Chapter Text
Where I Find You
Shane Hollander woke up slowly.
For a few seconds, he didn’t know what had pulled him awake.
The room was still dark, the curtains blocking out most of the early morning light. The house was quiet. Too quiet for anyone else to be awake yet.
Then he felt it.
Warmth pressed against his back.
A familiar arm resting around his waist.
A steady breath against his shoulder.
Shane relaxed almost immediately.
Ilya.
He didn’t even need to turn around to know.
He knew the feeling of him too well.
Ilya was always warm, always somehow managing to take up more space in bed than he admitted to. No matter how they fell asleep, they always ended up like this by morning.
Close.
Usually sharing the same pillow.
Usually with Ilya wrapped around him like sometime during the night his body had decided Shane was not allowed to be more than a few inches away.
Shane didn’t mind.
Not really.
He shifted slightly, settling back against him instead of moving away.
Behind him, Ilya made a quiet sound in his sleep but didn’t wake up.
Good.
Shane closed his eyes again.
Maybe he could get another hour.
He reached toward the nightstand, careful not to disturb him, and picked up his phone.
5:58 a.m.
Shane stared at the screen.
His alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.
Practice wasn’t until ten.
He had time.
A rare thing.
He put his phone back down and settled into the mattress again, pulling the blanket higher.
Okay.
He could go back to sleep.
He was comfortable.
Ilya was comfortable.
Everything was fine.
Except the moment Shane closed his eyes, something twisted unpleasantly in his stomach.
He frowned.
At first, he ignored it.
A few seconds later, it got worse.
Shane opened his eyes.
No.
Not again.
He swallowed, trying to wait it out.
It didn’t work.
The nausea hit so suddenly that he barely had time to move.
Shane pushed himself out of bed as quickly as he could, one hand covering his mouth as he hurried toward the ensuite bathroom.
The sudden movement was enough to wake Ilya.
“Shane?”
No answer.
Ilya sat up immediately, still half asleep but already alert.
“Shane?”
The bathroom door closed.
And then he heard it.
The sound of Shane throwing up.
Ilya was out of bed before he was fully awake.
Ilya found Shane exactly where he expected to find him.
Kneeling on the bathroom floor, one hand braced against the tile, the other pressed hard over his mouth like he could somehow hold himself together by force of will alone.
It was not a sight Ilya was used to.
Not because Shane never got sick. Of course he did. Everyone did, eventually.
But Shane Hollander was the sort of person who could skate through a broken rib, ignore a fever, and insist he was fine with the kind of stubborn conviction that made everyone around him want to shake him.
So seeing him like this, pale, hunched over, clearly miserable, made something in Ilya’s chest go tight.
“Shane.”
Shane looked over his shoulder.
His face was drained of color, his hair was a mess from sleep, and he looked more irritated than anything else, which was, unfortunately, very on brand for him.
“I’m okay.”
Ilya stared at him.
Shane sighed, already defensive. “What?”
“You are on the floor.”
“I threw up.”
“Yes.”
“So?”
“So you are not okay.”
Shane opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Because, irritatingly, Ilya was right.
Ilya crouched beside him and reached past him to turn on the faucet. “Rinse your mouth.”
Shane did, leaning forward carefully and taking a slow breath afterward.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Ilya just stayed there.
He had learned a long time ago that sometimes Shane did not want solutions. Sometimes he did not want advice or fussing or a dramatic intervention. Sometimes he just needed someone to sit beside him and make the world feel a little less lonely until he was ready to speak.
“You should have woken me up.”
Shane looked down at the sink. “I didn’t want to.”
“I know.”
That made Shane glance at him.
Ilya reached out and brushed his thumb lightly over Shane’s knuckles. “You never want to.”
Shane went quiet.
Because that was true.
He hated being fussed over. Not because he didn’t appreciate it, he did, more than he ever admitted, but because there was always that small, stubborn part of him that seemed convinced he was asking for too much. That he was making things harder. That if he just kept quiet long enough, everyone else would be spared the inconvenience of worrying about him.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Shane said at last.
Ilya tilted his head. “How long?”
Shane hesitated.
And that was answer enough.
“Shane.”
“A few days.”
Ilya blinked. “A few days?”
“It wasn’t bad.”
“You have been feeling sick for days and didn’t tell me?”
“Ilya.”
“No, no.” His voice softened immediately. “I am not upset.”
Shane looked at him, wary.
“I just wish you told me.”
Shane looked away.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
There it was.
The thing Shane always did. The thing he had always done, even when they were younger and far less good at saying what they meant. He tried to carry everything himself. He tried to protect everyone else from having to care too much.
Ilya’s expression softened.
“I am your husband.”
“I know.”
“Which means you are allowed to let me worry.”
Shane finally looked at him again.
Ilya smiled, small and fond and entirely too pleased with himself. “Actually, you are required to let me worry. It is part of the job.”
Despite himself, Shane let out a quiet, breathy laugh.
“Is that in the marriage contract?”
“Yes.”
“I have never seen that contract.”
“Very small print.”
“That is not legally valid.”
“Ilya Rozanov law says it is.”
Shane shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little.
That was all Ilya wanted.
A few minutes later, they were back in bed.
Shane insisted he was fine.
Ilya pretended to believe him.
Neither of them fooled the other.
A little while later, Anya appeared in the bedroom, nails clicking softly against the floor as she padded in.
Usually, she went straight to Ilya.
Usually, there was no question. Ilya was her person.
But this morning she stopped beside the bed, looked at Shane for a long moment, and then climbed up carefully before settling herself against his leg with a soft huff.
Both men stared at her.
Ilya frowned. “That’s new.”
Shane looked down at the golden retriever, one brow lifting faintly. “Maybe she just wants attention.”
“She always wants my attention.”
Anya ignored him completely.
Ilya looked offended. “Wow.”
Shane’s mouth twitched. “Maybe she has good taste.”
“I am right here.”
“You heard me.”
Ilya shook his head, but he was smiling.
A few minutes later, Shane finally closed his eyes again.
This time, Ilya stayed awake.
