Chapter Text
The drive back to Ottawa didn’t feel real. It felt like something happening behind glass, like he was watching himself from a few feet to the left, slightly out of sync with his own body. The kids were quiet in the backseat, not silent, not empty, just… quiet in that way children get when they’ve run out of words for something too big.
Arthur had fallen asleep with his cheek pressed to the window, mouth open, breath fogging the glass. Jade was curled into Ruby, who had her headphones in but wasn’t watching anything; the screen was black. She just held the tablet like a shield. Amber made soft, hiccupy noises every now and then, the kind that meant she was dreaming about something she didn’t like.
Shane kept both hands on the wheel even though the car had lane assist. He didn’t trust himself to let go. His fingers were stiff, knuckles pale, and every time he blinked he saw the Pike house - the way the light had fallen across the living room floor, the way the air had felt too still, too heavy, too wrong.
He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until they crossed into the city limits and Ilya softly placed his hand on his thigh.
Ilya patted his thigh, turning his head slightly. “You are squeezing wheel like it owes you money.”
Shane didn’t look at him, fingers tightening. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” Ilya said, calm, not pushing. “But you are driving. So maybe loosen fingers before they fall off.”
Shane exhaled through his nose, a shaky, humourless sound. “I’ll try.”
He didn’t.
But he tried.
Two days before, Ilya and Shane had been spotted at Clément, purchasing car seats and bottles and toys, and there were videos and photos and the cashier whose mouth had dropped open at the sight of them. The internet had plastered the photos everywhere and the comments, fuck. The comments were brutal.
Shane had cried on Ilya’s chest, and he had shushed him and said, “It’s okay, solnyshko. It’s okay.” Shane had sobbed and clawed at his eyes, his brain unpacking the last week and how everything, everything, had changed. And even when he had managed to calm down, Ilya’s hand stroking through his hair, he hadn’t managed to shake the sick feeling that had cemented itself in his stomach.
When Shane went to sleep that night, he saw the faces of Hayden and Jackie, smiling, dancing in the kitchen at the cottage. His brain had replayed those last few nights of normalcy like a lullaby - but Shane knew this beat too well. There was a thudding - growing tense in the background. A beat of a drum and a quickening of the heart, and before he knew it, it was a nightmare. A shaking, stirring nightmare about being in the car with the Pike’s when the truck in the lane next to them had swerved, had caused them to roll, had smashed into a tree with a high speed screech and a sob. But it wasn’t the horror of the crash that woke him that night, sweating through his t-shirt and hair sticking up on end, it was the niggling thought that pressed in his heart - did you hug Hayden before he left that day? Did you tell him you loved him?
The kids stirred when they turned onto Mariposa Avenue. The house - their house - sat at the end of the street, the big old brick place with the wide porch and the maple tree that always dropped leaves too early. Yuna had been there earlier in the week, cleaning, organising, making sure the bedrooms were ready. She had baby-proofed the whole house, sending him proud pictures. Shane hadn’t asked her to. She’d just done it, because she was Yuna and because she loved him and because she’d known - somehow - that he wouldn’t have the brain capacity to organise for someone to do that yet.
He pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. The silence hit him like a wave.
“Okay,” he said, too brightly. “We’re home.”
The word felt strange in his mouth.
Home.
He wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.
Getting everyone inside took longer than it should have. Arthur insisted on carrying his own backpack, which meant he dropped it twice and then cried because the zipper scratched his hand. Jade clung to Ruby’s sleeve like she was afraid the house might swallow her whole. Amber refused to be put down at all, her little fists gripping Shane’s shirt with surprising strength.
Ilya carried the bags. All of them. Shane didn’t know how he did it - three duffels, two backpacks, a tote bag full of snacks, and the diaper bag slung over one shoulder - but he did it without complaint, without even looking strained.
The house smelled like lemon cleaner and something faintly floral. Yuna. Shane felt his throat tighten.
He set Amber down in the living room, but she immediately crawled back to him, pulling herself upright on his jeans. He picked her up again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She smelled like baby shampoo and sleep.
Ruby stood in the middle of the room, looking around with a strange, guarded expression. “It’s… different.”
Shane swallowed. “Yeah. It is.”
“The backyard is big,” Arthur announced, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “It smells like Nana.”
Ruby elbowed him. “Don’t say that.”
