slow, uneven way her fingers curled. “You can do whatever you want. Hockey, dance, art—whatever you decide. I’m just saying… if you do pick hockey, I’m an excellent coach.”
“Debatable,” Ilya said, though there was a smile in his voice now as he screwed the bottle cap into place.
Shane nudged him again lightly with his elbow, careful not to jostle her. “Hey. I know things.”
Sofia shifted slightly at the movement, her cheek pressing more firmly into his chest, and Shane’s entire posture softened without him even realizing it.
“Okay, yeah,” he murmured quietly, almost to himself now, watching her settle again. “That too.”
The kitchen fell into a softer kind of quiet after that—not empty, just full in a different way. The kind that came from being so completely focused on something small and important that everything else faded to the edges.
A moment later, Ilya stepped back over, bottle in hand.
“Alright,” he said gently, his voice dropping to match Shane’s without thinking. “Time to eat again, malysh.”
Shane glanced up at him, then back down at Sofia, something warm and steady settling in his chest as he adjusted his grip slightly, careful, practiced now.
“Ready for your next shift?” he murmured to her, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Sofia, of course, had no idea what that meant.
But she made a small sound anyway.
And Shane took it as agreement.
*** *** ***
A few days later, the living room had settled into that familiar, lived-in quiet that came from a house revolving entirely around one very small person.
Sofia lay stretched out on her play mat in the middle of the rug, a soft blanket beneath her and a handful of tiny toys scattered just within reach—though “reach” was still a generous term. Her arms moved in slow, uncertain arcs, fingers brushing against the fabric, occasionally catching on something and holding there like she’d done it on purpose.
Shane sat cross-legged beside her, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he watched her with quiet focus, like she might do something new if he paid close enough attention.
“I think she likes this one,” he murmured, nudging one of the soft toys a little closer to her hand.
Sofia’s fingers grazed it, paused—then curled.
Shane’s entire face lit up. “There—see? She grabbed it.”
From the couch, Ilya didn’t even look up. “She hit it.”
“She grabbed it,” Shane repeated, firmer now, like this was a fact that could not be disputed.
A quiet huff of amusement. “Of course she did.”
Nearby, Anya lay stretched out on her side, head resting on her paws, watching the whole thing with a calm, steady interest that had become her default setting whenever Sofia was involved.
Sofia made a small sound, something between a coo and a grunt, her legs kicking once—twice—like she was building momentum for something her body hadn’t quite figured out yet.
Shane smiled, softer this time, reaching out to gently adjust the edge of the blanket near her shoulder. “You’re working very hard down there, huh?”
Another kick.
Then—
A pause.
It was subtle at first. Just a slight shift in Sofia’s expression, her mouth tightening faintly, her brows pulling together in a way Shane hadn’t quite learned to interpret yet.
He leaned in a little closer. “Hey,” he murmured, scanning her face. “You okay?”
Sofia’s legs drew up slightly.
Then pushed down again.
And then—
Shane froze.
“…Ilya,” he said slowly.
Ilya glanced up this time, something in his tone finally catching his attention. “What?”
There was a beat.
Shane didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared at Sofia like he was witnessing something unfolding in real time.
“…I think something just happened.”
Ilya raised a brow, pushing himself up from the couch. “That is very vague.”
“I’m serious,” Shane said, still frozen in place. “She—there was a face. And then—”
As if on cue, Sofia let out a soft, suspiciously satisfied sound.
And then the smell hit.
Shane’s entire expression shifted in an instant.
“Oh my god.”
Ilya stopped halfway to them. “…That bad?”
Shane leaned back slightly, like distance might help. It didn’t.
“No, that’s—” he shook his head once, almost impressed despite himself. “That’s not normal.”
“It is absolutely normal.”
“No, I know it’s normal,” Shane corrected quickly, eyes still locked on Sofia like she might do it again. “But that’s—impressive.”
Another small noise from Sofia, her legs kicking again, entirely unbothered.
Anya’s head lifted.
Slowly.
Cautiously.
She sniffed once, then blinked like she was reconsidering all of her life choices before lowering her head back down with a quiet huff.
Ilya made it the rest of the way over, already reaching down to scoop Sofia up with practiced ease.
“Okay,” he said, calm and entirely unfazed as he lifted her, one hand supporting her head automatically. “Let’s see what we have—”
He stopped.
Just slightly.
Then glanced up at Shane.
“…Ah.”
Shane’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Ilya said carefully, shifting Sofia just enough to inspect the situation further, “we are going to need a new outfit.”
Shane blinked. “A new—how bad is it?”
Ilya didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he turned—very deliberately—and started walking toward the nursery.
“Ilya.”
“We will discuss it when we are contained.”
Shane scrambled to his feet immediately, following close behind.
By the time they reached the changing table, Sofia had gone back to making small, content noises, completely unaware of the chaos she’d created.
Ilya laid her down gently, already reaching for wipes, a fresh diaper, a new onesie.
Shane hovered at his shoulder.