Not because he thought something terrible was happening.
Just because he knew Shane.
And lately, something had been different.
He just did not know what yet.
An hour later, Shane was standing in the kitchen making coffee like nothing had happened.
Ilya knew better than to be surprised.
This was exactly the kind of thing Shane did.
Something happened, Shane dealt with it, and then he moved on as if his body had not just forced him onto the bathroom floor before sunrise.
Ilya leaned against the kitchen island, watching him.
Shane stood in his usual place, wearing one of Ilya’s old shirts and a pair of sweatpants, his hair still slightly messy from sleep. He looked more rested than he had twenty minutes ago, but not completely.
Ilya noticed things like that.
The slight tiredness around his eyes.
The way he moved a little slower than usual.
The fact that he had been standing there for almost a full minute staring at the coffee machine.
“Shane.”
“Hm?”
“You know you don’t have to go to practice.”
Shane did not even look at him.
“I know.”
“Okay.”
A pause.
“Then why are you saying that?”
“Because I know you.”
That made Shane glance over.
Ilya gave him a look.
The kind of look that said he was not buying whatever argument Shane had already prepared.
Shane sighed quietly.
“I feel better.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I am capable of practicing.”
“I know you are.”
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
And that was what made Shane stop.
Because Ilya never questioned that.
He never made Shane feel like being an omega meant he was fragile. He never treated him like he was something to protect from the world.
He knew Shane was one of the best players in the league.
He knew Shane was strong.
“I just think you should take the morning easy,” Ilya continued. “You were sick.”
“I threw up once.”
“You told me it has been happening for days.”
Shane looked away.
Ilya softened.
There it was again.
The tiny shift.
The instinct to retreat whenever he felt like he was being asked to admit he needed something.
Ilya walked over and wrapped an arm around his waist.
Not enough to trap him.
Just enough to remind him he was there.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Ilya smiled slightly.
“You always say that when you do not want to talk about something.”
Shane looked at him.
“That is not true.”
“It is extremely true.”
“It is not.”
“You are doing it right now.”
Shane opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
Because again, unfortunately, Ilya was right.
A few minutes later, Shane was still going to practice.
Of course he was.
Ilya had expected nothing less.
But he did manage to get Shane to eat something before leaving, which he considered a victory.
Anya, however, had decided she was not convinced.
The golden retriever followed Shane from room to room while he got ready, watching him with unusual focus.
Usually, she would be sitting near Ilya while he made coffee, she would follow Ilya when he moved.
Today, she followed Shane.
Ilya noticed.
So did Shane.
“She’s being weird,” Shane said.
Ilya looked down at Anya, who was sitting directly beside Shane’s feet.
“She likes you.”
“She likes you.”
“Yes.”
“More.”
“Normally.”
Anya looked up at Shane.
Then back at Ilya.
And stayed exactly where she was.
Ilya put a hand over his chest.
“Unbelievable.”
Shane almost smiled.
Almost.
But then Anya stood and followed him again.
And Ilya watched carefully.
Because Anya had always been predictable.
She loved routines.
She loved familiarity.
And right now, her routine had changed.
Just like Shane’s had.
At the rink, Shane expected things to feel normal.
They didn’t.
Not exactly.
Nothing was wrong.
That was the confusing part.
He felt fine.
Mostly.
But he kept noticing where Ilya was.
During warmups.
During drills.
When they were in the locker room.
It was not something he was consciously doing.
He just kept ending up closer.
Usually, Shane had no problem keeping professional distance at the rink.
Everyone knew he loved Ilya.
Everyone knew they were married.
But Shane had always been careful.
The rink was work.
Their relationship was theirs.
He didn’t need everyone watching.
Except today, when Ilya skated away to help Luca, Young, and Lapointe with a drill, Shane found himself looking over.
Just checking.
Just making sure he was there.
And when he turned away, he was annoyed with himself for doing it.
Because that was not normal.
Not for him.
Not at all.
And he had no idea why.
Ilya was in the middle of explaining the drill when Madison Vale from the front office stepped onto the ice.
Shane knew her.
Everyone did.
She worked closely with the team and had always been friendly with the players. She was confident, polished, and very aware of the effect she had on people.
Normally, Shane would not have cared.
And he still didn’t care.
Not really.
Because this was Ilya.
Shane trusted Ilya completely.
He knew his husband. He knew Ilya loved attention, knew Ilya had a past where he enjoyed being charming and flirtatious, but he also knew the difference between that version of Ilya and the man standing beside him now.
The man who came home to him.
The man who loved him.
The man who wore a wedding ring because he wanted everyone to know exactly who he belonged to.
So Shane ignored the conversation at first.
He kept stretching.
He kept listening to the coaches.
He kept telling himself that there was nothing wrong.
Until Madison laughed at something Ilya said and reached out.
Her hand landed on Ilya’s arm.
It was casual.
A small gesture.
Probably meaningless.
But Shane went still.
Because his omega did not see it that way.
Something deep inside him reacted before he could stop it.
His wolf recognized his mate.
And someone else was touching him.
The feeling was immediate.
Protective.
Territorial.
Not because he thought Ilya would allow anything to happen.
Never that.
Because Ilya was his.
His mate.
His husband.
And his instincts were suddenly very loud about that fact.
Shane stared for a moment, almost confused by his own reaction.
This was ridiculous.
He knew it was ridiculous.
He was not someone who interrupted conversations.
He was not someone who needed to prove anything.
But his body was already moving before he had fully decided.
He pushed away from the boards and skated over.
Ilya noticed him immediately.
Of course he did.
His attention always found Shane.
Shane came to a stop in front of him, cheeks a little pink from the cold and the sudden rush of feeling in his chest.
“Hi, baby,” he said, soft and bright and entirely sincere. “I missed you.”
Ilya blinked.
Then his expression changed in that way it always did when Shane looked at him like that.
Warm.
Fond.
A little amused.
Because Shane Hollander did not usually skate over in the middle of practice just to say hello.
Not like this.
Not with that tone.
Not with everyone watching.
