Chapter Text
The night is warm, at least for October, not a cloud in the sky, no lights close by. The Hollander’s cottage is quiet; the only sounds are the crackling of the fire, the occasional rustle as animals moving around in the woods beyond, and the soft clink of glass on wood whenever Yuna places her wine glass back on the table. They had watched the game and then decided to come out here and enjoy the autumn night, to calm down.
Ilya adjusts the blanket around Luna, shifts his gaze away from her sweet face and towards the sky. It is full of stars, bright here, far away from the city. Hundreds and thousands of them, and the same person who has placed the freckles on Shane Hollander’s cheeks and nose must have sprinkled them onto the firmament.
“Ah, husband withdrawal makes me a romantic, I think,” he whispers, and Luna makes a sound that must surely mean she agrees, but thinks he has gone mad.
“Did you say something?” David sits up a bit, reaching out to add another log to the fire, making a few sparks fly.
“No, just miss Shane.”
He’d started missing him the moment he drove off, managed all but eight hours before asking Yuna and David to come over for dinner. They had decided to go and stay at the cottage for a bit. Luckily, Luna loved car rides and slept for the entire two-hour drive. The week had been spent going on hikes, collecting and storing wood for the winter and finishing two jigsaw puzzles. It would have been the perfect week had Shane been here instead of New York.
They had talked at least once every day, Shane had read for Luna in the evenings, making her fall asleep, and once, Ilya as well. It’s far from perfect, but they will manage. Everyone else in the NHL does. Women do this all the time, waiting for their hockey player husbands to come home, raising families. Jacky does it, and she is wildly outnumbered. But then, there is one more kid when her husband is actually home.
“He’ll be back in less than 24 hours,” Yuna reaches over to squeeze his arm, then, as if unable to resist, runs her palm along her granddaughter’s back. “And then he will be home for over a week, right?”
“Yes,” Ilya focuses on the stars again. “Just need to … get used…,” he tries to find the word.
“Adjust to the situation?” She suggests.
“Yes, adjust,” he nods. “But don’t tell Shane. He feels bad he has to leave. Don’t want him to feel bad.”
Yuna smiles softly, wrapping her blanket around herself more tightly. “He wants to be perfect in everything, doesn’t he? Best captain, best Dad. He needs to adjust to the fact that you can’t be perfect at being a parent.”
Ilya smiles at her, and he knows she understands, even when his next words are teasing.
“I am already best Dad. I am not boring Dad.” Ilya directs that last part at Luna. “We will have adventures, and Daddy will be so scared for our safety. But he is reliable dad. He will have plan for everything. That is important. Need both in life, yes?”
Luna gurgles, tiny hand reaching for his finger, wrapping hers around it. “Just too bad you are left alone with chaos parent, not safe parent. But that makes it fun. And we manage, you and me.”
She gurgles, then yawns.
“That is sign. Let’s go call Daddy so you can sleep.”
Ilya untangles from the blanket, then gets up. “Good night, grandma and grandpa.” He takes Luna’s hand in his and waves. “See you tomorrow.”
Ilya gets his daughter changed and dressed for bed. He takes his phone, only to find multiple messages from Shane. The first is a reply to Ilya’s text.
Ilya:
Congratulations! Hat trick next time, okay?
Shane:
Thank you – I’ll try.
The boys want to go out and celebrate a bit before our flight tomorrow.
I recorded the new part of the book for Luna.
*file attached*
Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night.
Love you.
His stomach drops. He had been looking forward to this all day, to seeing Shane’s cute face, eyes still sparkling from the excitement of winning, lips pulling into a smile the moment he sees their daughter.
Maybe he needs more time to adjust to this than he thought. Not that he regrets retirement, not when he gets to hang out with his little moon all day, but it is very different from the life he has led so far. He’ll get better at it, like he always does. For now, it sucks, and Ilya just wants to complain to his husband about it, but his husband, for once, is out there having fun with his team, and Ilya would never ruin that for him.
Gently, he settles Luna down in her travel cot, before he sits on the bed to reply.