Arthur frowned, confused. “Why not?”
Ruby didn’t answer. She just wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the stairs like they were a mountain she wasn’t sure she could climb.
Shane felt something twist in his chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to go upstairs yet. We can sit for a bit. Or have a snack. Or -”
“I’m fine,” Ruby said quickly, too quickly. “I just… I want to see my room.”
Her voice wobbled on the last word.
Shane nodded. “Okay. We can do that.”
Ilya appeared beside them, setting the bags down with a soft thud. “I will take them up,” he said. “You stay with Amber.”
Shane opened his mouth to argue - he didn’t want to be the one who stayed behind, he wanted to help, to be there - but Ilya gave him a look. A gentle one. A knowing one.
Shane closed his mouth.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
Ilya nodded once, then headed upstairs.
Shane could hear the questions from the living room and Ilya’s loving replies. Can we paint the walls? Of course. Would it be okay if I…um…could I move the desk to be over here? Yes, Jade. Whatever you want. Can I have a bunk bed? Arthur, I don’t think that's a great idea. He could hear Ruby snicker at that too, and could picture Arthur’s pout.
Amber toddled around the room, bumping into things, giggling every time she fell on her butt. Shane watched her with a tightness in his chest he couldn’t name.
They were here, and they were safe, and they were his responsibility.
He didn’t know how to hold all of that at once.
Ilya reappeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “They are settling in,” he murmured.
Shane nodded, though he wasn’t sure that was true.
He felt like he was standing on a fault line.
And the ground was shifting.
Dinner was a disaster before it even started.
Shane had planned something simple - pasta, salad, garlic bread - the kind of meal that didn’t require thinking. But the moment he put the pot on the stove, Amber started crying. Not a normal cry, not the tired whimper she did when she needed a nap. This was the full‑body, red‑faced, betrayed‑by-the-world kind of cry that made Shane’s heart lurch into his throat.
Ruby flinched at the sound. Jade covered her ears. Arthur shouted, “She’s too loud!” which only made Amber scream louder.
Shane felt his pulse spike. “Okay, okay, okay -”
He picked her up, bouncing her gently, but she arched her back and wailed harder. What the fuck was he supposed to do now - he flicked his eyes over to Ilya, a pleading please help me.
Ilya was already walking towards him, taking Amber with a practiced ease that made Shane’s chest ache. “I will take her,” he murmured. “You cook.”
Shane nodded, grateful and ashamed all at once.
He stirred the pasta, but his hands were shaking. The kitchen felt too hot, the air too thick. Every sound was amplified - the clatter of a spoon, the thump of Arthur’s feet, the soft, uneven breaths of Amber as she settled against Ilya’s chest.
When he drained the pasta, steam hit his face and he had to close his eyes for a second, grounding himself.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
You’re okay.
He wasn’t sure he believed it.
They sat at the table, plates in front of them, the overhead light too bright. Shane had dimmed it twice already, but it still felt like a spotlight. The panic from before had taken its place at the table, too.
Ruby pushed her pasta around with her fork. “It doesn’t taste like Mom’s.”
Shane’s stomach dropped. He felt heat hit his neck and crawl up. “I know,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to make it like hers. Just… something nice that you guys might like.”
Ruby’s jaw tightened. Her fork clattering against the bowl and her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s not the same.”
“No,” Shane said. “It’s not.”
Jade had stayed silent, staring at her own bowl.
Arthur took a huge bite, chewed twice, then spat it back onto his plate. “It’s yucky.”
Shane felt something inside him crack. “Okay,” he said, voice thin. “Okay. We can- we can make something else.”
“No,” Ruby said suddenly, eyes flashing to him and then back to the table. “Stop trying to fix everything.”
Shane froze. His fingers, which had somehow become entangled together, tensed. The heat on his neck travelled further, and he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes, threatening to fall. He looked to Ilya, who was sitting next to Jade. Ilya’s own eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape. Like he was about to interrupt, about to say something, and then -
Ruby’s face crumpled. She shoved her chair back and ran upstairs, footsteps pounding like a heartbeat. Jade didn’t even look up. Arthur looked slightly terrified at the sound, but there was a confused look on his face, eyebrows scrunched.
Amber, in Ilya’s arms, whimpered.
