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“I don’t think I can do this,” Shane muttered, standing outside his parents’ front door. “I’m going to be sick.”
He wished he could blame this current wave of nausea on morning sickness, but he knew that in this case, at least, it was entirely due to his own nerves, his stomach twisting anxiously at the thought of what awaited them on the other side of that door. He hadn’t been this nervous to face his parents since the day he had come out to them and told them he was in love with Ilya in one go.
That had been bad enough, but now he had let them find out they were going to be grandparents via social media.
He feared his mother would never forgive him.
Turning to Ilya, he grabbed hold of his mate’s hand, needing the grounding skin-to-skin contact. Sometimes, it felt like Ilya was the only thing that kept him tethered to earth.
“Let’s go,” he said. “We can just call them.”
Ilya sighed. “Shane. Lyubimyy,” he said, reaching up to brush his knuckles over Shane’s cheek, his thumb tracing over Shane’s freckles lovingly. “It will be fine. Your parents love you. And they deserve to hear news from us, yes?”
His hand went to Shane’s stomach, caressing him through his shirt. “They will be happy for us.”
Shane put his hand over Ilya’s, holding it against him for a moment. He liked that Ilya couldn’t stop touching his stomach. Ever since he had seen the positive result on that test, Ilya had been obsessed with touching him, kissing his stomach, pressing his ear to it as though he could possibly hear anything other than Shane’s guts growling when they missed dinner. Last night in bed, he had spent almost thirty minutes whispering to Shane’s still-flat belly entirely in Russian—Shane had caught a few words he recognized, like love and baby, but other than that, he couldn’t decipher what Ilya was telling their child.
Daughter, Ilya had corrected him when Shane had asked, referring to their child in gender-neutral terms. Is daughter, Shane, I know so.
It would be weeks before they could schedule an ultrasound to find out the baby’s biological sex, but secretly, Shane hoped Ilya was right. When he thought about the future, about their little one finally being here, he imagined a little girl with his eyes and Ilya’s curls.
Ilya tugged him forward, and Shane let himself be pulled into the circle of his mate’s arms, Ilya placing a hand on the back of his head to gently guide Shane’s face into the crook of his neck. Shane pressed his nose against the patch of skin just beneath Ilya’s ear and took a deep breath, letting Ilya’s calming, familiar scent wash over him.
Almost immediately, he felt his nerves begin to settle, his body recognizing that scent as Ilya and mate and home. Ilya had always had that effect on him, he could admit, but now even more so—Ilya wasn’t just his mate, but the father of his child, and there was a deep, instinctual knowing that Shane could feel in his body whenever Ilya was close. It went beyond love, beyond even their bond as mates. Ilya was truly a part of him, now.
“Feel better?” Ilya asked after a moment, combing his fingers softly through Shane’s hair.
Shane pulled back just enough to see Ilya’s face. “Yes,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
Ilya smiled at him. “My brave little omega,” he said, tone gently teasing.
“Shut up.” Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Is true,” Ilya insisted, lips curling into a grin as he tugged Shane closer. “Little omega. Moya kroshka.”
He dipped in and kissed Shane’s cheek, and then his jaw, nibbling along his neck until he reached Shane’s scent gland. Even though he already had Ilya’s bite scar healing on his neck, the feeling of teeth so close to the little raised patch of skin beneath his ear sent a shiver through him.
“Ilya,” Shane warned, putting his hands on Ilya’s chest, though he made no move to actually push him away. “We’re at my parents’ house.”
“And? They know I put baby in you already.” Ilya nipped at Shane’s earlobe. “This is nothing.”
Shane did push him away, then. “Fuck off,” he muttered, no real heat behind the words as he adjusted his clothes so that it didn’t look like his mate had just been pawing at him. “You’re terrible.”
“You love it,” Ilya said, expression smug. “And now you are too annoyed to panic.”
Shane glared, but Ilya was right; that nervous, roiling feeling in his stomach had been replaced by pure annoyance. He wasn’t sure how long that would last, wasn’t sure that the nerves wouldn’t come back the moment he actually came face to face with his parents, but for now, he felt like he could at least get a foot in the door without having a panic attack. Because he had his mate with him, and—though he would never admit it out loud, lest Ilya’s ego get even bigger than it already was—he did always feel braver with his alpha by his side.
