Chapter Text
Ilya woke up alone, the other side of the bed made and cold, but he had expected that. Laying in bed, blinking at the bedroom ceiling, he knew where he’d find Shane — in the kitchen wiping counters, or re-cleaning the stovetop, or counting the number of drinks in the refrigerator.
Ilya tipped his head up off his pillow. The sunrise hadn’t even crested the trees yet. He dropped back flat. They had hours before their guests would show up, but mentioning it would only make it worse. And Shane had been on edge for days.
For Hayden Pike, Ilya thought bitterly. All this fussing and cleaning, this worrying and list-making, this missing sleep and morning lie-ins, and for what. For Hayden fucking Pike, who Ilya had invited in a month or so earlier.
For Shane, he reminded himself. He was doing this for Shane. Was going to put up with the Montreal forward’s smarmy quips for Shane. He was going to entertain a small pack of children for two days. For Shane, his partner, his best friend. His wife, who never asked for anything big from him, but who wanted to have her old friends back in her life, and there was nothing Ilya wouldn’t do for her.
Ilya rubbed his eyes then hauled his body up out of bed. For Shane, he repeated as his toes pressed into the rug. For Shane, he exhaled as he walked to the bathroom.
The post-season still ached in his limbs no matter how much yoga Shane put him through, or how her hands pressed into his shoulders and back. She had told him on the drive up from Ottawa that it was making him grumpy, no matter how in denial he was or how much he tried to hide it from her. Hot showers helped. So did Tylenol. Anything to not be grumpy when the Pikes arrived at their door.
Invading their sanctuary. With an invitation.
Ilya grumbled as he stepped fully under the spray. The hot water beat across his neck and back, sluiced over his hair and into his eyes. He clamped them shut, pressed his lips together in a fine line, and let it scorch pink across his skin. When he stepped clear, he shook his head out like a dog, pulling in a deep breath and blinking his eyes back open. Palms flat to his face, he pushed his hands up to his hairline, over and down the back of his head. Slicking his hair back, shoving another cascade of water down across his shoulders.
There wasn’t anything wrong with Hayden Pike. Ilya could privately admit that much. Truthfully, before the MHL Awards that year, Ilya hadn’t thought about the man outside of Ottawa-Montreal games four times a season. He didn’t hate the man. Ilya wasn’t even all that bothered by him, when he bothered to notice him.
Needling other players on the ice, getting under their skin, performing the animosity for a sliver of attention – that is what he enjoyed. It wasn’t personal. He liked the reaction, and used it as fuel, motivation. After the chirping was over and the buzzer had gone, Ilya left the words where they lay on the ice. He moved on. Just his luck, Shane was the only other person who seemed to understand that odd interplay, and she had been retired for four seasons.
Ilya soaped his body, his face, and rinsed it off. He scratched shampoo through his damp hair, and rinsed that clear too. The morning light strengthened in the tall windows, cheerful and clear. It didn’t do anything to lessen Ilya’s sour mood. He shut off the taps and stepped out.
Hayden Pike didn’t bother him. Neither did his wife, or his small army of children, or that he played for Montreal. What bothered him, Ilya had realized, was the anxiety this whole thing inspired in Shane. So much so, Ilya wished he had kept his mouth shut in Las Vegas rather than suggest a visit. He’d meant well by it, Shane had been excited by the prospect of it, but Ilya had spent the last three days watching helplessly as his wife spun her wheels over a friend she hadn’t spoken to in years. A friend she hadn’t come out to, had left in the dark, and with purpose.
So why invite him back in?
Ilya toweled himself dry, wrapping it around his waist as he went about the rest of his routine. Brushed teeth, combing product through his hair, ran a razor over his cheeks and jaw before splashing aftershave onto his skin. He frowned at his reflection.