Shane sat there, useless, hollow, every instinct screaming at him to chase Ruby, to fix it, to make it better, but his legs wouldn’t move. There were tears on his own face now - peeling down. He felt his stomach turn, and wave of nausea and that feeling that was like a tub too full - one more drop and everything would flood, was teetering on spilling over.
Ilya touched his arm. “I will go,” he said quietly.
Shane didn’t say anything, he just nodded.
He watched Ilya disappear up the stairs, carrying Amber, moving with that steady, unshakeable calm Shane had always envied.
He sank into a chair, elbows on the table, hands covering his face.
Jade crawled into his lap without a word. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her small body shake with sobs. She was murmuring into his chest words that sounded a lot like I’m sorry.
Arthur hovered beside them, uncertain. Shane reached out with one arm and pulled him in too.
They stayed like that for a long time - a tangle of grief and fear and exhaustion - until Jade’s breathing evened out and Arthur’s head grew heavy on his shoulder.
Shane pressed his lips to the top of Jade’s hair.
“I’m trying,” he whispered. “I’m really trying.”
He wasn’t sure who he was saying it to.
He cleaned up the plates, and opened his phone and placed an order at the local pizza place. He didn’t have the energy left to care. Jade had taken Arthur to the living room and put on a movie.
He moved upstairs.
Ruby’s door was closed. Shane stood outside it, listening. He could hear Ilya’s voice - low, steady, patient. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was enough. It soothed something in him he hadn’t realised was raw.
He didn’t go in. He didn’t want to interrupt whatever was happening. He just leaned against the wall and let himself breathe.
When Ilya finally emerged, Amber asleep on his shoulder, he gave Shane a small nod.
“She is okay,” he said. “She needed space.”
Shane swallowed. “Did she… say anything?”
Ilya hesitated. “She said she is scared. And angry. And she does not know where to put those feelings.”
Shane’s chest tightened. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I get that.”
Ilya stepped closer, and pressed a kiss to Shane’s furrowed brows. Lowering his voice, “You are doing so well, solnyshko.”
Shane let out a shaky laugh. “I feel like I’m drowning.”
“I know,” Ilya said. “But you are a very good swimmer. Maybe if hockey doesn’t work out for you…”
Shane’s eyebrows raised and he looked at him then - really looked - and something warm and painful and overwhelming rose in his throat. Ilya’s lips had slightly tweaked up, his own cheeks flushed. He let out a short laugh when Shane replied,
“Shut up. Still trying to get rid of me? After all this time?”
“Oh.” Ilya grinned, “Just because we are on same team now, Hollander -” His accent was heavy and the r rolled on his tongue, “Does not mean that I forget about our rivalry.”
Shane felt himself come back from the edge a bit. Like he’d been given a bit of respite - a cold glass of water after a hard training session. His favourite hoodie, tucked next to his ears. His beautiful husband, the man standing oh so close, was extending a hand to him, pulling him back. And Shane took it.
They got the kids into bed eventually. Well, only after they had shared some soggy pizza on the living room floor and Ilya had slipped a few pieces on a paper plate into Ruby’s room. Jade fell asleep clutching Shane’s hand. Arthur insisted on checking the closet twice for monsters. Ruby didn’t want to talk to anyone, but she let Ilya sit on the floor beside her bed until her breathing steadied.
Amber slept in the crib next to their bed, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of her blanket.
Shane was tucked into Ilya’s collarbone, Ilya’s breath softly blowing against the back of his neck. Arms snaked and legs tangled. Shane felt like he’d run a marathon underwater. He was a good swimmer, he thought before he drifted off.
Shane woke to the sound of Amber babbling softly in the crib beside the bed, her voice rising and falling in little melodic bursts. For a moment he didn’t move. His body felt heavy, like he’d been poured into himself wrong. His eyes were gritty. His mouth tasted like sleep and salt.
But Amber was smiling at him through the bars of the crib, her hair sticking up in every direction, her cheeks flushed with morning warmth.
And somehow, that made it easier to sit up.
Ilya was already awake, pulling on a hoodie, hair damp from a shower. “Good morning, solnyshko,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss Shane’s temple. “Carolyn is here. She brought muffins.”
Shane blinked. “Carolyn’s here?”
“Yes. She said she was coming yesterday, but you were… tired.” Ilya’s voice softened. “We are taking kids to the park. You stay with Amber. Rest.”