“Hi,” Ilya said, smiling now. “You missed me?”
Shane nodded immediately.
“Yes.” Then, because apparently his mouth had decided to stop cooperating with his pride entirely, he added, “Can I have a kiss?”
Ilya’s eyebrows lifted.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he knew Shane.
And this was very much not normal Shane behavior.
Shane looked up at him with complete seriousness, as if this were the most reasonable request in the world.
“Please?” he added, quieter this time. “I really want one.”
That did it.
Ilya’s expression softened completely.
Because he understood.
Maybe Shane didn’t fully understand why he was suddenly feeling so needy, so openly affectionate, so determined to get close.
But Ilya understood enough.
His omega was reacting.
And honestly?
He thought it was adorable.
“Come here,” Ilya murmured.
He leaned down and kissed him.
Simple.
Warm.
Nothing meant for anyone else.
Just them.
When they pulled apart, Shane was still holding on to him, fingers curled lightly around his hand like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
Madison looked between them, clearly surprised.
Shane did not care.
He wasn’t making a scene.
He wasn’t angry.
He was simply standing beside his husband exactly where he wanted to be.
And Ilya, watching him, had never been more certain that something was changing.
The drive home was quiet.
Shane and Ilya had always been good at silence.
They did not need to fill every second with conversation. Sometimes they were perfectly happy just existing beside each other, listening to music or the sound of the road.
Today, though, Ilya noticed something.
Shane was tired.
Not regular tired.
Ilya knew the difference.
He knew the exhaustion that came after a difficult game, after travel, after a long practice.
This was different.
Shane sat in the passenger seat with his head resting against the window, one hand loosely holding Ilya’s.
That was another thing.
The hand holding.
Shane loved affection.
At home.
Privately.
But during a normal drive home from practice?
Usually, he would have his hands folded in his lap or be looking over game footage.
Instead, he was holding onto Ilya like he needed the contact.
Ilya did not mention it.
He just let him.
When they pulled into the driveway, Anya was already waiting by the door.
She had a sixth sense for when they came home.
Usually, the second the door opened, she went straight for Ilya.
Every single time.
Ilya had accepted that he was her favorite person.
He had earned it.
He fed her.
He took her on walks.
He let her sleep beside him when Shane pretended to be annoyed about it.
So when the door opened and Anya walked right past him, Ilya stopped.
“Excuse me?”
Anya ignored him.
Completely.
Her attention was on Shane.
She walked over, sniffed him carefully, and then immediately pressed herself against his legs.
Shane looked down.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Anya’s tail wagged.
Ilya stared.
“No.”
Shane looked over.
“What?”
“She betrayed me.”
Shane blinked.
“I think she’s just saying hello.”
“She has never ignored me like this.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I am being abandoned in my own home.”
Shane rolled his eyes.
But he was smiling.
Anya followed Shane into the kitchen.
And then the living room.
And then the bedroom.
Everywhere Shane went, Anya went.
Ilya watched from the doorway.
Because that was not normal.
Anya was a loving dog.
She loved everyone.
But she had routines.
She had patterns.
And Shane had suddenly become her focus.
Later that evening, Shane sat on the couch with Anya curled beside him.
Normally, she would have been lying against Ilya’s legs while he watched television.
Instead, she had positioned herself directly beside Shane, her head resting on his thigh.
Ilya sat down beside them.
“She’s being weird.”
Shane glanced down.
“She’s always weird.”
“Not like this.”
Ilya reached over and scratched behind Anya’s ears.
She accepted the attention.
But she did not move.
“She likes you.”
“She likes you more.”
“Normally.”
Anya looked up at Shane.
Then immediately settled back down.
Ilya looked offended.
“I saw that.”
Shane looked amused.
“Maybe she has chosen.”
“She cannot choose.”
“She just did.”
Ilya shook his head.
“You and the dog are teaming up against me.”
“Yes.”
The answer was so immediate that Ilya laughed.
There he was.
There was Shane.
The same Shane who was serious and controlled and careful.
But lately there were little moments where he let himself be softer.
Needier.
More open.
Ilya loved every single one of them.
He just didn’t know what was causing them.
Later, when they were getting ready for bed, Shane stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing his teeth.
Ilya watched him from the doorway.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Shane looked at him through the mirror.
“I know.”
“Anything.”
“I know.”
Ilya smiled.
“There’s that answer again.”
Shane rinsed his toothbrush.
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
And that was the thing.
Ilya believed him.
He knew Shane loved him.
He knew Shane trusted him.
But he also knew there was something Shane was not saying.
Something he was still trying to figure out himself.
And Ilya would wait.
Because whatever it was, Shane would tell him when he was ready.
For now, he would just keep noticing.
The little things.
The way Shane leaned into him more.
The way he reached for him without thinking.
The way his scent had started changing.
A little sweeter.
A little warmer.
Ilya noticed.
He always noticed.
The next morning, Shane woke up before his alarm again.
This time, he was not surprised.
He had always been an early riser, even on days when he could sleep longer. It was part of him at this point.
What did surprise him was the fact that he felt completely restless.
He lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, trying to decide whether that feeling was just because he had slept badly or because something was actually wrong.
Usually, once he woke up, his brain immediately started listing everything he needed to do.
Practice.
Meals.
Emails.
Schedule.
But this morning, none of that settled him.
He felt too warm under the blankets and too cold once he pushed them off. His stomach was still a little unsettled, not enough to call it pain, just enough to be annoying. The kind of feeling that made him aware of every movement.
Shane sat up slowly.
Ilya was still asleep beside him, one arm stretched out where Shane had been. His face was relaxed in a way it almost never was when he was awake, and for a second Shane just looked at him.
Then he got out of bed before he could talk himself out of it.
He told himself a run would help.
That was usually true.
A run fixed a lot of things.
If he was tired, it woke him up. If he was stressed, it cleared his head. If he was annoyed, it gave him somewhere to put the feeling.
So he got dressed quietly, pulled on his running shoes, and left a note on the counter even though Ilya would probably see him gone before he saw the note.
Out for a run. Back soon,
love Shane <3.