Shane had made him promise to play nice. Three times, she had asked him to please put whatever issues he had aside for the two and a half days, and if he couldn’t do it, then he could bunk with her parents for the weekend. Three times, Ilya had promised he would put away the chirping and needling, that he would do everything to help her however he could. The ink was dry on their marriage certificate, but their vows weren’t yet two months old. Ilya had no intention of going back on anything he had said.
He hated to watch her worry. He hated feeling helpless, hands tied and not in a fun way. He hated knowing that the best way to keep Shane happy, sane, and upright was to be hands off. To watch, to listen, to be on his best behavior; to unbury the boy who his mother had dressed in neat outfits for parties, spoke politely to his father’s guests, and preened at their compliments. Something to show off, something to distract.
Ilya dressed in soft joggers and a worn Boston tee shirt. He’d take it off before their guests arrived, even without Shane’s insistence. For the morning, it would be a quiet kind of armor.
In the kitchen, Shane was as expected — coffee cup in one hand, a disinfectant wipe in the other, running perfect circles over the countertops. Ilya ignored that in favor of the brighter things about her — the swing of her ponytail against the back of her neck, her reading glasses perched on the top of her head; the sound of a podcast playing quietly, the bottle of creamer standing on the counter without its lid on, a sign she had used it in her own coffee that morning.
If he also took time to appreciate the fit of her yoga top over her chest, and how her leggings showcased her ample curves, then that was Ilya’s prerogative. He appreciated every millimeter of her, every moment he got the chance, but Ilya was certainly more versed at certain kinds of appreciation. He’d always been better with his hands than his words.
“Morning,” Ilya said, his first words spoken all day.
Shane didn’t startle, but turned and grinned at him. “Morning.” She tossed the wipe into the trash can, rinsed her one hand quickly, then crossed to him for a kiss. “Sleep okay?”
Decent, chaste, family-friendly — a sure sign of what awaited Ilya until the Pikes left. At least the night before had been one worth talking about.
“Yes, okay.” Ilya pulled her in for a stronger, deeper kiss simply on the memory of her spread out beneath him, whining into the sheets as he speared her open with his tongue. She melted just the same now, clinging to his shoulders and matching each delving flick of his tongue with one of her own.
She pulled away, flushed and honey-eyed. “Jesus.”
“A good morning, yes?” Ilya grinned, his laugh no more than a rumble in his throat.
“Sure is.” Shane considered him, drawing a hand up and down his neck. Toying with the curls behind his ears. Putting more of her body weight into the cradle of his palms. “Too bad we have so much left to do.”
Ilya shook his head. “Mmm, no. We’ve done everything. Everything is ready.”
“I have—.”
“No, no, no. You did everything. I know it. All done—.”
“Ilya.” She frowned.
“Shane.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “It is still early. They won’t be here until later.” He squeezed her waist and swayed them gently. “A slow morning, just us. Please?”
Shane didn’t answer, but she didn’t resist him. She tucked her head to his neck and shoulder, hands wrapped around his biceps, and timed her breaths with his. “I think. If I slow down. It’ll be too much.”
Ilya exhaled. There. The thing he’d been watching spin out for days. He kissed her temple. “What will be too much?”
“All of it.” Shane sighed. “Visitors. The kids. All of me, you know?” Another sigh, her body going heavier against Ilya’s. “They don’t even know how long we’ve been together.”
“It is a lot of talking,” Ilya said.
“A lot of explaining.”
Ilya clicked his tongue. Shane rolled her head to peer up at him. “It is not explaining, Shane. Like you have to give them reasons, or ask forgiveness. No.” He shook his head, dragged a palm up and down her ribs. “You are inviting them. There is a difference.”
“I don’t think there is,” she replied. “Or maybe I just can’t see it.”
“Too worried?”
“Too something.”
Shane pulled back upright, stretching her neck. Her eyes settled at the hollow of Ilya’s throat, where his mother’s pendant rested just under the collar of his tee shirt. A breath later and they flickered up, sable brown and serious, to meet Ilya’s own.