“I feel like I should be helping,” he said, even as he made no move to actually intervene.
“You can hand me things,” Ilya replied, already unfastening the current diaper.
Shane nodded quickly. “Okay. Yeah. I can do that.”
A beat.
Then—
“Oh my god.”
Ilya exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Yes.”
Shane leaned in, then immediately leaned back out again. “How is that physically possible?”
Ilya didn’t even look up. “Babies are full of surprises.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Shane said faintly. “That’s—an event.”
Sofia kicked once, entirely pleased with herself.
Ilya worked efficiently, calm and methodical despite the situation, while Shane hovered just behind him, passing wipes, holding a clean diaper, occasionally making deeply concerned commentary that Ilya chose to ignore.
At one point, Ilya paused just long enough to glance up at him, something amused slipping through.
“You wanted more time with her awake,” he pointed out.
Shane stared at him.
“This is not what I meant.”
Ilya huffed a quiet laugh and went back to work.
A few minutes later, Sofia was clean, changed, and back in a fresh outfit, her earlier distress (if it could even be called that) completely forgotten.
Shane looked down at her, then at Ilya.
“…We did that.”
Ilya arched a brow. “We?”
Shane didn’t miss a beat. “Emotional support is still support.”
A pause.
Then Ilya smiled—soft, fond, a little tired.
“Of course,” he said.
And just like that, the chaos passed, settling back into something softer, something familiar again.
Sofia stretched slightly in his arms, small and warm and completely unaware of the fact that she had just fundamentally changed both of their expectations for what “a diaper change” meant.
Shane exhaled slowly, then reached out to brush his fingers lightly over her stomach.
“…You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured.
Sofia blinked up at him.
Unbothered.
*** *** ***
The house had gone quiet in a way that only happened in the middle of the night—deep, settled, untouched by anything outside its walls. Even the usual creaks and shifts seemed to have stilled, like everything had agreed, just for a few hours, to let them rest.
Shane sat in the rocking chair in the nursery, the slow, steady motion barely more than a sway beneath him as Sofia rested in the crook of his arm, her small body tucked close while she fed. The soft glow of the nightlight cast the room in warm, muted gold, just enough to see the shape of her face, the faint flutter of her lashes, the tiny, rhythmic movements of her mouth.
He’d gotten better at this.
Not perfect—not effortless—but better.
The bottle sat comfortably in his hand now, angled just right without him needing to think about it, his other arm supporting her with an ease that had come faster than he’d expected, like his body had decided before his brain had time to catch up.
For a while, he didn’t say anything.
He just watched her.
The way her fingers curled loosely against his shirt, opening and closing every so often like she was holding onto something in her sleep. The soft pull of each swallow. The faint, almost imperceptible sounds she made when she paused, like she was deciding if she wanted more.
It still felt unreal sometimes.
Not sharp or overwhelming like it had in the beginning—but in a quieter way, like something so big it settled slowly, piece by piece, instead of all at once.
He let out a soft breath, the chair creaking gently beneath him as he rocked.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmured finally, voice low and warm. “Yeah… you figured this out quick, huh?”
Sofia didn’t react, just kept feeding, steady and content, her small body relaxed against him.
Shane’s mouth curved faintly.
“I knew you would,” he added, softer now, like it had never really been in doubt.
His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, slow and absent, grounding more for him than for her.
There was a pause, the quiet stretching comfortably around them.
Then, a little more hesitant, a little more real—
“You know… we waited a long time for you,” he said, voice dropping just slightly. “Not just… time passing. Like—really waited.”
He huffed a faint breath, almost a quiet laugh under it.
“Paperwork. Meetings. People asking us questions like we were applying for a job or something,” he went on, shaking his head slightly. “Your papa was very patient about it. I was… less patient.”
Sofia’s fingers tightened faintly against his shirt, and he stilled for half a second, like that tiny movement mattered more than anything else in the room.
“But we’d do it again,” he said softly. “All of it. Every second.”
The chair rocked. Forward. Back.
He glanced down at her, something in his expression softening even further.
“Because then we got you.”
The words settled between them, quiet but certain.
Shane swallowed once, his hand shifting slightly to support her a little closer, like he couldn’t quite help it.
“You have no idea how loved you are,” he murmured. “Like—not even a little bit.”
A small breath left him, steadier now.
“Your papa…” he trailed off, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “He’s been in love with you since before you were even here. Talks about you like you’ve always been part of everything.”
He shook his head slightly, fond and a little disbelieving all at once.
“And me…” he added, softer, more quietly. “I didn’t even stand a chance.”
Sofia’s feeding slowed, her movements growing softer, more intermittent, the bottle slipping just slightly as her mouth relaxed.
Shane adjusted automatically, careful and unhurried.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You got me right away.”
He let that sit for a second, the truth of it settling warm and steady in his chest.
“We love you so much,” he said finally, voice barely above a breath now. “More than anything. You hear me?”
Sofia didn’t answer—just kept drifting, her body growing heavier in his arms as sleep started to pull her under.