“Okay.” Shane took a deep breath. He could do this. They could do this. They were going to tell his parents—officially—that he was pregnant, and everything was going to be fine.
He nodded at Ilya to open the door, and no sooner had Ilya raised his fist to knock than the door swung open to reveal Shane’s mother, who had obviously been lying in wait for them on the other side. Shane felt himself blush. How much had she heard through the door?
“Hi, Mom,” he said, his shoulders curling in on themselves as Yuna cut her sharp eyes over to him.
“Instagram, Shane?” she asked. “Really?”
Shane grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We weren’t trying to keep it secret or anything, just—can we come in?”
Yuna sighed. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside and waving them into the house.
Ilya’s hand was warm and solid on the small of Shane’s back as they stopped in the entryway to slip off their shoes, Yuna watching them with a bemused expression. It wasn’t that Shane ever forgot his mother was an alpha—it was hard to mistake her for anything else—but all that alpha energy wasn’t usually directed at him. There was a sour note in her scent, not quite the acrid sharpness of anger, but more like…disappointment, mixed with something like fear. It made him want to curl up and hide away somewhere.
He would almost rather she be angry at him.
As if sensing his distress, Ilya brought his hand up to grip the back of Shane’s neck, squeezing gently. The tension drained out of his shoulders almost immediately, but he was still anxious.
“Mom, I—” he tried, but Yuna held up a hand to stop him.
“Let’s sit down first,” she said, heading in the direction of the dining room and clearly expecting them to follow.
Ilya took Shane’s hand and squeezed his fingers reassuringly, but Shane could tell that even he was nervous as they took a seat at the dining table across from Yuna, who was pouring herself another glass of wine. Shane wondered how many she’d had this evening.
As they sat down, David appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and Shane felt himself relax somewhat at the familiar sight of his dad with a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, his calming scent mixed with the smell of whatever he was cooking. David didn’t look angry, or disappointed. There was a gentle, if slightly concerned, look on his face.
“Evening, boys,” he greeted them with a nod. “Dinner is almost ready.”
That had to be a good sign, right? His parents were still willing to feed him and Ilya when they came over. Surely that meant they weren’t planning on kicking them out anytime soon.
His dad brought him a ginger ale, and Shane nodded his thanks, curling his fingers around the can like it was a lifeline. Yuna pulled out a bottle of vodka and set it in front of Ilya silently.
“Well?” she asked once she and David had taken their seats across the table from Shane and Ilya. The whole setup felt so familiar to the day he and Ilya had come out that Shane felt his stomach twist.
“Well?” he shot back defensively. Across the table, Yuna flinched.
Ilya put a hand on Shane’s thigh. “Deep breath, lyubimyy,” he whispered. “Is okay.”
Shane sucked in a breath. Pushed it out slowly through his nose. “Mom. Dad,” he started, placing his hand on top of Ilya’s on his thigh, Ilya threading their fingers together. He looked between his parents, between Yuna’s expectant but knowing stare and David’s kind, patient one, and tried to tell himself that he didn’t have anything to be afraid of here. These were his parents, and they loved him. They loved Ilya.
Surely, they would love his and Ilya’s baby, too.
“I know…you’ve seen it already,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “And I’m sorry for that, but…Ilya and I wanted to come here and tell you in person.”
Ilya squeezed his fingers, a gentle reminder that he was there with Shane. That no matter what, they were in this together.
“You can tell us anything, Shane, you know that,” David urged gently.
“I know.” Shane looked down at the table, because that was easier than looking at his parents’ faces. “I wanted to tell—we wanted to tell you,” he amended, his grip on Ilya’s hand tightening. “That I, uh…I’m…pregnant. Ilya and I are going to have a baby.”
It was, he realized, the first time he had actually said the words out loud. Ilya rubbed his thumb over Shane’s knuckles encouragingly, while across the table, Yuna and David exchanged a look that Shane couldn’t decipher. He knew they knew already, and he hadn’t exactly expected them to start jumping for joy, but he had thought they would be at least a little excited at the prospect of being grandparents.
“Have you seen anyone?” Yuna asked. “A doctor?”
“N…no,” Shane said. He was starting to realize that they had done this whole thing backwards—like pretty much everything else in their relationship.
“Not yet,” Ilya added, perhaps sensing the wave of rising panic in Shane.
“So, you don’t…know how far along you are?” Yuna pressed.