“Please help me,” Shane said.
“I will,” Ilya promised for the fifth or sixth time that week.
“I need this to go well.”
“I know you do, and it will.”
“Not if you bicker with him the whole time.” Shane’s brow furrowed. “I want my friend back. Please don’t be an asshole.”
Ilya’s heart twinged and sank a bit in his chest. He nodded once, then leaned in to kiss her forehead. “I will not. I promise, Zhenya.”
That settled something in her and she nodded back. Her expression softened and opened again, the slim smile returning to her mouth. Ilya couldn’t help himself. He bent his head again and kissed her soundly.
“You tell me what you need,” Ilya murmured, their foreheads tucked together. “I will do it. Every single thing.”
Shane hummed. She tipped her head one way, then the other, their noses brushing. “I need you to be the man I love. This one, right here. The one that helps my dad with the dishes, and makes faces at his friends’ babies.”
“The mushy one.”
“Sure.” Shane’s fingers squeezed his shoulders. “The one you used to not let anyone see.”
“You want Hayden Pike to see me squishy and soft?” Ilya snickered. He only half meant the humor. The rest of him felt exposed, or ready to be. “I have a reputation, lyubimaya.”
Shane’s fingers squeezed again. Her lashes fluttered with each blink. “I want there to be no question in anyone’s minds why I love you, or thinking you’re the same asshole off the ice and I should do better. I don’t want you to keep feeding that fire.”
“Ah. I see.”
Before the thoughts could turn poisonous, Shane’s hand was on his cheek. Her thumb skimmed back and forth on the skin, warm and real. “I love you. We’re a good team. I want people to see that.”
“You want your friends to see that,” Ilya repeated.
Shane nodded, but studied his face closer. Years on and Ilya still had to work not to shy away from the scrutiny, same as Shane. It was work; good work, but work nonetheless.
“Lyubimaya,” he started again. He kissed the center of her palm and squeezed her hand. “Will you have coffee with me on the couch this morning? Before you start to stress clean again?”
“Yeah.” Shane cracked a fresh smile. “Yeah, okay. Please.”
Ilya poured himself a fresh cup and made a list in his head. Tasks, goals, things to accomplish over the next few days. It didn’t amount to much, but what was there was worth repeating over until it stuck to the wrinkles of his brain.
He was going to listen to her and help whenever he could. He was going to do his mother’s hospitality proud, being as generous and welcoming as he knew how. He was going to hold his wife close every second he could, until the moment she moved away, because he didn’t know how else to hold them steady. But he would try.
Ilya curled up on the couch, opened his arms wide for her. Shane dragged a blanket over them and snuggled against his shoulder, their legs and ankles tangling. All he could do was try.
Shane was only half-dressed when the driveway gravel crunched under tires. A fresh wave of nerves rose in her throat, hands delving into her hair and she stared down at the clothes she had laid out – a simple dress, linen pants and a plain tank. The dress was a favorite, softened by many washings, but suddenly made her stomach toss uncomfortably.
Too much, too soon, her brain insisted as her fingers ran over the black fabric.
If it was just her and Ilya, she might have forced the issue, tossed the thing over her head, and white-knuckled through the unease knowing it would go away. But she didn’t know that now; didn’t know what reaction was coming her way the moment those car doors opened up, didn’t know how her skin would crawl and her thoughts would swirl. There was only so much unpredictability Shane could handle on a good day. Shane had no idea what kind of day this was going to be.
She snatched the linen pants off the bed, tugged the tank over her head and tucked it into the high waistband. She shook her hair out in the mirror after shoving the dress back into the drawer. Messy and summery, her freckles dark across her nose, and a light bit of sunburn across the tops of her cheeks. Ilya’s voice cooed at her from the back of her head, tender and loving, telling her how pretty her freckles were.
Moya zhena, nenaglyadnaya, all mine…
Shane stood up straighter. She took a breath, adjusted the straps on her shoulders, and ran a thumb beneath the waistband. Another breath. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve got this.”