“Yeah,” Shane murmured, smiling faintly. “You don’t have to answer. I know.”
He eased the bottle away carefully when she was done, shifting her gently against his chest, one hand coming up to support her head as she settled there, warm and quiet and completely trusting.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Just held her.
The house stayed still around them, Ilya and Anya asleep down the hall, the soft hum of the monitor the only sound besides the creak of the chair.
Shane dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of hers.
“…we’re really glad you’re ours,” he whispered.
Sofia made a small, sleepy sound, her fingers twitching once against his shirt before going still again.
Shane smiled, the expression softer than anything he’d worn all day, and let the rhythm of the chair carry them both, slow and steady in the dark.
*** *** ***
August 2024
The living room was quiet in that soft, late afternoon way, sunlight stretching across the floor in long, warm stripes that caught on the edge of the couch and the scattered baby things they hadn’t bothered to pick up yet.
Sofia sat in her little bouncer between them, her legs kicking every so often, the fabric giving a gentle sway in response. She was more awake these days—really awake—her eyes wide and curious as they moved back and forth between Shane and Ilya like she was trying to figure them out.
Shane leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her like she might do something incredible at any second. “Hi,” he said softly, like he had already said it a hundred times today and still wasn’t tired of it. “Hi, bug.”
Her gaze snapped to him immediately.
Ilya, stretched out beside him, huffed a quiet laugh. “You say that every time you see her.”
“Because it works,” Shane replied without looking away, wiggling his fingers slightly in front of her. “Hi.”
Sofia blinked at him, her mouth parting just a little.
Ilya leaned forward then too, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind Shane. “Sof,” he said, softer now, a hint of a grin in his voice. “Look at papa, hmm?”
Her eyes shifted—back to Ilya, then to Shane again—like she couldn’t quite decide.
Shane straightened slightly, something hopeful flickering across his face. “I think she’s tracking us.”
“She has been tracking us,” Ilya said. “You are just noticing now.”
Shane ignored him. “No, this is different. She’s—” he gestured vaguely between them, “—like, choosing.”
“Ah,” Ilya said dryly. “We are in competition now.”
“I’m winning,” Shane said immediately.
“You are not—”
Sofia made a small sound then, somewhere between a sigh and a coo, and both of them stopped instantly.
Her eyes were on Shane again.
Focused. Intent.
Shane went still, like even breathing too hard might break whatever was happening.
“Hi,” he said again, quieter this time.
Her mouth moved—just slightly.
Then it happened so fast Shane almost missed it.
The tiniest lift at the corners of her mouth. Not random, not drifting—directed. Her eyes stayed locked on his as her lips curved into something unmistakably there.
Shane blinked.
“…Ilya.”
Ilya leaned forward immediately. “What?”
Shane didn’t look away. “Did you—”
It happened again.
This time a little bigger.
A real smile.
Not reflex. Not gas. Not anything accidental.
At him.
Shane let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck in his chest for weeks. “Oh my—”
“She—” Ilya started, then stopped as it registered fully, his expression shifting instantly, something soft and startled breaking through. “I think she just smiled.”
“She did,” he added quickly, nodding now like he needed to confirm it out loud. “That was—she did it again, Sof, do it again—”
As if on cue, Sofia made another small sound, her legs kicking, and her mouth lifted once more—wider this time, uneven and fleeting but unmistakably there.
Shane laughed, quiet and disbelieving, a hand coming up briefly to his mouth before dropping again. “She knows me,” he said before he could stop himself.
His voice softened at the end, almost fragile.
Ilya glanced at him then, really looked at him, and something in his expression warmed. “Of course she knows you.”
Shane shook his head slightly, eyes still on Sofia. “No, I mean—she knows me.”
Like this was new.
Like this was everything.
Sofia’s gaze drifted between them again, her body wiggling in the bouncer, another soft coo slipping out.
Ilya leaned in closer, nudging Shane lightly with his shoulder. “Sof,” he said, a little more playful now, “what about papa, hmm? I am also very charming.”
Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “Good luck.”
“I do not need luck,” Ilya said, already making an exaggerated face at her—brows lifting, lips pursing slightly.
Sofia blinked at him.
Paused.
Then—
Another small, fleeting smile.
Ilya froze. “…you see?” he said quickly, glancing at Shane. “That one was for me.”
Shane snorted. “That was a pity smile.”
“It was not—”
Sofia made another soft noise, her face brightening again for just a moment as she kicked her legs, the bouncer swaying gently beneath her.
And this time, it didn’t matter who it was for.
They both saw it.
And something in the room shifted—quiet, but undeniable.
Shane leaned back slowly, like he needed a second to take it in, his chest tight in a way that didn’t feel like panic anymore.
“She smiled,” he said again, softer now, more to himself.
“She did,” Ilya replied, his hand finding Shane’s knee and squeezing lightly.
Sofia blinked up at them, completely unaware of what she’d just done—of how something so small had just settled so deeply into both of them.
Shane reached out, brushing his fingers gently over her stomach, careful as always.