Shane opened his mouth to argue - he didn’t need rest, he needed to be useful, he needed to be doing something - but Amber let out a delighted squeal and reached for him with both hands.
He sighed. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll stay.”
Ilya smiled, kissed him again, and left the room.
Shane scooped Amber up, pressing his face into her warm neck. She smelled like milk and sleep and something sweet he couldn’t name. She patted his cheek with a sticky hand.
“Hi,” he whispered, “How’d you sleep, sweetheart?”
Amber only giggled and pulled at the ends of his hair.
The house felt different in the morning light. Softer. Less haunted. Shane carried Amber downstairs, her little legs bouncing against his hip. Carolyn was in the kitchen, hair in a messy bun, wearing a sweatshirt that had a faded Montreal logo on the right hand. Probably Jackie’s, Shane thought.
She looked up when he entered. “Hey, stranger.”
Shane managed a smile. “Hey.”
She crossed the room and hugged him - a real hug, tight and warm and grounding. “You look like you slept in a ditch.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it with love.”
“I know.”
She pulled back, hand tickling the back of Amber’s neck and studying him. “You okay?”
“No,” Shane said honestly. “I tried to cook last night…pasta -”
Carolyn stuck up a hand, a soft, reserved look on her face, “Don’t say anymore. I know where this is going.”
“I didn’t think they would hate it.” Shane said, shifting Amber onto his other hip, hand grabbing a bottle and untwisting the top, “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I thought pasta would be fine.”
Carolyn nodded, and knowingly said, “Jackie had this recipe she always used. I’ll see if I can find it for you - I think she snuck some veggies in there, but the secret,” Carolyn looked behind her, checking that there were no listening ears and dropped her voice, “is a slice of butter. And stir it in well.”
Shane sighed. Of course. He filled the bottle with the cooled boiled water and added a few scoops of formula in, twisting the cap shut.
Carolyn continued, “I know Jackie had a little book where she kept all the things that the kids liked. I’ll find it for you when I get back to Montreal. There’s a particular brand of yoghurt that Arthur likes as well, I’ll see if I can pick up a few things while I’m out.”
Shane looked at her, and felt the cement that had landed low in his stomach crack a bit.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
It was at that moment that the kids thundered down the stairs, jackets half‑zipped, shoes untied, arguing about who got to hold the soccer ball. Ilya herded them toward the door with the patience of a saint.
“We will be back in two hours,” he told Shane. “Maybe three.”
Shane nodded, shifting Amber on his hip and handing her the bottle. “Have fun.”
Arthur shouted, “We will!” and Jade added, “Don’t burn the house down!” before Carolyn ushered them all outside.
The door closed.
Silence settled.
Amber rested her head on Shane’s shoulder, tip of the bottle in her mouth.
For the first time since the funeral, the house felt… manageable.
Not easy.
Not light.
But manageable.
Shane made tea. Amber sat in her high chair, banging a spoon against the tray like she was conducting an orchestra. He sliced a muffin into tiny pieces for her, watching her shove them into her mouth with sticky enthusiasm. He wiped the bench, he threw the paper plates from last night’s pizza in the bin. He went to put two bottles into the steriliser, only stopping when he realized that he had absolutely no idea how to work the machine. Good swimmer, better hockey player, he thought, shit at this whole guardian thing.
He opened his laptop, and typed in how to use a steriliser. Then, how to use a steriliser youtube. He was a visual learner at heart.
Once the machine had been switched on, filled, and bottles in, he went back to his laptop.
He didn’t know what he was looking for at first. He just knew he needed to do something. Something practical. Something that made him feel like he wasn’t drowning.
He typed: elementary schools Ottawa.
A list appeared.
He clicked through websites, reading about catchment areas and French immersion programs and after‑school care. He bookmarked three. He filled out a contact form for one of them, hands trembling slightly as he typed:
Hello,
My name is Shane Hollander. My husband and I have recently taken guardianship of four children…
He paused.
Guardianship.
The word looked strange on the screen.
He kept typing.
…and we’re hoping to learn more about enrollment options for the upcoming term.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Next, he opened his email and drafted a message to Coach:
Hey — Ilya and I need to talk. It’s about the kids. And the season. And everything else. Can we meet this week?
He stared at the cursor blinking at the end of the sentence.
