Chapter Text
Over the years, it became more obvious. To everyone else, that is.
“A–are you sure that’s Rozanov’s baby?”
But not to Shane. Because when he first laid eyes on that baby (that baby who wore an outfit that matched Ilya’s) Shane knew.
“Holy shit,” Shane whispered under his breath as the jumbotron caught the very first glimpse the world would ever see of Rozanov’s baby.
Because while everyone else was seeing Rozanov’s baby…
Shane was seeing something else.
He was thinking something else.
But everyone else? Well, they must not have known.
“Looks ugly, just like Rozanov.”
Or maybe they did know– but they bit their tongues.
“It must take after its mother.”
(Bit their tongues long enough for Ilya to return to the ice so that could lash him with their words and accusations that never seemed to faze him, no matter how much his opponents tried.)
Shane’s team didn’t know when Shane did. They didn’t even suspect it when the baby was still just a baby wrapped in a blanket while Ilya whispered damning information about the players on the ice in their ear.
But now, they knew. Or, at least, they suspected. Just like the rest of the hockey world suspected and speculated (and ridiculed Ilya behind his back) about the baby. About the parentage of the baby that Ilya Rozanov claimed was his…
“That baby… that baby can’t be his.”
Even when it seemed it was impossible for him to do so.
“Maybe it’s adopted?”
“No,” Another man shook his head, letting out a scoff that was both light and harsh as he quickly dismissed that suggestion, “An asshole like Rozanov would want to pass on his genes– make that bastard baby into his clone to terrorise a new generation.”
Shane stayed silent as he tugged off his jersey. He couldn’t argue that that wasn’t something Ilya would do– would want to do. Because it was.
Especially if his kid was the right age to be able to terrorize and make some of Hayden Pike’s children suffer. If his kid was young enough that some of Hayden’s children would be seen as the bullies if they retaliated against…
And if Rozanov’s kid was older than some of Hayden’s children (like the ones in Jackie’s stomach) that they could effectively push around and use whatever height they gained from their age to their advantage.
Shane wasn’t thinking that Ilya had planned this out– that he had planned to have a baby at the right time so it could perfectly terrorise Hayden Pike’s numerous children. But Hayden liked to think so– very, very loudly.
The topic of the baby’s parentage was a hot topic. And, at home games, it was the hottest topic in Boston. Both on and off the ice. And, for some reason, that topic seemed to be encouraged whenever the jumbotron lingered on the baby that nobody really thought was Rozanov’s (but most people did believe was Svetlana’s) for a second too long.
After the first few times the jumbotron (well, the person controlling the jumbotron) did that, the baby didn’t often accompany Svetlana. And after the few times when the lone Svetlana was booed when the jumbotron pinpointed her in the stands, almost like a laser helped direct a bullet (that was composed of both the home team and their rivals for the night) towards its target, she didn’t show up at games that much.
But tonight was different.
Tonight was probably the biggest game Boston would play this season.
Because tonight, if they lost, they would miss out on the chance of securing another Stanley Cup.
And, if Montreal lost…
Well, the stakes were the same. On the surface anyways. But, deep down, everyone knew that if Boston lost on their home turf… it would be much worse for them than Montreal. And that fact would make Montreal’s smiles widen just a little bit more when they destroyed Boston in their own area, on their own ice…
And in front of Boston’s own fans, that may boo Montreal, but would soon be doing nothing but holding their silence that was weighted with disappointment when Boston lost.
And they would lose. Shane had promised himself that Boston would lose.
That Ilya Rozanov would lose and go home crying…
Crying to a gorgeous woman. A woman who would never be able to comfort him like Shane dreamed of doing. But only dreamed of doing, not actually doing. Not like Svetlana had the privilege of doing. But maybe not the sole privilege of doing.
Maybe she didn’t get to greedily keep that privilege to herself. Maybe she had to share.
(Maybe, one day, she would have to share with Shane.)
Shane sucked in a deep breath as that terrible thought fluttered across his mind, trying to fight the smile that threatened to creep onto his lips. Because a smile wasn’t appropriate. That idea wasn’t appropriate. Not now that Ilya was a married man– a married man with a child, a family. A family that Shane could not allow himself to have a hand in breaking apart.
That is, if it wasn’t already broken apart.
(If it wasn’t already closed, instead of open, in the first place.)
Shane cleared his throat, bringing a gloved hand to his mouth to catch the cough…
And to hide whatever expression the bottom half of his mouth was shamefully and subconsciously morphing into. His mouth that had better fix itself before Shane got into position to face Ilya Rozanov for the first time since–
Well, for the first time since Shane walked out on him and walked straight into the arms of a woman.