“Hi,” he said again, a little breathless, a little in awe.
Her mouth twitched.
And this time, he didn’t miss it.
For a moment, he just watched her, something quiet and full settling in his chest, warm where it used to feel tight. It almost caught him off guard—how easy it felt now, how natural.
A few weeks ago, he’d lain awake at night wondering if he’d ever get this right—if she’d feel like his, if he’d know how to be what she needed.
Now, standing here, watching her smile at him like that—
It felt impossible now that he’d ever worried she wouldn’t know he was hers.
Or that she wouldn’t love him back.
___
A few days later, the nursery was scattered with soft blankets, toys, and the familiar chaos of baby gear. Sofia lay on her little play mat face down, legs kicking, fists clenched, an unmistakable scowl pulled tight across her tiny face.
“Okay, bug,” Shane said, lowering himself onto the floor beside her. “Tummy time.”
Sofia’s response was immediate and dramatic—a sharp little squeal followed by a full flop of her head to the side, as if to say absolutely not.
“I see your opinion,” Ilya said from across the mat, grinning as he gently repositioned her. “Loud and clear.”
Shane chuckled, brushing a hand softly against her back. “We hear you, baby. We hear you.”
But Sofia wasn’t having it. She grumbled and whined, tiny fists pounding the mat as her legs kicked in protest, her whole face scrunched in the kind of determination only a two-month-old could manage.
“She’s… passionate,” Ilya muttered, ducking under a flailing arm. “I admire it.”
Shane laughed under his breath. “Yeah, we’ve clearly met her standards.” Then he leaned closer, eyes bright as he tracked every little movement. “Come on, bug… just a little head lift. You can do it.”
Her head wobbled, nearly dropping back down, and she let out a tiny, disgruntled squeak that made Shane instinctively hold his breath. Then—just for a second—she lifted it, unsteady but deliberate, eyes wide and blinking like she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed it.
“There!” Shane said immediately, excitement breaking through. “She’s holding her head up. That’s new. Look at her!”
Ilya reached over, smoothing a lock of hair from her forehead. “So strong. Look at you, Sof. Come on, show them what you’ve got.”
Sofia grumbled again, twisting her tiny body like she was trying to roll, legs kicking harder, her mouth opening into a frustrated little wail—but she kept her head up just a fraction longer before it trembled again.
Shane’s hand hovered above her back, trembling slightly with excitement. “I can’t believe it. She’s doing it. She’s really doing it!”
Ilya leaned on one elbow, watching her with that fond, almost startled expression he got whenever she surprised him. “Every day she finds a new way to impress us. Even when she’s mad about it.”
Sofia squealed again, face turning a shade redder, flailing her arms like she was trying to make her protest very clear. Shane laughed softly, completely disarmed by her intensity.
“You’re pissed, I know,” he said gently, “but we’re proud of you anyway. Every tiny bit counts.”
Ilya nodded in agreement, voice soft but firm. “Look at those little muscles. She’s working hard. We are so proud of you, Sof.”
That seemed to be the breaking point of her outrage. The protest slowly melted into a small coo, her kicking easing as she gave a fleeting, almost grudging little expression that might’ve been a smile.
Shane exhaled, leaning back slightly, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I can’t get over her,” he murmured. “Every little thing—she just… amazes me.”
“She does,” Ilya said quietly, gaze soft and almost reverent. “Even when she’s furious with us.”
They stayed there a few more minutes, whispering encouragement, lightly swaying her arms, celebrating every tiny lift of her head and every determined kick. Sofia grumbled a few more times, but the small victories—the longer head lifts, the growing strength—were what held their attention.
Finally, Shane reached for his phone and snapped a few quick pictures, whispering, “For the baby book,” while Ilya shifted closer, resting his head briefly against Shane’s shoulder as they watched her together.
Sofia let out one last dramatic squeal, legs flailing like she was declaring herself queen of the play mat.
Shane exchanged a glance with Ilya, something unspoken passing easily between them.
Without a word, Ilya carefully scooped her up.
The change was immediate. Sofia’s fists relaxed, her legs stilled, and the tension melted out of her tiny body as she settled against his chest with a soft, contented sigh, nuzzling under his chin like she’d been waiting for that exact position all along.
Shane leaned in immediately, brushing a hand over her back. “See? Nothing to worry about. You’re safe, bug.”
Ilya smiled down at her, voice soft. “Told you. We’ve got you.”
Shane let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly as he watched her go from furious determination to complete calm in seconds. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “She calms so fast… she’s incredible.”
Ilya pressed a gentle kiss to her head. “That’s our girl. And we’re her people. Always.”
Shane nodded, eyes still on Sofia. Even with the fussiness, the flailing, and the dramatic expressions, there wasn’t a trace of frustration left—only pride, deep and steady, settling into something permanent.
She was theirs, entirely, completely, and already shaping their world in ways they hadn’t even begun to understand.
*** *** ***
The exam room was too quiet—not peaceful, just… waiting.