Then he hit send. We’re being brave today, a voice in the back of his mind said.
Amber dropped her spoon. It clattered loudly against the floor. She looked at him, startled, lower lip wobbling.
“It’s okay,” Shane murmured, picking it up. “Just gravity being rude.”
Amber giggled. Shane felt something warm bloom in his chest. He continued to potter - ignoring the slight shake of his hands - taking some of the toys out of the kids duffle bags and placing them in the living room, picking Amber up on the way and turning on Bluey. That one had come up as an ad while he was watching ‘How to sterilise baby bottles’ before. He bounced Amber on his lap, while she smacked her hands together to the theme song.
He felt his phone buzz, and glanced at the screen.
Rose: You awake?
Shane exhaled, a soft, shaky sound.
He typed back:
Yeah.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Call me.
Shane moved to turn down the television and put Amber on the floor, and hesitated only a second before tapping the screen.
Rose answered on the first ring.
“Okay,” she said, voice low and familiar and grounding. “Talk to me.”
Shane didn’t even get a full breath in before everything started pouring out of him - not in order, not cleanly, just a rush of everything he’d been holding in his chest.
He told her how dinner had gone sideways so fast he still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong. How Ruby’s face had twisted, how her voice had cracked, how she’d run upstairs like she was escaping a fire. How Jade had folded into him, apologising for things she couldn’t name. How Arthur had looked at him like he was supposed to know how to fix the world. How Amber had screamed until his bones vibrated.
He told her how the house felt wrong - too big, too empty, too full, too loud, too quiet. How every room echoed with something he couldn’t name. How he kept catching himself listening for footsteps that would never come.
He told her he couldn’t stop seeing Hayden’s face when he closed his eyes. He didn’t tell her about the dream.
His voice cracked when he tried to explain the guilt, the exhaustion, the way he felt like he was trying to hold four kids and his own grief and the entire shape of his life together with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
And then - almost without meaning to - he found himself talking about Ilya.
About the steadiness.
The way he’d stepped in without hesitation, taking Amber from his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he’d gone upstairs after Ruby, quiet and sure, like he knew exactly how to move through a house full of grief. The way he’d sat on the floor beside her bed until she finally fell asleep, long after Shane’s own nerves had frayed.
The way he’d pressed a kiss to Shane’s forehead in the hallway, murmuring something soft and ridiculous just to pull him back from the edge.
The way he always seemed to know when Shane was about to break - and reached for him before he did.
Shane’s voice wavered as he tried to explain the knot in his chest, the strange mix of comfort and guilt. Like he was drowning and Ilya was somehow still upright, still breathing, still holding everything together with those quiet, capable hands.
Like he didn’t deserve someone that steady when he felt this unsteady.
He didn’t realise he was crying until he heard Rose inhale sharply on the other end - not surprised, not pitying, just… there.
She didn’t interrupt, and when he had gone quiet, she said, “Oh Shane. You always get so in your head about these things. You are doing your absolute best.”
Shane pressed a hand to his forehead. “I don’t feel like I am.”
“Well,” Rose said, “you’ve never been a reliable narrator of your own life.”
Despite himself, Shane let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be comforting. It’s meant to be true.”
He wiped his face with the heel of his hand. “I feel like I’m failing them.”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” Rose said, firm but gentle, “I do. Because failing would mean not trying. And you’re trying so hard you’re practically bleeding out.”
Shane swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It won’t,” she said. “Not for a while. That’s grief. That’s parenting. That’s… life, I guess.”
He let his head fall back against the wall. “Ruby hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Rose said immediately. “She hates the situation. She hates the unfairness. She hates that she’s twelve and the world just ripped the floor out from under her. And you’re the safest person in the room, so she’s going to throw it at you.”
Shane closed his eyes. “I don’t know how to help her. I feel like I always know the answer- ”
“You don’t have to know,” Rose interrupted. “You just have to be there when she comes back down. When she has the questions.”
He breathed out slowly. “And Jade keeps apologising. For everything. For existing.”
“That’s what anxious kids do,” Rose said softly. “They try to make themselves small so no one gets upset. I’m certain you were like that. Ask Yuna.”
Shane winced. He thought of Ilya, how he had said that Jade reminded him of himself too. He added that to the list of ‘things he needs to talk to his husband about’. His hand rubbed his face roughly, “Yeah.”