She didn’t fully believe it, but the words were out of her mouth. They were in the air and real now, not just sitting at the back of her throat. Now, she had to acknowledge them.
“You’ve got this,” she repeated, turning away from the mirror and towards the bedroom door. “You’re going to be okay.”
Ilya was already at the front door when she reached it. Anya was clipped into her harness sitting patiently next to Ilya’s leg, her tail swiping back and forth across the slate tile. Her husband arched a brow at her, silently asking if she was alright, if she was ready. Shane offered a thin smile, not bothering to try hiding her nerves from him, but nodded all the same.
Ilya nodded too. “Show me.”
Shane stared at him until Ilya made a turning motion with his finger. Then, she understood and turned in place, letting him take a good look at her. “What d’you think?”
“Very nice,” Ilya replied. He held out his hand. “Davai, solnyshka.”
She took the offered hand. “Davai, Ilyunia.”
On the other side of their front door, there were layered voices and slamming car doors. Calls of names and half-groaned ohmygod mixed in with crunching gravel and childish giggling. Anya yipped happily between Ilya and Shane, turning in a circle and bouncing on her paws at the excitement. Ilya bent to smooth a large hand over her head, whispering cutesy things to her in his mother tongue. She would stay inside while everyone unloaded and came into the cottage; they’d agreed to it. But Shane kept walking from the door to the drive, where an SUV sat, road dust on its wheels and doors.
Hayden – exasperated, mildly overwhelmed – caught sight of her first. “Hey! We made it! In one piece!”
“I’m glad!” Shane lifted her hand in a wave. “Need any help?”
“Nah, got it handled!” He turned and opened the doors to the backseat. “Yo, gremlins. Stop throwing things and go say hi, would you?”
Shane only managed a few more steps, a glance back at Ilya and Anya, before the driver’s side doors flung open and two small bodies clambered out. If she didn’t know better, Shane would have sworn they rolled out on top of each other and bounced, but the twins had always been a little rough and tumble. It didn’t seem that they had changed much in the past few years.
“Shane!” One voice called as the body it belonged to barreled into her legs. Seemingly all legs and flailing arms, topped by a messy braid of brown hair, tied off with a bright yellow elastic.
“Shane–woah!” A second voice pulled up short. Ruby or Jade – Shane’s heart flipped realizing she couldn’t tell who was who anymore – stared at her with her mouth open. The baby softness hadn’t come off her face yet, her eyes wide in surprise and green like Jackie’s, mouth parted in a near-perfect ‘o’.
Shane forced a smile. “Hi, guys. How are you?”
The twin clinging to her legs tipped her head back to stare up at her. “Dad said you were a girl now. Rubes didn’t believe him.”
Jade then.
“I did too!” Ruby protested, stomping a sandaled foot into the pea-gravel. “You were the one who wasn’t listening!”
Shane smirked, glancing down at Jade. “Were you listening?”
“Nope.” She popped the p’s and looked proud of herself. She grinned madly, the little spark of chaos Shane remembered from their toddler years growing clearer by the minute. “I like your earrings.”
“Oh.” Shane reached a hand up to touch, forgetting what she was wearing. “Thanks.”
“Mom said we can’t get our ears pierced yet, but gramma said she’s gonna take us for our tenth birthday,” Jade continued. “But we’re not supposed to tell, so you have to pinkie swear you won’t say anything.”
Ruby, still two steps back, scoffed. “Pinkie swears are for Amber and babies.”
Jade’s head whipped around, braid smacking Shane’s pant leg. “No, they aren’t. They’re basically the law.”
“Nu-uh.”
“Yeah huh.”
“We just got here and you’re already fighting?” Jackie Pike appeared from the trunk side. “Can’t even get through five minutes–.”
“I’m not fighting! Ruby’s fighting!”