Sofia lay on the crinkly paper of the exam table, a little purple robe draped around her because Ilya had seen the idea on Instagram and decided it was worth it if she had to be naked for the visit. Her legs kicked lazily, the paper shifting softly beneath every movement, the sound loud in the otherwise still room. She had no idea where she was or what was coming.
Ilya stood beside the table, one hand hovering just above her stomach like he couldn’t decide whether to touch her or not. “They’re going to hurt her,” he said again, voice tight.
Shane, leaning back against the counter with his arms loosely crossed, huffed a quiet breath and pushed himself upright, stepping closer. He rested a steady hand against Ilya’s lower back. “They’re going to help her,” he said calmly.
“They’re going to hurt her first,” Ilya insisted.
“She’s going to cry,” Shane said simply, voice steady. “And then she’s going to stop. And then we’re going to take her home.”
Ilya shook his head, eyes still fixed on Sofia. “She does not cry like that. Not like—” He cut himself off.
Sofia made a soft, content coo at that exact moment, completely at odds with the tension wrapped tight around both of them.
A knock came, and before either of them could answer, the nurse stepped in with a warm smile. “Hi, guys! I’m Lacey. We’ll grab some measurements and then Jenna will be in.”
Shane nodded, already reaching for Sofia. Ilya stepped back reluctantly as Shane lifted her, slipping off the robe and handing her over when Lacey gestured toward the scale. Sofia protested immediately at the cool surface, her legs kicking harder as a small cry bubbled up.
“Hi, sweetheart, I know,” Lacey murmured, quick and practiced as she adjusted her.
Shane hovered close, one hand near Sofia’s head like he could steady her without interfering, while Ilya leaned in from the other side, already frowning. “She does not like this.”
“She doesn’t like anything that isn’t us,” Shane said quietly.
Lacey smiled as she checked the number. “Alright… she’s up to about three-point-six.”
Shane did the math automatically—just under a kilo gained.
“And is that… good?” Ilya asked, watching as Sofia’s protests grew louder.
Lacey scooped her up smoothly, smiling as she settled her. “She is petite, but she’s growing steadily. Were you small as a baby?” she asked Shane.
He nodded. “Not as small as she is.”
“I’m not worried,” Lacey said easily. “She’s trending up, which is exactly what we want. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
Shane felt himself relax, just slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Consistent growth matters more than anything. She’s doing great.”
Ilya’s shoulders dropped, tension easing a fraction. “So she is okay?”
“She’s more than okay.”
Sofia let out an indignant squeak, and Shane huffed a quiet laugh. “She’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
Length and head circumference followed, each step met with increasing annoyance from Sofia, her noises growing louder and more insistent. By the time Lacey finished, her patience was gone entirely, her face scrunched in clear offense at the whole experience.
“Jenna will be right in,” Lacey said, gathering her notes before stepping out.
The room settled again into that same waiting quiet.
Sofia let out a small whine, and Shane picked her up immediately, settling her against his chest. She calmed almost instantly, her body melting into him.
“See?” Ilya exhaled. “She just wants to be held.”
“Yeah,” Shane said softly. “Same.”
A few minutes later, Jenna stepped in, greeting them before turning her attention to Sofia. The exam was quick but thorough—eyes, ears, reflexes, heart—her movements calm and practiced.
“Everything looks great,” she said. “How’s feeding going?”
“Better,” Shane answered. “More predictable. Around 120 milliliters, give or take.”
“She eats like she has never been fed before,” Ilya added.
Jenna smiled. “That’s usually a good sign. And sleep?”
Shane and Ilya exchanged a look.
“…better,” Shane said carefully.
“Sometimes,” Ilya amended. “Last night she let us sleep almost four and a half hours.”
Jenna nodded. “That’s right on track for this age.”
She finished the exam and stepped back. “She’s doing really well. Strong, alert, growing right where she should be.”
Something in Shane’s chest loosened. “Good.”
Jenna smiled slightly. “Alright—next up will be her vaccines.”
Ilya tensed immediately, the shift in the room almost tangible. “…now?” he asked, like maybe there was still a way around it.
“Just a couple quick ones,” she said gently, stepping out to grab the nurse.
Ilya’s hand moved back to Sofia without thinking, like he needed to confirm she was still there. Shane adjusted her in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Sofia blinked up at him, calm and trusting.
Ilya watched that, jaw tight.
When Lacey returned, the soft clink of supplies against the tray felt too loud in the small room. Ilya shifted closer to Shane, one hand braced against his knee.
“They’re going to hurt her,” he muttered.
“Alright,” Lacey said gently, “I’ll have you hold her nice and snug—it helps.”
Ilya froze.
“I’ve got her,” Shane said immediately, already sitting and adjusting Sofia against his chest, one hand supporting her head, the other wrapped securely around her small body. His movements were steady now—practiced in a way that hadn’t come easily before.
“Hey, bug,” he whispered, voice warm and even. “Just a second, okay?”
“I do not like this,” Ilya muttered again, his hand moving in restless passes over Sofia’s leg.