Ilya:
Best hockey player in league, now that I’m retired.
Have fun. Don’t go too hard on ginger ale.
Thank you for recording. I will play it for her.
Baby misses you.
The three dots flicker over the screen as Shane types, and Ilya imagines him sitting at the bar, at least four empty chairs between him and the next person, secluded even among people, among friends. Hopefully, Wyatt will sit with him, soon, make sure he relaxes a bit.
Shane:
And Luna? Does she miss me, too?
That tears a laugh from Ilya’s throat, one that startles Luna.
Ilya:
Yes, a lot. We both do.
But we see you tomorrow.
Now, get off your phone. Is rude, Hollander.
I love you.
Shane:
Might turn it off, so I can’t get tempted.
I love you. See you soon.
Ilya scrolls up, downloads the file. He hides his phone between the mattress and the side of the cot, dims the light as Shane’s voice fills the room, gentle, low, tongue easily wrapping around the French words. Maybe this could be one of his projects for retirement, learn French. Secretly, surprise Shane with it. Could be sexy.
His hand keeps rubbing circles on his daughter’s chest and belly, soothing her as she slowly drifts into sleep, dark eye lashes falling onto pink cheeks, and after about twenty minutes, finally remaining there.
She is asleep, just as Shane, in the recording, switches to English. “We will hear more about the little prince, soon. Sleep now, Luna. I love you.”
Careful not to disturb the sleeping baby, Ilya removes his hand, grabbing the phone to switch it off. He considers going outside again, sitting by the fire. But then, he feels so sad right now, and he does not want to burden his parents-in-law with any of that.
“It would not be a burden, they care,” A voice that sounds like Galina’s says. He needs to talk to her about this at their next appointment. Ilya lays on the bed, still fully dressed, staring at the ceiling. It is only nine, but he is tired to the bone. He has not slept through a single night, not with Luna needing a bottle every few hours. So far, Shane and him have taken turns. Now, it is all on Ilya.
Slowly, he turns his head to look at his daughter, and his heart swells with love at the sight of her. She is all worth it, of course, and more. She is the love between Shane and him personified, even if Ilya had little to do with creating her. He makes up for that in raising her, in caring for her, and that is more important than being the captain of any hockey team ever – sorry, Centaurs.
Ilya is asleep before he even notices.
Luna’s cries tear him from his dream. Ilya is on his feet before his eyes are open properly, and he scoops her up, mouth somehow forming words to sooth her. Her tiny fist clench into his T-shirt, face red and wet with tears. He trails kisses over her scrunched cheek and nose as he carries her to the kitchen.
Making a bottle, feeding her, burping her, it is all down to muscle memory, now. He can go back to sleep, soon, get in a few more hours of rest.
Luna does not agree with that plan. Instead of falling back to sleep, she starts crying as soon as he tries to place her in her bed, and even against his chest, she fights to keep her eyes open, looking up at him so sadly.
“I know, Малышка. Would be more easy if you just sleep. And when you wake up, Papa will be in better mood, and then Daddy will come home in evening, and …” Ilya wants to cry with her. He is exhausted and lonely, and his child just won’t sleep.
Ilya paces along the windows, nothing but darkness outside, the only source of light fighting it is the small lamp on his bedside table, and it makes him feel incredibly small, somehow. In moments like this, Ilya wishes his mother was here. She’d know what to do. She’d always been so patient with him, would go so gently, not ever making him see the tiredness and frustration that she must have felt at times.
And she had done it all without her husband’s support. Even if father had been there, he was never involved in raising his sons. Ilya should count himself lucky, because he has Shane, and he has Yuna and David.
And finally, his daughter is asleep, her mouth relaxed, hand resting against her own head. Ilya bites back a sigh of relief, not wanting to startle her. He keeps rocking her, afraid to put her back into her cot, afraid she might wake again.
When he does, she makes a long, soft sound, but stays asleep.
Thank God.
This time, he manages to kick off his jeans before he climbs under the covers.