“Nu-uh, Jade started it!”
“If you’re going to fight, leave your auntie alone. I’m sure she wants no part of it.” She shared the same look of fond exasperation Shane remembered in Hayden’s before practice and after phone calls home on road trips. “Hi Shane. How are you?”
“Good,” Shane leaned forward to give Jackie a hug while Jade still clung to her leg. “How’s your summer been?”
“Since Vegas? Chaos,” Jackie said. She didn’t seem all that upset by the admission. “Thank you, again, for the invite. Both of you.”
“I should have had you sooner,” Shane said. Words were strained, but they kept coming out. “Before.”
Jackie’s face flickered, clearly catching her meaning with a tinge of sadness. The other woman didn’t dwell there though. “I have things for dinner in the cooler, just say the word.”
“You didn’t have to do that–.”
“Well, an awkward twenty-something once told me they didn’t show up empty-handed, so I figured it would be the least we could do.” Jackie’s smile smoothed over some of the odd twinge in Shane’s nerves. “Besides, Arthur’s got a new allergy, and Amber here–.” She ran a hand over the head of a smaller, blonde girl hiding behind her sundress’ skirt. “Has decided to be a bit picky this summer. So, it was less of a kindness and more of a necessity.”
Shane nodded. “What’s he allergic to?”
“Carrots, but we’re going to test him before school starts to be extra sure.” Jackie turned her attention back to her youngest. “D’you wanna say hi?”
Amber nodded, head sliding against the fabric of Jackie’s dress.
“Okay.” Jackie tapped the top of Jade’s head. “Go help your dad with your stuff. Give Shane some room.”
“But mom–.”
“We have all weekend, go get your bags.”
With some scuffling and sighs, the grip on Shane’s leg was released. Ruby and Jade ran off in the direction of the car. Shane, once again, felt sideways; as if the little girl’s weight was anchoring her more than she realized. There was air between her and Jackie and the littlest Pike holding Jackie’s hand. Shane held her breath for a long moment, then crouched down, knees on the ground.
“Hi,” Shane began quietly, holding the little girl’s stare. “Amber, right?”
She nodded.
“I’m Shane,” she pressed on. “I’m friends with your parents.”
“I know,” she replied. “Mommy said you met me when I was a baby.”
“I did.” Shane cleared her throat, playing with the rings on her finger to keep herself settled. “I haven’t seen you since you were that little.”
“Why not?”
“I, um.” Shane glanced up at Jackie. The words were harder now, and there were too many answers to that too-simple question. “I moved.” She cleared her throat again. It was a lame answer, but the kid was barely five years old. “I used to live in Montreal, but I moved back to Ottawa. I fell out of touch with people.”
The little girl squinted at her, but seemed to shrug it off. “Ottawa?”
“Mhmm.”
“Why?”
That was an easier answer. “I grew up there. My mom and dad are there.” Shane pointed back over her shoulder. “My, um, my husband is there. We wanted a house together.”
Amber nodded along with each of Shane’s sentences, pigtails bouncing on either side of her head. Her hands untangled from Jackie’s dress. She stepped around her mother’s legs, looking Shane over with moth-like eyes. “Is there a tv here?”
The question startled a laugh out of Shane, jostled her face enough that the smile no longer felt static. Didn’t feel so wooden sitting on top of her face like a mask. The little girl giggled too, but was still waiting for an answer.
“Yeah, we have a tv here,” Shane answered. “And we have a dog. Do you like dogs?”
Amber squealed, bouncing on the toes of her mermaid light-up sneakers. She hopped, looking up at her mom, happy enough to lose words. Something Shane could see, could understand.
“I take that as a yes,” Shane said, glancing up at Jackie.
“Oh yes, very much so,” Jackie chuckled. “She comes with me to do volunteer hours at the shelter. We feed and play with the puppies, right Amber?”
Shane leaned into that. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of practice. Maybe you can help Ilya with Anya while you’re here. She loves snuggling on the couch too.”