“I know.”
“Alright—first one.”
The needle went in quickly.
Sofia froze—then her face crumpled, and the cry that tore out of her was sharp and sudden, too big for her tiny body.
Ilya flinched.
“Hey, hey—” Shane’s voice didn’t waver as he rocked her gently, cradling the back of her head. “I’m here. Daddy’s here.”
The second shot followed, and her cry broke higher, more desperate.
“Shane—”
“I’ve got her,” he said again, firmer this time.
“All done,” Lacey said.
But Sofia wasn’t.
Her cries came fast and frantic, her whole body tense against him. Ilya leaned in immediately, brushing her cheek, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Sof… hey, hey…”
Shane tucked her closer, rubbing slow, steady circles along her back. “You’re okay,” he murmured, over and over. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”
Her cries hitched—caught—softening into sharp little gasps.
“That’s it,” Shane whispered. “It’s over. Daddy and Papa are right here.”
A hiccup. Another.
Her cries broke into uneven breaths, then softened further until, finally, she sagged against him, exhausted.
The room went quiet again—but this time, it felt different.
Ilya let out a breath like he’d been holding it the entire time. “…how did you do that?”
Shane blinked. “What?”
“That. You were just… calm.”
Shane looked down at Sofia, brushing his thumb lightly over her arm. “I just knew she needed me to be.”
Ilya swallowed, his hand coming to rest over Sofia’s back, overlapping Shane’s.
“She’s okay,” Shane said softly.
“She’s okay,” Ilya echoed—and this time, he sounded like he believed it.
*** *** ***
September 2024
“And you have the little bear she likes?” Shane asked as they finished putting the diaper bag together. Sofia was dressed in the smallest Centaurs onesie the organization made, swimming in it, with a matching red-and-black bow to match.
She looked absolutely adorable. Shane had already taken about fifty pictures and they hadn’t even gotten to the arena yet.
Training camp was about to start—they were about to have to go back to work. Shane still couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving Sofia yet, even though she’d be completely fine with his parents and it would only be for a few hours.
And the thought of being on the road was something he hadn’t let himself think about yet, because if he did, he was sure to spiral.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Ilya rolled his eyes as he zipped the bag. “We have everything we could possibly need for an outing that will probably only last for an hour.”
Shane sighed. “I just… her first time at the arena!”
He was excited. He’d wanted the team to meet her for months, but they’d been extremely cautious with her. They’d been out a few times for short bursts after she’d gotten her vaccine, but this was the first time they’d be in close quarters with a bunch of people.
Still, the team had been begging to meet her and had even made sure all of their own vaccines were up to date to put Shane’s mind at ease. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion talking, but he’d teared up when Wyatt casually mentioned it to them over FaceTime after she was born.
Shane carefully got her strapped into her car seat while Ilya got the bag into the car. When he heard the comforting click as the car seat locked into the base, he smiled faintly before sliding into the passenger seat.
“And you’re sure no one knows we’re coming?” Shane asked as they were about to pull in.
Ilya shook his head. “Nope. I am very good secret keeper. Remember?”
“I’d actually rather not,” Shane sighed, immediately trying not to think about that part of their relationship.
___
Just as Ilya put the car into park, Shane glanced behind him and smiled when he saw Sofia asleep in her seat, sucking greedily on her pacifier. “Of course she’s asleep.”
Ilya chuckled. “She has excellent timing.”
He grabbed the car seat and they headed inside the arena.
As they walked toward the locker room, Shane couldn’t help but think that the last time they’d been there, Sofia hadn’t even been in the world yet.
It still didn’t feel real how much things had changed in such a short time.
When they reached the doors, Shane hesitated as the sound of chaos spilled through.
“Maybe we should wait,” he said, catching Ilya’s hand. “It’s loud in there.”
Ilya glanced at the door, unimpressed. “It is never quiet in there.”
And without hesitation—once Shane nodded—Ilya pushed it open.
The noise hit immediately.
Voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls, something loud hitting a locker. Exactly as they remembered it—chaotic, alive.
No one noticed them at first.
Wyatt was mid-story, half-standing on the bench, arms moving wildly as Luca and Troy heckled him, Bood shaking his head like he’d heard it all before, and Dykstra half-lost in his stall.
It took a second.
Then two.
Then—
Wyatt’s eyes flicked to the door.
He stopped.
“…no way,” he said, voice dropping.
Everything else followed.
One by one, the room went quiet.
Ilya stood there casually, one hand hooked through the car seat handle, like he didn’t notice the shift at all.
Shane hovered just behind him, suddenly very aware of all the eyes.
“…you’re kidding,” Troy said.
“Is that—” Luca started.
“That is a baby,” Bood finished.
Wyatt practically jumped off the bench. “You actually brought her?”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Of course we brought her. You idiots have been badgering us since the day she was born.”
That did it.
The room closed in—not in a bad way, just all at once. Big bodies moving closer, forming a loose circle around them.