Shane shook his head. “We just found out,” he said.
His parents exchanged another look. It was starting to piss Shane off, actually; he felt like he and Ilya were being judged for—what? Doing what every other mated couple did? So many of his and Ilya’s teammates were mated and had a whole litter of kids, and no one said a word about it. Granted, those teammates usually weren’t mated to other hockey players, who were both about to play their first season together on the same team.
But even if they hadn’t planned it, he refused to feel bad for wanting to start a family with his mate.
“Are you even happy for me, at least?” he asked, finally looking his parents in the eye.
Yuna, to her credit, looked devastated that he’d even had to ask.
“Shane, honey, of course we are,” she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. “But we’re also scared for you. Pregnancy is…it’s hard for male omegas. Complicated.”
Shane vaguely remembered learning something similar in his high school health class, about it being difficult for male omegas to carry pregnancies to term, but it hadn’t seemed important at the time, because at the time Shane had assumed he was an alpha, and that he liked girls—sweet, soft, omega girls—and so getting pregnant wasn’t something he ever thought he would have to worry about. It wasn’t until he’d met Ilya that he realized both his actual secondary gender, and his attraction to brash, forward alphas.
Well, one alpha in particular, at least.
Not for the first time since he had realized he might be pregnant, Shane felt a spike of fear. Before, he had only been worried about the toll pregnancy might have on his body insomuch as it affected his career as an athlete. He hadn’t even thought to be worried about what toll his body might have on a pregnancy.
“But Dad carried me,” he said, feeling numb.
Yuna leaned back in her chair and glanced over at David, putting a hand on her mate’s arm. Shane recognized the same sort of gesture Ilya was always doing for him, the alpha instinct to reach out and calm their mate.
“I did,” David said after a moment, nodding. “But I won’t lie; it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“There’s a reason we never tried again,” Yuna added gently.
As Shane looked between his parents, noting the quiet devastation of his father’s expression, his mother’s solemn resignation, he felt his breath begin to quicken. In and out, too rapid for his lungs to keep up. His vision went black at the edges. He was going to have a panic attack right here at his parents’ dining table, all because he had been stupid enough to let himself be knocked up, and now his baby might pay for that mistake.
He didn’t hear Ilya call his name, didn’t see the concerned looks his parents shared, didn’t even feel the chair move as he was scooted away from the table—but suddenly Ilya was there. Ilya was in his field of vision, Ilya’s hands were on cheeks, Ilya’s voice could be heard over his own panicked gasps.
“Shane? Breathe for me, moya lyubov,” he said, brushing his thumbs over Shane’s freckles. “In. Hold. Out. Good. That’s good, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re okay.”
The words spoken in that low, soothing tone managed to permeate the ringing in Shane’s ears, bringing his focus back to Ilya kneeling in front of him, his hands on either side of Shane’s face, brows furrowed in concern as his eyes searched for any lingering trace of panic.
“Are you back with me, lyubimyy?” he asked.
Shane nodded, his breathing less ragged now as he focused on the familiar sensation of Ilya’s hands on him, Ilya’s scent wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. Seeing that he was calmer, Ilya curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him forward, kissing him softly and then pressing their foreheads together.
“Do we need to go home?” Ilya asked him softly, voice low. “Or are you good to stay for dinner?”
Shane took a deep breath. He loved his parents, he really did, and for the most part, he had a great relationship with them, but sometimes he just needed his space. Sometimes, he got so overwhelmed—by the pressure put on him not only by his parents, but by the world at large, the league and his teammates and the media and the fans—that the only solution was to remove himself from whatever situation was causing him stress. To just disappear, whether it was off to his cottage or to the nearest empty room, away from prying, judging eyes.
Ilya understood that about him—Ilya understood him probably better than anyone—and he was always willing to give Shane that space, or even to make it for him if need be. Not for the first time, Shane couldn’t help but think how lucky he was that Ilya was his.
“I’m good,” Shane answered, squeezing Ilya’s wrist gratefully.
Ilya searched his face, and whatever he saw in Shane’s expression must have satisfied him, because he nodded, though he did kiss Shane again before finally relinquishing his grip on him.
As Ilya stood and returned to his seat, Shane dropped a hand to his stomach, as though shielding the small life there. A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him, and he realized that he would do whatever he could to keep their little one safe. Whether it was from the opinions of the public, the limitations of his own body, or his parents’ scrutiny, Shane would protect her from all of it.