The little girl squeaked. “Can I?”
“Of course. He’ll show you exactly what to do.” Shane pulled herself up to standing again, finding Jackie’s gaze again. “That’s okay right?”
“Yeah, totally okay.” She snickered. “They’ll be begging Hayden for a dog the whole way home, but we’ll live.”
“Speaking of.” Shane lifted her hand in another wave. “You sure you don’t need the help?”
Hayden laughed, trudging up to them. “And let Rozanov get in a word edgewise? No way in hell–.”
“Swear jar,” Jackie said automatically.
“Crap.” Hayden turned his eyes up to the sky, then back down to Shane. “I’m still bad at that.”
“You’ve never been good at it,” Jackie said.
“I’ll warn Ilya. Might drain his bank account if he’s not careful.” Shane crossed her arms over her chest. “How was the drive up?”
Hayden shrugged with a backpack and a duffle bag on his shoulder. “How well can you imagine three hours of Bluey, Hollander?”
“I can’t,” Shane answered. She’d seen the show when Caitlin and Cassie put it on for the little ones, but knew nothing more than that. One day, maybe, but not until she and Ilya talked through a few things.
Hayden made a face, then laughed all the same. “I’m indoctrinating you. By the end of the weekend, you’ll know too much.” He rounded the front of the car, striding right up to her. He paused, rocking back onto his heels at the last second. “Are hugs still okay?”
Shane nodded. “More than.”
She bit the tip of her tongue as she stepped forward. Hayden wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in tight. It wasn’t the kind of hug she remembered from him – the one-armed, back-slapping greetings of the locker room and team gatherings. It was solid, full, feeling like something meant more for family than friends. Shane couldn’t help feeling off kilter in its wake. Even though she smiled. Even though Hayden clapped her on the shoulder, just like he used to at their stalls.
“Thank you, for inviting us up,” Hayden said. It sounded a bit rehearsed, the kind done so one wouldn’t forget. “The kids are really excited, and Jacks and I are just–.” He broke off with a half-laugh. “Fuck, Shane. We’re just happy you're still around.”
“Still around,” Shane repeated, trying to regain her footing. “Just a little different.”
Hayden half-shrugged. “Not too different.”
“With those observational skills, it’s no wonder Montreal was out of contention by March,” Shane quipped before she could think better. Her heart jumped in her chest, her mouth opening to apologize, but there wasn’t any need.
Hayden was laughing. Not polite cocktail party cadence or the awkward half-laugh so many people gave her to humor her – they didn’t have to; Shane knew she wasn’t funny – but really laughing. Actually laughing. She felt her worry take a good knock, her expression loosening.
“Like I said. Not too different.” Hayden jostled her shoulder, then leaned in. “Is Rozanov going to hang back like that all weekend or is he actually going to talk to us?”
Shane rolled her eyes. “He’ll be with the adults too. He’s just following through on his original offer.”
“If you say so.”
”Play nice, would you?”
“I will. I will.” Hayden dropped the bags he had to the ground, then spun around to take in everything around them. Getting his bearings. “Jesus, this place is big.”
“Wait until you see inside,” Ilya picked up smoothly, almost charming. “Like the inside of a magazine.” His expression stayed pleasantly. He held his hand out. “Pike.”
“Rozanov.” Hayden took it, tight-mouthed but cordial. “Congrats. Again.”
Ilya nodded once, smile a tasteful sort of tamped down. “Thank you.”
“Losing in Ottawa can’t have been easy the last few years,” Hayden said breezily. It felt like a dig.
Ilya didn’t rise to it. “No, it has not been, but patience is good.” He wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist, rubbing his fingers into the ripple of her ribs. “It feels good to get all the way to the end again. You know the feeling.”
“I do, yeah.” Hayden’s eyes flickered over Shane again. “Good times. Right, Hollander?”