Shane instinctively tightened his grip on Ilya’s arm. “Careful,” he murmured. “She fell asleep in the car.”
The energy shifted immediately—softer, slower.
“Holy shit,” Troy breathed. “She looks just like you, Shane.”
“She is perfect, yes,” Ilya said warmly, guiding Shane’s grip off his arm—not removing it, just easing it—before setting the carrier down on the bench.
Shane sat immediately on one side. Ilya took the other.
The team dropped down in front of them, suddenly careful in a way none of them ever were on ice.
“She’s so cute,” Luca said softly.
As if on cue, Sofia’s face scrunched briefly, then settled again.
“She is,” Wyatt said. “Pictures didn’t do her justice.”
Shane huffed a breath, warmth settling in his chest as he looked at all of them—these loud, cocky men completely undone by a sleeping baby.
Sofia’s pacifier slipped slightly.
“Did you see that?” Troy whispered.
“I don’t miss having a newborn,” Bood muttered, “but I get the baby fever thing now.”
“She’s so small,” Dykstra added. “She’s swimming in that outfit.”
Ilya clicked his tongue. “It is the smallest one the organization makes. We should file a complaint.”
A few quiet laughs slipped through.
“She’s growing,” Shane added softly, pride creeping in. “Just… still in newborn clothes.”
Then—
A shift.
Sofia’s hands curled. Her face tightened.
“Oh—” Shane was already moving.
He lifted her quickly but carefully, settling her against his chest as she let out a small cry.
“Hey, bug,” he murmured, bouncing her gently. “I’ve got you.”
She settled almost instantly.
“Whoa,” Bood let out.
“You’re like a baby whisperer,” Wyatt said.
“Just a Sofia whisperer,” Ilya corrected calmly, stepping in beside him. “He is natural.”
Shane glanced down. “Do you want to meet your uncles?”
He checked Ilya—silent confirmation—and Ilya nodded.
Shane adjusted her, turning her so her back rested against his chest.
She blinked awake.
Took them in.
Immediately scrunched her face.
“Well,” Troy said, “she’s definitely yours.”
Laughter rippled softly.
“She just woke up,” Shane repeated. “I’d be annoyed too.”
“Exactly,” Bood said.
Ilya stepped in, gently taking her from Shane. “Everyone,” he said warmly, “we would like to officially introduce you to Sofia Mei Hollander-Rozanov.”
Right on cue, Sofia smiled.
The room exploded—muted swearing, disbelief, laughter.
“I think you already have them wrapped around your fingers,” Ilya added. “If your daddy or I ever say no, you can probably get it from one of them.”
“Definitely,” Luca said—then paused. “Can I… hold her?”
Everything in Shane tightened.
Logically yes.
Emotionally—
Ilya was already in motion. “Wash your hands first.”
Luca did. Fast.
When he came back, Ilya guided Sofia into his arms with careful precision.
Only then did he let go.
Shane’s breath caught.
Beside him, Ilya immediately noticed. “She is okay,” he murmured. “She is right there.”
Shane nodded, but didn’t look away.
Luca held her like he’d done it before—steady, careful, focused.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Luca murmured.
Shane frowned faintly.
That was not Luca’s voice.
Sofia blinked.
Then—
A coo.
The room leaned in.
“Oh—yeah,” Wyatt whispered. “Okay…”
Sofia smiled.
Small. Real.
“Holy shit,” Troy muttered.
Something in Shane’s chest loosened.
“…okay,” he murmured.
Ilya bumped his shoulder lightly.
Sofia cooed again, brushing her hand against Luca’s jersey.
“She likes you,” Wyatt said.
“Of course she does,” Ilya said. “He has good energy.”
“That’s not a thing,” Troy muttered.
“It is now,” Bood said.
Shane exhaled slowly, watching her settle.
She was fine.
More than fine.
“…okay,” he said again, softer now.
Ilya squeezed his hand once.
And for the first time, Shane leaned back just slightly.
Still watching.
But no longer braced to move.
*** *** ***
Two weeks later, Shane was an absolute wreck. Their hockey bags lay packed next to the front door, ready to be taken to the arena for the first day of training camp. The sight of them—heavy and brimming with gear—made his chest tighten like someone had gripped it in their hands.
“And the pediatrician’s number is on the fridge,” he said, his voice catching before he could stop it. “And so is poison control and…” His words trailed off, leaving a tremor in the air, like a crack forming in something he wasn’t ready to face.
“Honey,” his mom said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. “She’s going to be fine.”
Shane’s breath hitched, a short, uneven stutter that made his chest feel impossibly tight. He glanced at his dad, who was cradling Sofia against his chest with ease, as if he’d been doing this forever. Her tiny eyes were wide and unblinking, sparkling with curiosity as she batted her little hands.
Shane’s stomach twisted with a sharp pang, an ache that seemed to settle behind his ribs and squeeze his heart. His throat tightened, making it hard to swallow, hard to speak without his voice trembling. The thought of leaving her—even for a mere two and a half hours—felt impossible, like stepping off a cliff.