It was simple enough.
The air outside was cool and sharp, and for the first few minutes Shane thought he had been right. The movement helped. His body knew what to do even when his head felt a little off. He settled into his pace automatically, breathing evenly, focusing on the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement.
For a while, it worked.
Then it didn’t.
By the time he reached the second stretch of his route, the nausea that had been sitting quietly in the background started to get worse. Not dramatically. Just enough that he noticed it. Enough that his stomach tightened every time he took a deeper breath.
Shane slowed down.
He tried to ignore it.
That was usually his first mistake.
He kept going for another block, then another, telling himself it would pass once he warmed up more. Instead, the feeling rolled harder through him, sudden and unpleasant enough that he had to stop walking for a second and put his hands on his knees.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself, breathing through his nose. “Fine.”
He straightened up and started jogging again, but it was worse now. His stomach turned sharply, and he had to swallow hard against the wave of nausea that hit him out of nowhere.
That was enough.
Shane turned around.
He did not like turning around. He did not like cutting a run short. He especially did not like admitting, even to himself, that he felt too sick to keep going.
But there was no point pretending otherwise.
By the time he got back to the house, he was moving slower than he had been when he left.
He let himself in quietly, trying not to make a scene out of it even though there was no one around to see him. His shirt clung to him a little from the cold air and the effort, and he was suddenly aware of how bad he felt compared to when he had left.
The house was warm.
Too warm, maybe.
He kicked off his shoes by the door and headed toward the kitchen, one hand pressed briefly to his stomach.
Ilya was there, exactly where Shane had expected him to be.
He was standing at the counter in sweatpants and a T-shirt, coffee mug in hand, looking entirely too awake for this hour. He glanced up when Shane came in and immediately frowned.
Shane stopped in the doorway.
Ilya took one look at him and set his mug down.
“What happened?”
Shane tried to answer casually.
“Went for a run.”
Ilya’s eyes narrowed a little.
“And?”
Shane shrugged, which was a mistake because it made his stomach roll again.
“And I came back.”
Ilya stared at him for a second.
Then his gaze dropped to Shane’s face, then to the way he was holding himself a little too carefully.
“You feel sick.”
It was not a question.
Shane exhaled through his nose.
“A little.”
Ilya crossed the kitchen in a few steps and stopped in front of him.
“How little?”
Shane looked away.
“That depends on your definition.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is an answer.”
“It is a Shane answer.”
Shane almost smiled, but the nausea made it hard to commit to it.
Ilya noticed that too.
His expression changed immediately, the teasing dropping away.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“I said a little sick.”
“And I said sit down.”
Shane gave him a look that would have worked on almost anyone else.
It did not work on Ilya.
So he sat.
Ilya reached for the mug he had set down and took a sip of his coffee, watching Shane over the rim like he was trying to figure out whether he needed to be worried or just mildly annoyed.
Shane leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and closed his eyes for a second.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sound of Ilya moving around behind him.
“You should have stayed home,” Ilya said.
“I thought running would help.”
“Of course you did.”
Shane opened one eye.
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It was judgmental.”
Shane huffed a quiet laugh, then immediately regretted it because his stomach flipped again.
Ilya saw that too.
He set his coffee down and came back over, one hand settling briefly between Shane’s shoulders.
“Still?”
“A little.”
“Do you want water?”
Shane nodded once.
Ilya got him a glass without saying anything else, and Shane took it with both hands, grateful for the cold against his fingers.
He drank slowly.
It helped, but not enough to make him feel normal.
Ilya stayed where he was, leaning against the counter now, coffee in hand again, watching him with that steady, unreadable expression he got when he was trying not to fuss.
Shane knew that look.
It meant Ilya was concerned and trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t.
“I’m okay,” Shane said, because he knew Ilya was waiting for him to say something.
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
“You came home halfway through your run because you felt sick.”
“That does not mean I’m dying.”
“No,” Ilya said. “It means you are stubborn.”
Shane looked down at the glass in his hands.
“That too.”
Ilya’s mouth twitched.
“Do you want me to make you something?”
Shane thought about it for a second.
His stomach still felt off, but the worst of it had eased now that he was sitting still.
“Maybe later.”
Ilya nodded once, accepting that without argument.
“Okay.”
Shane glanced up at him.
“You’re not going to tell me I told you so?”
Ilya took another sip of coffee.
“I am considering it.”
“That’s rude.”
“It is also true.”
Shane shook his head, but there was less tension in it now.
Ilya reached out and brushed a hand over the back of his neck, brief and warm.
“Next time,” he said, “if you feel sick, you do not go running.”
Shane looked at him.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Ilya gave him a flat look.
Shane sighed.
“Fine. I know now.”
“That is better.”
Shane leaned back in the chair, still holding the water, and let himself breathe for a minute.
The house was quiet.
Ilya was in the kitchen drinking his coffee like this was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made Shane feel a little better than the water did.
Not because the nausea was gone.
Just because he was home.
Ilya reached for his coffee again, taking another sip as he watched Shane sit quietly at the kitchen table.
The color had started to come back to his face, but not completely.
Shane still looked tired.
Not sleepy.
Worn down.
It was the kind of exhaustion Ilya had seen after long road trips or stretches where Ottawa had played four games in six nights.
Except this wasn't that.
It was the middle of January, deep in the regular season. Everyone carried a certain kind of fatigue this time of year, but hockey tired looked different. Ilya knew the difference as well as he knew Shane.
This wasn't sore muscles or heavy legs after practice.
This was something else.
"You don't have to go today," Ilya said after another minute.
Shane looked up from his water.
"We've already had this conversation."
"We can have it again."
"Ilya."
"You've been sick all week."
"I threw up."
"You keep saying that like it's normal."
"It happens."
"It doesn't happen to you."
Shane opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Because... no.
Not usually.
"I feel better now."
"You said that yesterday."
"And I did."
"For an hour."
Shane let out a quiet sigh.
"You worry too much."
"I am your husband."
"I know."
"It is literally my job."
Shane's expression softened despite himself.