Shane smiled, leaning heavier into Ilya’s side. “Really good. The best.”
Ilya’s hand squeezed down again and Shane felt her self-control sway. Sometimes it bothered her, how easy it was to slip into that warm space with him; that spot where Ilya could turn her head like he had a hand on her neck and soothe every prickling nerve in her skin. Sometimes it bothered her that it had never been so easy in anyone else's hands. Fleetingly though; distant thoughts that tried to keep her heart in check when, really, Shane liked looking the smallest bit lovesick. She loved loving him, trusting him, being able to so freely lean into his side and share weight with him. Even if, to the outside, it might have been odd.
“Should we go inside?” Shane suggested, stilted. “Give you the tour, show the kids their room, start dinner?”
“Yes,” Jackie jumped in, seizing the prompt. “Ilya, could you grab the cooler while I round up the hooligans?”
“Of course.” With one last squeeze, Ilya pulled away towards the car. He took slow strides, waiting for Jackie’s directions with his hands in his pockets.
Hayden frowned. “Jacks, I can do–.”
“Go in with Shane, take the girls.” Jackie brushed him off. She called out each of their names one by one – Ruby and Jade, a softer call for Arthur who peered out of the still open car door, a pair of headphones in his hands – as she walked back to the car.
“Just us then,” Shane continued. She felt forced again.
“Just us,” Hayden agreed.
Ruby and Jade bolted past them, kicking off their shoes at the door. Hayden immediately went after them, scrabbling for the bags he had set down. Shane shifted, uncertain; forced herself to hold out a hand to Amber, still lingering in the empty spot Jackie had left behind. She wiggled her fingers. Relief set in when the little girl took her hand, when she saw the car door push further open.
Arthur wandered up to her, the cord of his headphones trailing behind him. He looked sleepy, eyes bleary and unfocused, a chew fidget shoved into his mouth and a tablet in his hands. A backpack hung from his shoulders and, when he reached Amber’s side, he finally seemed to notice Shane. He looked up, blinking slowly up at her.
“Hi, Arthur.” Shane held out her other free hand.
Arthur rolled the fidget in his teeth and nodded. He gripped his tablet against his chest, snagging Shane’s free hand with the other. “Hi, auntie.”
Oh. Shane’s heart stutter-stopped under her ribs. She hadn’t expected to like how that sounded so much. “Hi, bud.” She gripped his hand and nodded towards the door. “Wanna go inside with us?”
“Mhmm.”
“Okay, c’mon. We’re gonna have dinner soon.” Shane guided them forward, going slowly to accommodate for sleepy steps and little legs. It didn’t come easily. It wasn’t natural. But it was a start. It was just the start.
“It’s going okay, isn’t it?”
A loaded question if there ever was one, Ilya thought.
Even in Shane’s quiet, rough voice in the evening dark of their bedroom. Even as her head was pillowed over his heart and her hands were slung over his ribs, fully at ease. Even if Ilya knew the reassurance was necessary, that it was a big deal for her to ask at all, and that his honesty was required.
Too fucking loaded. He inhaled and exhaled, finding grounding in her long dark hair. “You are doing well, solnyshka.”
Shane huffed. Not the answer she was looking for. “I didn’t ask about myself, Ilya.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you answer that way?” She shifted closer. A leg slid between Ilya’s, her hips pressed up against his thigh. Her hair dragged across his chest, and he was helpless to play with it.
“Because I think that is what matters right now.” Ilya exhaled. He pressed a hand to the spot between her shoulder blades – a sign that he was working up the nerve to talk, to be honest, if she could please be patient, please just listen. “You are nervous. You have been nervous. That makes sense, it is okay, but I do not want you losing sleep over it.
“I think they seem happy to be here, to see you.” Ilya took in a deep breath. “It is not a very long visit. Either.”
“No,” Shane replied. “Not enough to get through five years–.”