“She’s too little…” he whispered, the words barely forming, fragile as glass. “…she’s not ready for this.” His gaze dropped to her small, delicate fingers, curling and flexing as she explored the world around her, so unaware, so dependent. Every instinct in him screamed that leaving her, even briefly, was wrong.
One of them should stay.
The thought hit him like a physical weight. He imagined her waking, confused and fussy, and his chest tightened further at the helplessness he might feel if he weren’t there. “I’ll skip today,” he murmured, the words tasting bitter, as if saying them made them real.
Shane stepped closer, wanting to scoop her up, to feel the warmth of her tiny body against his and let the world shrink to just the two of them. But he knew he couldn’t. And that realization left him unmoored, like a tether had snapped between the world he wanted and the one he had to live in.
“No, you will not,” Ilya said, stepping into the room, voice calm but firm—the kind of quiet authority that could steady storms.
Shane’s stomach knotted further. He couldn’t believe how much he didn’t want training camp to start. Growing up, this had always been the best time of year. Even during those early days with Ilya, when they were official but not yet married, he’d been thrilled for camp. He’d counted down the days with the same nervous excitement he now felt for Sofia—except now it wasn’t excitement at all.
He couldn’t leave her. He didn’t think he was physically capable of it. She would be with his parents, and they would only be gone for two and a half hours. She’d probably sleep through most of it, due for a bottle and a nap shortly after they left.
But he hadn’t been away from her longer than a shower or a quick trip to the store since she was born. And even then, Ilya had been with her. Even though he trusted his parents completely, something inside him—tight, insistent, coiled—kept pulling him back toward her. If he stepped too far away, if he left the room, he was afraid something small and vital would unravel.
“I’m not going.”
“Shane,” Ilya whispered, taking his arm gently and guiding him into the rarely used dining room. He pressed Shane lightly against the wall, grounding him, holding him steady.
“How are you so calm about this?” Shane asked, a small whine slipping through despite himself, his voice cracking at the edges.
Ilya shrugged, unshaken. “Because I know she’s in good hands. And as much as I love her and want to be there, I also want to go to work. I want to play hockey.”
“I… want to play hockey,” Shane admitted weakly. The words felt hollow, like they belonged to someone else. He did want to—but he also wished he could figure out how to do it with a baby strapped to his chest. “I didn’t think this would be so hard.”
Ilya leaned forward, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to his lips. “I know, moya lyubov.”
“What if she needs me? Or you?” Shane whispered, panic creeping back in.
Ilya pressed his forehead against Shane’s. Warm. Steady. “Then your parents will call. We are going to the arena, sweetheart. Not the moon.”
Shane swallowed, nodding slowly, his chest tight as he tried to take a steadying breath. The minutes dragged as he wrestled with himself—every possible scenario, every whimper, every need he might miss. Finally, reluctantly, he followed Ilya back into the living room.
Sofia lay on her playmat, eyes bright and focused on the hanging animals, tiny fingers reaching for a plush lion. Both his parents were beside her, cooing softly, their voices calm and familiar. She had no idea her dads were about to leave.
Shane moved quickly to her, scooping her into his arms. Her small weight was heavy and light all at once, warm and alive against him. His eyes stung as he kissed her cheek.
“Daddy and Papa have to go for a little while, Sof,” he murmured, his voice catching in the middle. He felt the tiny rise and fall of her chest against him, the faint warmth of her body, and it made his throat tighten painfully. “We’ll be back so, so soon, okay?”
He pulled her back slightly, just enough to see her face—round, soft, impossibly perfect. His lips pressed to her temple as he swallowed hard against the emotion rising in him. “You’ll be with Grandma and Pappy, though. They’re going to take really good care of you.”
He held her close, chest to chest, inhaling the faint scent of baby lotion and warmth. His arms tightened instinctively, as if he could keep the world out by sheer force of holding her. He felt almost embarrassed by how overwhelming it all was—two and a half hours, and yet it felt like an ocean.
Ilya gently took her from him, murmuring softly in Russian, his words a quiet lullaby. Shane caught only fragments, but the tone—warm, steady, familiar—anchored him. Ilya passed her to David, and she settled immediately against his chest with a small sigh.
His parents nudged him toward the door, smiling but firm. He grabbed his bag, glancing back one last time. Through the doorway, he could hear his dad’s low, steady voice.
“You should start warming up her bottle in about fifteen minutes so it’s ready for her at 8:30,” he told his mom.
“Okay,” Yuna nodded, calm and competent in a way that steadied him slightly.
He hesitated, torn between leaving and checking on her one more time. Ilya opened the door, waiting, patient. Shane’s gaze lingered on the living room, listening to his dad whisper to the baby—each word a soft anchor to his anxiety.
“Go,” his mom urged, nudging him gently. “Go play hockey and be Shane again… not just daddy.”
He bit his lip, taking a shaky breath, and let Ilya guide him out the door. The world outside suddenly felt too large, too empty—without her warmth in his arms.