"I know."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, reflecting off the fresh snow outside and filling the room with a pale winter glow.
Anya lay stretched across the floor.
Except she wasn't beside Ilya.
She had curled up with her chin resting against Shane's foot.
One ear twitched as Shane shifted.
Without even opening her eyes, her tail gave a slow thump against the hardwood.
Ilya looked down at her.
"You are still doing it."
Shane followed his gaze.
"Doing what?"
"Stealing my dog."
Shane looked mildly offended.
"I don't think she can be stolen."
"I feed her."
"You also accidentally taught her that staring at you earns her cheese."
"I fail to see the problem."
"You created a monster."
"I created an intelligent opportunist."
A small smile tugged at Shane's mouth.
Anya lifted her head at the sound, looked between them, then nudged Shane's ankle with her nose before settling back against him.
Ilya watched the exchange carefully.
She wasn't begging.
She wasn't asking to play.
She just wanted to stay close.
It was strange.
Even stranger because Shane seemed just as confused by it as he was.
After another minute, Shane pushed himself to his feet, taking his glass to the sink.
"I should get ready."
Ilya looked at the clock.
There was still plenty of time before they needed to leave for the rink.
He wanted to tell Shane to stay home.
He wanted to insist.
Instead, he sighed quietly.
"Okay."
Shane glanced back at him.
"I really am okay."
"I know."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I am not."
Shane shook his head, unable to argue with that.
"I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."
He headed toward the stairs.
Almost immediately, Anya stood.
Her nails clicked softly against the hardwood as she trotted after him without a second thought.
Ilya watched the two of them disappear upstairs.
"...Seriously?"
Anya didn't even look back.
He waited another few seconds before following at a much slower pace.
By the time he reached their bedroom, Shane was standing in front of the closet, pulling one of his practice shirts over his head.
Anya sat beside him, watching every movement as though she had been assigned guard duty.
Shane noticed Ilya lingering in the doorway.
"What?"
Ilya nodded toward the dog.
"She is obsessed with you today."
Shane looked down.
Anya looked back up at him with the same calm expression she always wore.
"I don't know why."
"I don't think you have ever been her favorite person."
"I thought you were."
"I was."
Shane smiled faintly.
"Maybe she's trying something new."
"I do not appreciate the experimentation."
That earned him a quiet laugh.
It faded almost as quickly as it had come.
Shane bent to pull on a pair of clean socks.
As soon as he straightened, a wave of dizziness washed over him.
He reached for the edge of the dresser before he could stop himself.
Just for a second.
The room steadied almost immediately.
"You okay?"
Shane looked over.
Ilya hadn't moved from the doorway, but his attention had sharpened instantly.
"I'm fine."
"You grabbed the dresser."
"I stood up too fast."
Ilya watched him for another moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Slow down."
"I am."
"You are not."
"I'll survive."
"I know you will."
There was no teasing in his voice this time.
Just quiet certainty.
"And I'd like to keep it that way."
Shane looked at him for a long second before giving the smallest nod.
"I know."
He turned back toward the closet, reaching for his hoodie.
Behind him, Anya stood and quietly pressed herself against the back of his legs again.
Shane absentmindedly rested a hand on her head.
Neither of them noticed Ilya watching the whole thing.
Or the way Anya refused to leave Shane's side.
By the time they made it downstairs, Shane seemed more like himself.
That was almost enough to convince Ilya that maybe he had worried too much.
Almost.
Anya stayed close to Shane the entire time, following him around the house like she had decided she was personally responsible for him. Shane found it amusing, but Ilya could not help noticing the difference.
Usually, Anya was attached to whoever had the most interesting thing happening.
Lately, that had been Shane.
And honestly, Ilya understood why.
Everyone wanted to make sure Shane was okay.
Even the dog.
Once they were finally ready to leave, Ilya grabbed his keys from the counter while Anya hovered near the door, tail wagging like she was considering coming too.
Shane slipped his shoes on and picked up his bag.
"I am fine," Shane said before anyone could ask.
Ilya looked at him.
"I did not say anything."
"You were thinking it."
"I was."
Shane sighed.
"Ilya."
"I know."
And he did.
He knew Shane hated feeling like people were worried about him. He knew Shane hated being treated like he could not handle things.
So Ilya did not argue.
He just opened the door.
The drive to the rink was quiet.
Shane looked out the window for most of the ride, his fingers tapping lightly against his leg.
Then, after a few minutes, he spoke.
"Ilya?"
"Hm?"
There was a pause.
Then, softer:
"Can you hold my hand?"
Ilya glanced over.
For a second, he was surprised.
Not because Shane did not want comfort.
He knew Shane did.
But Shane was not usually the one to ask.
Not first.
Not out loud.
Ilya reached over immediately.
"Of course."
Shane took his hand.
The moment he did, some of the tension left his shoulders.
Ilya pretended not to notice how much that affected him.
Because if he said anything, Shane would probably get embarrassed and pull away.
And Ilya was not making that mistake.
When they arrived at the rink, Shane seemed completely normal.
He joked with Ilya.
He laughed at something Ilya said.
He moved around the locker room like nothing had happened.
For the first time that morning, Shane started wondering if maybe he had made a bigger deal out of everything than he needed to.
Maybe he was just tired.
Maybe he had slept badly.
Maybe Ilya had been right to worry, but maybe it was nothing.
Then he sat down to put on his skates.
He looked over.
"Ilya?"
Ilya glanced up from his bag.
"What?"
Shane looked down at his skates.
"Can you tie these?"
The locker room went quiet for half a second.
Then Troy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Ilya stared at Shane.
"...Your skates?"
"Yes."
"You want me to tie your skates?"
Shane looked back at him, perfectly serious.
"Yes."
Ilya blinked once.
Then he leaned back slightly, folding his arms.
"You know how to tie your own skates, right?"
Shane’s expression did not change.
"Yes."
"And yet you are asking me."
"Yes."
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
"Why?"
Shane hesitated just long enough to make it obvious he was already losing this argument.