“Shh. That is what I am talking about.” He smoothed a hand over her hair and down her back. “So hard on yourself. You are not begging forgiveness, Shane.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Good, yes. Only choices, and you made the best choices you could,” Ilya continued. “You’re just telling them what choices you made. That is all.”
"You're right."
"I'm always right."
Shane exhaled a laugh, her warm breath sliding over Ilya’s skin. “Galina’s been good for you.”
“Oh, no. Really?” Ilya teased, but there wasn’t much heart in it.
Shane was right, the therapy had been good for him. Someone else to talk to, who he could use his mother tongue in front of with abandon, with hubris, with force. It wasn’t always comfortable, not always easy or clean-cut. Some days, he left Galina’s office or occasional phone calls without the satisfying empty ring of catharsis; instead, bogged down by the ragged-edged, tender gashes of things long ignored, hurt long overdue. On those days, he would walk from his car into the house and, like a homing pigeon, find Shane to drop heavy and useless against her.
It felt like one of those days. Ilya didn’t want to admit it.
He could pretend. The exhaustion was from answering each of the thousand questions the Pike kids had asked him, from helping Jackie Pike with the oven so she could bake the dinner she brought, or from biting back every easy chirp that landed on his brain while in front of Hayden Pike and pointedly not saying them.
Ilya could say that. Shane would believe him. It would only be a half-truth, and Ilya had promised years ago not to lie about things that mattered. Especially not to her, the thing that mattered most.
He wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say anything. Ilya would fall on old habits, biting back the fatigue and lonely knot inside his chest. Shane would notice and, if she asked, he would answer. But not until he was asked. He couldn’t risk upsetting the delicate balance they’d managed to gain that evening – kids bouncing through every room asking a thousand times if they could already go swimming, the adults taking careful sips from generous pours of wine and keeping the conversation around simple topics.
Ilya would not risk pulling out the rug from beneath his wife’s feet, not when she was just feeling her balance again. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he did, accident or no.
It was easier to keep quiet there. In the dark of their bedroom with the moon shining off the mirror surface of the lake, with loons calling in the distance and Shane’s warm, heavy body keeping him anchored to the mattress. It was easier to push it all down, to kiss her sweetly. To roll her over, press his body to hers, and slot them together the way they were meant to be – Ilya’s hands on her waist, Shane’s legs around his hips. The way they belonged.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Shane whispered, pulling away and pushing him back. Her eyes glowed in the darkness like a new moon. She snickered faintly. “We have guests. Just downstairs.”
“Mmm, we do,” Ilya replied. He tucked his head to nip at her ear lobe, her jaw, the softness of her throat.
“Oh my god, we can’t have sex with–.”
“Yes we can.” Ilya captured her mouth again, kissing and kissing until they were both dizzy. “We will just have to be very quiet. Very, very quiet.”
He rolled his hips and she held a moan behind clenched teeth. “Ilya.”
“Can you be quiet, zhenya?” Ilya murmured in her ear. “Can you?”
“I can, I can.”
“Do you want to? Play this game with me now?”
“Fuck, yes, I do.” Shane relented, looking annoyed at herself. But not very much. Her besotted smirk said otherwise. “God, you’re the worst.”
Ilya grinned down at her, summoning the last dregs of his energy. “I am. But my cock is the best.”
Ilya didn’t hear any arguments from her after that. He didn’t hear much of anything from her, Shane’s competitive streak flaring up like fireworks over the Charles River each July. They kissed, touched, yanked hair and stuffed fingers into mouths until they shivered and fell apart. Ilya heaving breaths with his face pressed to Shane’s sweat-slick shoulder. Her own body still shuddered through the aftershocks as she rutted against his stomach, determined to come a second time between their bellies.
She won. Ilya knew she would.
When they were clean, wrapped back up again in bed, Shane fell asleep in the space between blinks. Ilya – sated and wired all at once – held her close to his chest, believing only distantly that maybe, by morning, the hard knot of worry would melt away.