“So you know what she needs. Consistency. Softness. Someone who won’t let her disappear. Yuna Hollander has been training you for this - you already know it.”
He nodded, throat tight.
“And Arthur?” Rose continued. “He’s a little boy who just lost the two people who made the world make sense. Confusion is normal. Acting out is normal. Spitting out pasta is normal.”
Shane huffed out a breath. “I thought the pasta was pretty good.”
“Shane,” Rose said dryly, “you once burned water.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three times.”
He let out a weak laugh. “Okay, fine.”
“And Amber?” Rose said. “She’s a baby. Babies cry. Babies cling. Babies feel everything without knowing what anything means.”
Shane’s eyes flickered to the little girl sitting at his feet, playing with a book and babbling. He rubbed his eyes. “I just… I want to do right by them.”
“You are,” Rose said. “You’re showing up. You’re loving them. You’re letting yourself be terrified and still doing it anyway. That’s what good parents do.”
Shane’s voice cracked. “I’m not their parent.”
“Shane,” Rose said, and her voice softened in a way that made his chest ache, “you’re the one who got them home. You’re the one who’s feeding them. You’re the one who’s checking their closets for monsters. You’re the one they’re running to when they’re scared.”
She took a breath, “Fuck. What has happened is fucked up and it’s scary and it’s terrifying. But Hayden did this for a reason, Shane. And… and sometimes, for families to exist, biology doesn’t need to have anything to do with it.”
He didn’t speak.
He couldn’t.
Rose let the silence sit for a moment before adding, “And you’re grieving too. You lost your friends. Your best friends. You lost your normal. You lost the version of your life you thought you were walking into. You’re allowed to be a mess.”
Shane swallowed hard. “I keep thinking… did I hug Hayden before he left that day? Did I tell him I loved him? I can’t remember.”
“That’s not guilt,” Rose said gently. “That’s grief trying to rewrite the past. You loved him. He knew. That’s enough.”
Shane pressed his palm to his chest, like he could hold himself together. “I don’t feel like enough.”
“You don’t have to feel like it,” Rose said. “You just have to keep going.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Ilya’s doing everything. He’s so steady. I feel like I’m drowning and he’s just… fine.”
“He’s not fine,” Rose said. “He’s just Russian.”
Shane snorted. “Rose.”
“I’m serious. He compartmentalises like it’s a sport. You know this. He’s drowning too, he’s just doing it with better posture.”
Shane laughed again - a real one this time.
“And Shane?” Rose added, voice softening again. “He chose you. He’s choosing you every day. Let him help you.”
Shane closed his eyes. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m proud of you.”
That undid him more than anything else.
He didn’t speak for a long time.
Rose didn’t push.
Finally, she said, “Call me tomorrow.”
“I will.”
Shane stayed on the couch for a long time after that. His phone still in his hand, Amber’s soft weight was now pressed against his shoulder, asleep. Her breath puffed against his neck in tiny, even bursts. There were cracks in the cement in his stomach and he let himself lean into it. Just for a minute.
Just long enough to feel the ground under him again.
He pressed a kiss to the top of Amber’s head. “We’re okay,” he whispered, not sure if he was talking to her or himself. “We’re okay right now.”
And for that one moment, he almost believed it.
His laptop pinged. A sharp, clean sound that cut straight through the calm.
Shane’s stomach tightened before he even turned toward it. Amber shifted in his arms, murmuring in her sleep. He adjusted her carefully, stood, and crossed to the table.
A new email.
From Marianne.
Subject: Update on the Pike guardianship case
The fragile steadiness he’d built in the last hour wavered.
He clicked it open.
Shane,
I’ve received new correspondence from opposing counsel. We need to discuss this as soon as possible. Call me when you can.
His pulse quickened. The room felt smaller. The air felt heavier.
He swallowed, trying to keep his breathing even, trying not to wake Amber with the sudden spike of adrenaline. His hands were trembling. Enough that he felt it in the hinge of his jaw, in the tight pull of his shoulders.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the screen, the words blurring at the edges. Correspondence from opposing counsel.
He knew what that meant.
He knew what direction the tide was carrying him. Carrying them. Shane Hollander was a good swimmer, yes, but when you’re being pulled under and under by crashing waves, and the salt is stinging your eyes and the dark sea is opening, sometimes being good isn’t enough.