Then he looked up at Ilya with the prettiest, most ridiculous puppy-dog eyes Ilya had ever seen.
It was unfair.
Completely unfair.
Ilya stared at him for a long second.
Then he sighed.
"That is not fair."
Shane’s mouth twitched.
"I do not know what you mean."
"You absolutely do."
From across the room, one of the boys snorted.
"Oh, he is whipped."
Ilya looked up sharply.
"What?"
Troy leaned back on the bench, grinning like he had just been handed the best entertainment of the week.
"Come on, cap. You heard him. He asked nicely and you folded immediately."
"I did not fold."
"You are literally about to get on your knees for him right now."
"I am tying his skates."
"Same thing," Troy said.
Another teammate laughed.
"Man, I have never seen you this bad."
Ilya narrowed his eyes.
"I am standing right here."
"Exactly," Troy said. "And yet somehow Shane still has you wrapped around his finger."
Shane, who had been watching all of this with increasing amusement, tilted his head.
"I do not think that is accurate."
Troy pointed at him.
"See? He is defending you too. It is disgusting."
Ilya shot him a look.
"You are all very annoying."
"And you love us," Troy said.
"I tolerate you."
"Sure," another boy said. "That is why you are tying his skates like a devoted husband."
Ilya made a sound of pure disbelief.
"Devoted husband?"
Shane’s mouth twitched.
"I think they are teasing you."
"I noticed."
Troy grinned wider.
"Look at him. He is not even denying it."
"I am denying it."
"No, you are not," Troy said. "You are just doing the thing where you glare while still helping him."
Ilya looked down at Shane’s skates, then back up at the room full of idiots.
"Do any of you actually want to practice today?"
"Nope," Troy said cheerfully. "This is better."
Shane laughed then, quiet and warm, and that only made things worse.
Because now the boys were really going to be unbearable.
Ilya muttered something under his breath in Russian and dropped down in front of Shane.
"You're lucky I love you."
The room erupted.
"Oh my God."
"Did you hear that?"
"He said it like that was a threat."
Shane’s smile widened.
"I know."
The answer came so quickly that Ilya had to look up at him.
Then he shook his head and went back to the skates, because apparently this was his life now.
Captain of an NHL team.
One of the best players in the league.
And still completely incapable of saying no when Shane Hollander asked nicely.
A few minutes later, they stepped onto the ice.
Warm-ups went fine.
Actually, better than fine.
Shane stretched.
He skated.
He felt normal.
By the time they started the first drills, he almost felt embarrassed.
Maybe he had been dramatic.
Maybe he had let himself get too in his head.
He was fine.
Until he was not.
The first few minutes were manageable.
Then the dizziness started.
Small at first.
Easy to ignore.
So Shane ignored it.
He pushed harder.
Told himself it would pass.
Ilya was counting on him.
He was not going to stop practice because he felt a little off.
But the longer the drill went, the worse it became.
The sounds around him started feeling distant.
The lights above the rink felt too bright.
His balance felt wrong.
Still, he kept moving.
Because Shane Hollander had spent his entire life convincing himself that he could push through anything.
Until his body finally decided it had enough.
One moment he was skating.
The next, the ice was gone beneath him.
For a second, nobody moved.
It was almost impossible for Ilya to understand what he was seeing.
One second Shane was skating.
The next, he was on the ice.
Not losing his balance.
Just down.
Ilya's entire body went cold.
"Shane?"
He was already moving.
Not skating.
Launching.
He crossed the ice in seconds, panic making him faster than he had any right to be.
"Shane? Shane? Baby?"
His voice came out sharp and broken all at once.
He dropped to his knees beside him, barely feeling the scrape of his skates against the ice.
"Shane."
Nothing.
That was the part that scared him.
Shane always reacted.
Even when he was hurt.
Even when he was exhausted.
Even when he was pretending everything was fine.
There was always something.
A joke.
A complaint.
A sarcastic comment about everyone worrying too much.
But now?
Nothing.
Ilya's hands shook as he reached for him.
"Shane. Baby, look at me."
The rest of the team had stopped behind him.
The joking was gone.
The laughter was gone.
Everyone understood immediately that this was not normal.
Troy was the first one to speak.
"Is he breathing?"
Ilya looked at him.
"Yes."
The answer came instantly.
Because he had checked the second he got there.
Shane was breathing.
He just was not waking up.
"Someone get the trainer," Troy called.
"Already called," someone answered.
Ilya barely heard them.
His entire focus was on Shane.
The way his hair fell across his forehead.
The way his hand rested against the ice.
The fact that less than an hour ago, Shane had been sitting beside him in the car, quietly asking him to hold his hand.
And Ilya had known something was wrong.
He should have pushed harder.
He should have made him stay home.
The thought made his chest tighten.
Shane shifted slightly.
Ilya immediately leaned closer.
"Shane?"
A quiet sound left him.
Not a word.
Just a small noise.
But it was enough.
"There you go."
Ilya's voice softened, even though his hands were still shaking.
"I'm here."
Shane's eyes opened slowly.
For a few seconds, he looked confused.
Like he did not know where he was.
Then his eyes found Ilya.
And the first thing he said was:
"Did practice stop?"
The silence that followed was almost unbelievable.
Ilya stared at him.
Troy made a strangled noise behind them.
Of course.
Of course that was Shane's first concern.
Not that he had passed out.
Not that everyone was terrified.
Practice.
"I swear to God, Shane."
His voice cracked slightly despite the frustration.
"You just passed out."
Shane blinked.
"I did?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
That was it.
Just oh.
Ilya closed his eyes for a second.
"Unbelievable."
Shane looked around slowly.
The team.
The trainer.
Everyone staring at him.
His expression immediately changed.
"I'm sorry."
And there it was.
The thing Ilya hated most.
Shane apologizing for something he could not control.
"You do not apologize."
"I stopped practice."
"You passed out."
"I know."
"Then what are you apologizing for?"
Shane opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because he did not actually have an answer.
The trainer arrived beside them and started checking him over.
Ilya stayed exactly where he was.
Nobody told him to move.
Nobody even tried.