Something that, bitterly, Shane reminded himself that Ilya followed his lead and did too. And, of course, Ilya had to one up him. He didn’t have to only walk into the arms of a woman…
He had to slip his dick into her (again) and create something that Shane knew he shouldn’t be so miserable about.
A baby.
A baby whose arms would always reach out and welcome Ilya, just in a different way than how Ilya was probably used to other people opening their arms to him.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Shane skated up to Ilya who was already closer to the ice than any other person. But soon, that would change. Because, soon, Shane would join him. He would lower himself down slightly and get in position for the face off. Get into position to win the face off.
Some people thought that the only way to win a face off against Rozanov was to rattle him. To make sure that Rozanov found himself in the penalty box (sometimes before the game even began).
But Shane wasn’t like that– he didn’t intend to rely on those methods to win against Rozanov.
And he wasn’t that foolish to try to chirp Rozanov the same way everyone else seemed to love doing recently. Because he didn’t want the solid (but slippery) ground beneath his feet to suddenly give way, to melt from the heat radiating from an angry Russian.
An angry Russian that Shane’s mom once commented that he didn’t seem angry. Not completely anyways.
Yuna Hollander liked to claim there was something else – something like a sad type of duty Ilya needed to complete – before he shoulder checked someone for an earlier comment. A comment that he rarely reacted to at the second those words and implications flew from another person’s lips. But he did react to them.
And, sometimes, the referees that everyone was smart enough to have in their line of sight when they made those comments did have to drag Ilya away from someone else. Sometimes, Ilya was thrown (or, well, ordered) into the penalty box.
But only when he was certain Boston wouldn’t suffer for his vacated spot on the ice.
Only when he was certain he could risk defending his family without risking losing the game.
“It must feel good,” Shane muttered while Ilya’s eyes were gazing down at the ice below their feet.
While Ilya’s eyes still remained trained on the ground that only some people could master like they did, even when Shane spoke. Even when Shane continued to speak, despite feeling like Ilya was going to continue to ignore him.
“Your family’s here,” Shane’s eyes flickered up towards the seats where he knew Ilya’s wife and child usually occupied, “It must feel good.”
Shane thought Ilya’s eyes would remain on the ice until the puck dropped. But, he was wrong.
Because Ilya’s eyes that Shane felt could freeze the blood coursing through his veins finally swept up. They finally landed on Shane.
And Shane almost wished they hadn’t. Because he found he couldn’t look away, even when he tried. Even when he knew he should.
“Must it?” Ilya asked like he was bored.
Like Shane, and his question, was just an inconvenience to him.
Shane swallowed, “Yeah,” he bit his lip, “Your family never comes to your games.”
Ilya didn’t look confused. Not for a single second. Because Ilya was sharp, he was quick to catch every single meaning of every word and action people threw at him.
But, still, he decided to pretend he didn’t know what Shane meant. He pretended to fall back into the stereotype that everyone still possessed about him.
That he was stupid. That he didn’t understand.
An assumption that was stupid. Because, to Shane anyways, it was obvious that Ilya wasn’t stupid. Wasn't stupid like Ilya had once joked (or maybe that wasn’t a joke) his accent was.
“They come,” Ilya muttered the words like a fact.
A fact that, nowadays, was true. But only because Ilya built himself a family that did that.
“I’m not talking about your wife and her kid–” Shane began to explain, to try to coax Ilya to drop teh act and admit he knew exactly what Shane was talking about.
But, before he could continue, his words were cut off. By Ilya’s harsh voice… that sounded so painful for him to create and riddle with words.
“My kid,” Ilya practically growled, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto Shane’s, “Our kid,” he corrected himself, aching voice softening slightly as something strange appeared in his eyes.
Something strange that Ilya forced to vanish nearly as quickly as it subconsciously appeared.
Shane blinked at the other man whose eyes were forced back to the ice he was content to have another staring contest with.
And then, he did something foolish. Because he bit his lip…
But he didn’t bite his tongue.
Something that he really should have done. Because, if he bit his tongue then he wouldn’t have parted his lips and allowed one simple (but so loaded) question to slip from his lips.
“Are you sure?”
If he bit his tongue, he probably would have won the face off.
If he bit his tongue – and then continued to bite his tongue to stop the stilted explanation from fluttering from his lips – he probably wouldn’t have been shoulder checked so hard into the boards he was certain his ancestors could feel it.
If he bit his tongue and accepted the lie that Ilya told himself to save himself from humiliation…
He was certain he wouldn’t feel like he lost something (well, someone) other than the game.