Everyone knew better.
Shane looked up at him while the trainer asked questions.
"Are you mad?"
The question was so quiet that it hurt.
"No."
Shane looked unconvinced.
"Ilya."
"I am scared."
That made Shane go quiet.
Because anger, he could handle.
Disappointment, he could understand.
But fear?
That was different.
Ilya squeezed his hand.
"I am not mad at you."
Shane looked down.
"I thought I was fine."
"I know."
"I felt fine."
"I know."
"I didn't think it was that bad."
Ilya swallowed.
"I know."
And that was the hardest part.
Shane had not ignored something obvious.
He genuinely thought he could push through.
Until his body made the choice for him.
The morning came too quickly.
That was the first thing Shane noticed.
Usually, road trips were normal.
Annoying, sometimes.
Long, definitely.
But normal.
This time felt different.
Maybe it was because he had been feeling strange all week.
Maybe it was because Ilya was leaving.
Or maybe it was because something in him knew he did not want to be alone.
Ilya moved around the bedroom, packing the last few things into his bag.
Shane sat on the edge of the bed and watched him.
He hated this part.
Not the leaving.
The waiting.
The quiet moments before.
The part where he had to let Ilya walk out the door and pretend he was not counting every second until he came back.
Ilya noticed him staring.
"What?"
Shane looked away.
"Nothing."
Ilya raised an eyebrow.
"Shane."
He sighed.
"I just don't want you to go."
The softness of the confession made Ilya stop.
He immediately crossed the room.
"Baby."
"I know it's only a few days."
"It is."
"I know you have to go."
"You know I have to go."
Shane nodded.
He did.
That was the worst part.
He understood.
"I have an appointment later today."
Ilya's expression changed instantly.
"What kind of appointment?"
Shane hesitated.
"My doctor."
That was all it took.
Ilya was immediately concerned.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you worrying before you left."
"I am already worrying."
"I know."
Ilya sat beside him.
"Shane."
"I feel better."
It was not completely true.
But Shane needed it to be.
"I promise."
Ilya studied him.
He knew Shane.
He knew when Shane was hiding things.
But he also knew Shane was trying.
"Okay."
The answer surprised him.
"Okay?"
"Okay."
Ilya took his hand.
"But you call me after."
"I will."
"And you tell me what they say."
"I will."
"No pretending everything is fine if it isn't."
Shane looked down.
"Ilya."
"Promise."
After a moment, Shane nodded.
"Promise."
That should have been enough.
It should have made him feel better.
But it did not.
Because the closer it got to time for Ilya to leave, the more anxious Shane became.
And eventually, he could not keep it inside anymore.
"Ilya?"
"Hm?"
Shane looked embarrassed.
"I need something."
Ilya immediately softened.
"What?"
Shane swallowed.
"Can you scent me?"
Ilya froze for half a second.
Not because the request was strange.
Because Shane rarely asked.
Not directly.
Not when he needed something.
"You want me to?"
"Yes."
The answer was immediate.
Quiet.
Honest.
Ilya's entire expression softened.
"Come here."
Shane did not hesitate.
The second Ilya pulled him close, Shane melted into him.
He buried his face against Ilya's neck, breathing him in.
Ilya wrapped his arms around him and pressed gentle kisses wherever he could reach.
His hair.
His forehead.
His cheeks.
His temple.
Everywhere Shane needed reassurance.
"You okay?"
"No."
The honesty surprised them both.
Ilya held him tighter.
"Thank you for telling me."
Shane closed his eyes.
"I just need you for a minute."
"You can have more than a minute."
So Ilya stayed.
Longer than he should have.
Longer than either of them cared about.
Because he knew Shane.
He knew this was not just about scenting.
This was about comfort.
About Shane needing to feel connected before they were apart.
Eventually, they had to separate.
Ilya grabbed his bag.
Shane followed him downstairs.
Neither of them wanted to say goodbye.
At the door, Ilya pulled him in one more time.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
"Call me after your appointment."
"I will."
"And Shane?"
"Hm?"
"I mean it."
Shane looked at him.
"Take care of yourself."
The words hit harder than Ilya realized.
Because Shane wanted to.
He really did.
But he did not know yet how much everything was about to change.
After Ilya left, Shane stood by the door for a long time.
Then he finally went to his appointment.
The doctor's office was quieter than Shane expected.
That almost made it worse.
There was no chaos.
No emergency.
No reason for him to feel like his entire life was changing while everyone else around him was just going about their day.
He sat in the waiting room with his hands folded in his lap, staring at the floor.
His phone was beside him.
Ilya's name was still the last notification on the screen.
A message from a few minutes ago.
Let me know when you get there.
Shane stared at it.
His thumb hovered over the reply.
I'm here.
That was all he had to say.
Two words.
Simple.
Normal.
But his chest felt tight.
He wanted to call him.
He wanted Ilya sitting beside him, holding his hand, making some ridiculous comment to distract him.
Instead, he typed the words.
I'm here.
Then he put the phone away.
When his name was called, Shane stood.
The appointment started normally.
Questions.
Symptoms.
History.
The doctor listened carefully as Shane explained everything.
The fatigue.
The nausea.
The dizziness.
The strange changes he had been ignoring because he thought they were nothing.
Then came the question that made him pause.
The doctor looked up from her notes and studied him for a moment.
"Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
Shane blinked.
His mouth went dry.
For a second, he thought he had misheard her.
"What?"
She gave him a calm, professional smile.
"I know it may seem like a strange question, but with the symptoms you're describing, I want to ask directly. Is there any chance you could be pregnant?"
His stomach dropped.
He stared at her.
The room seemed to go very still.
Pregnant.
The word landed hard enough to make his pulse jump.
He looked down at his hands.
A little embarrassed.
A little stunned.
"I..." He swallowed. "Maybe."
The doctor nodded, not surprised.
"That would explain a lot."
A lot.
The words felt strange.
Because nothing about this felt like a lot to Shane.
After more questions and tests, the doctor stepped out for a moment.
And when she came back, her expression was gentle.
"Shane, I would like to do an ultrasound."
His stomach dropped again.
"Why?"
"Because I think we should confirm everything."
Confirm.
The word followed him into the next room.
He lay back while the machine was prepared.
He felt ridiculous.
A little scared.
A little numb.
The doctor moved the screen so he could see.
For a few seconds, Shane did not understand what he was looking at.
Then the doctor pointed.
"There."
Shane stopped breathing.
Not literally.
But it felt like it.
There was something there.
Small.
Real.
"How far along?"
The doctor looked at the measurements.
"Approximately seven weeks."
Seven weeks.
Almost two months.
Shane stared at the screen.
Now there was a tiny piece of him and Ilya.
Their pup.
The thought made his eyes burn.
He should have felt only happy.
And he did.
He did.
But underneath that was fear.
A lot of fear.
"What happens now?"
The doctor smiled softly.
"Now we take care of you."
Those words almost broke him.
Because Shane was used to being the person who took care of everyone else.
Not the person people worried about.
Not the person who needed help.
When the appointment ended, he sat in his car for almost twenty minutes.
He did not drive.
He did not move.
He just stared at the ultrasound picture in his hand.
Then he finally called the one person he knew would answer.
"Jackie?"
Her voice immediately softened.
"Shane?"
He took a breath.
Then he just said it.
"I'm pregnant."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Jackie went, "Your what??"
Shane shut his eyes.
Even now, even after hearing the doctor say it, hearing it out loud made it feel impossible.
"I know."
"No, no, hold on." Her voice sharpened with disbelief. "You are pregnant?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then, quieter, stunned all over again, "Shane."
That was all it took.
His control disappeared.
"I don't know what to do."
The silence on the other end was gentle.
Not uncomfortable.
Just waiting.
"I just found out."
A pause.
"What did you find out?"
Shane looked down at the picture.
His voice shook.
"That I'm pregnant."
For a moment, Jackie said nothing.
Then:
"Oh, Shane."
And somehow that was worse.
Because there was no disappointment.
No fear.
Just love.
And Shane did not know what to do with that.
"I can't tell Ilya."
"Why?"
"Because."
His voice cracked.
"Because he is finally happy."
Jackie frowned even though he could not see her.
"Shane."
"He has the team. He has everything."
"And you think this takes something away from him?"
Shane swallowed.
"I think I am making everything harder."
The words came out quietly.
Too honestly.
"I already missed practice. I already scared everyone. Now this."
"This is not a bad thing."
"I know."
"But?"
Shane looked down.
"But I don't know how to stop feeling like I have to prove I deserve everything."
Jackie went quiet.
Because she understood.
Shane could win championships.
He could be loved.
He could have the life he dreamed of.
And still somehow believe he had to earn it every day.
"I need him."
That confession was barely audible.
"I know."
"No, I mean..."
Shane wiped his face.
"I really need him."
Jackie softened.
"Your alpha?"
A shaky breath.
"Yes."
Jackie took a slow breath.
"How are you feeling?"
Shane let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"I don't know."
"No, really."
He looked through the windshield, but he wasn't seeing the parking lot anymore.
"I don't know."
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
"I just..." He swallowed. "Everything feels... wrong."
"Wrong how?"
Shane struggled to find the words.
"It feels like something is missing."
Jackie stayed quiet, giving him the space to figure it out.
"I keep reaching for him."
His voice cracked.
"I know he's not here, but I still..." He looked down at his empty hand. "I keep expecting him to be."
Jackie's heart ached.
"Your alpha?"
A shaky nod.
"Yeah."
He wiped quickly at his face.
"I just want my husband."
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward.
Just full of understanding.
"Have you eaten since your appointment?"
Shane hesitated.
"...No."
"Have you had anything to drink?"
"...No."
"Shane."
"I know."
"No," Jackie said gently. "I don't think you do."
He rested his forehead against the steering wheel.
"I can't go home."
Jackie frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Our house..." His voice was barely audible. "It's going to smell like him."
He shut his eyes.
"And he's not going to be there."
The words hung between them.
Jackie understood immediately.
For an omega whose instincts were already beginning to change, an empty house carrying nothing but his alpha's scent would feel almost cruel.
"So don't go home."
Shane blinked.
"What?"
"Go somewhere else."
"I don't know where."
"You do."
He frowned.
"Your parents."
Shane's first instinct was immediate.
"I can't."
Jackie let out a short laugh, incredulous and fond all at once.
"As if you could ever bother them."
Shane looked at her, startled.
Jackie shook her head, still smiling.
"Especially about this. Shane, you need your parents you are their son."
"I know."
"Then let them do their job."
Another tear rolled down Shane's cheek.
"I haven't shown up at their house crying since I was a kid."
"Then maybe," Jackie said softly, "it's time you let them be your parents again."
That hit harder than Shane expected.
His chest tightened painfully.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"You don't have to."
"I was supposed to tell Ilya first."
"I know."
"We were supposed to find out together."
Jackie closed her eyes.
"I know."
"I don't even know how to tell him."
"You don't have to figure that out today."
Shane let out a shaky breath.
"I don't?"
"No."
Jackie's voice was calm and certain.
"Today, your only job is to let the people who love you take care of you."
Shane looked down at the tiny ultrasound picture.
Their pup.
His and Ilya's.
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"What if I'm not enough?"
Jackie didn't answer right away.
Instead, she said the only thing she knew he needed to hear.
"You have spent your entire life believing love is something you have to earn."
Shane's breath caught.
He covered his mouth as another sob escaped him.
"Go see your mom and dad."
His eyes closed.
"...Okay."
"And Shane?"
"Yeah?"
"You are not ruining your husband's life."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
"You are giving him the family he's dreamed about since he was a kid."
For the first time since leaving the doctor's office, Shane let himself believe that might be true.
He ended the call a few minutes later.
The car fell silent once again.
He sat there for another minute, staring at the ultrasound picture resting in his lap.
Then he started the engine.
When he pulled out of the parking lot, he didn't drive toward the house he shared with Ilya.
He drove toward the place that had always felt like home.