And from the way Ilya reached over and put his hand protectively, possessively, on Shane’s thigh, he knew that Ilya felt the same.
Dinner went as well as could be expected after that. At least his parents had backed off somewhat after seeing Shane almost spiral into a panic attack. They still asked questions—Shane hadn’t really expected any different—but he noticed his mother trying to police her tone, his father extending gentle encouragement whenever he could. He did appreciate them trying, but by the time they were done eating, he was more than ready to leave.
At the door, Yuna pulled Shane into a hug that he gratefully returned. It had been a draining evening, yes, but the one thing that was never in doubt was that his parents loved him.
“Call us if you need anything,” she told him. “And let us know when you talk to the doctor.”
“Sure, Mom,” Shane said, squeezing her tight for a moment. Needing the comfort of his mother’s embrace after the emotional rollercoaster of the evening.
Yuna cradled the back of his hand with her hand, stroking his hair like she had once done when he was a little boy. “I am so very proud of you, you know,” she whispered to him.
Shane very quickly reached up and wiped at his eyes, nodding as his mother stepped away and David took her place. He gave Shane an understanding look, and then pulled him into a quick hug.
“You need a good alpha,” he said, voice gruff as he pulled back. “During this time. It’s important. And I think you picked a good one, son.”
Shane glanced over at Ilya, waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. Ilya, who loved him like no one else did. Ilya, who took care of him the way no one else could. Ilya, the best mate, the best partner Shane could have asked for.
“I know I did,” he said, smiling at Ilya, who winked when he noticed Shane looking.
The ride back to their house was silent. Ilya had insisted on driving again, so Shane watched the city pass them by through the window, his own reflection in the glass illuminated every few feet by the headlights of passing cars. His arms were crossed protectively over his midsection as his thoughts drifted back to their conversation at dinner.
He had always known that David had been his birthing parent, but what he hadn’t known was that it had been a difficult pregnancy. Then again, he hadn’t asked, because to him, it seemed like his parents were fine. Healthy. Why would he suspect that there had been complications? Had his parents almost lost him? Had David almost died?
And what if the same was true of Shane? He was, after all, his father’s son. What if he also had a complicated pregnancy? What if he—?
“What are you thinking about, moya lyubov?”
Ilya’s voice snapped him out of his dark, rapidly spiraling thoughts. He could feel Ilya’s eyes on him, and he turned to meet his mate’s concerned gaze.
“Nothing.” He shrugged lightly, hoping Ilya would drop it. Of course, his mate knew him far too well, shooting him an unimpressed look.
“I can hear your thoughts from here, Shane. You are very loud thinker.”
Shane let out a breath, looking down at where his arms were crossed over his stomach.
“What if something happens to her?” he asked, voice quiet. Even voicing the question aloud made his stomach flip unpleasantly, a mix of fear and nausea washing over him. “You heard my parents. What if there are complications? What if I’m not strong enough to—”
“Hey,” Ilya interrupted him, placing a hand on Shane’s thigh and squeezing gently. “Enough, moya lyubov. Don’t talk like that.”
He gave Shane’s thigh another squeeze and then pulled off onto the shoulder and cut the engine. Turning to Shane, he reached over and pried one of Shane’s hands away from his stomach, taking it in both of his.
“First, nothing is going to happen to her,” he said, his thumb rubbing over Shane’s knuckles soothingly. “Do not even think that. Second, you are strong enough. You are Shane Hollander. You are the strongest person I know.”
Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, only to scowl and let out an indignant “ouch!” as Ilya flicked the inside of his wrist.
“Third,” Ilya continued, ignoring him, “she has best papa in the world. She knows she will have to be born if she wants to meet me.”
“Okay,” Shane said, yanking his hand away, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now. Ilya noticed, and gave him a small grin of his own.
“Feel better?”
Shane nodded. Satisfied that he was no longer about to spiral, Ilya patted his thigh and then started the ignition. Shane waited until Ilya had carefully navigated off the shoulder and back into the flow of traffic before he spoke again.
“So, you’re going to be Papa?”
“Of course.” Ilya shrugged easily. “Our daughter will be born speaking Russian. Her first word will be папа.”
“Alright,” Shane scoffed, looking out the window briefly before he turned back to Ilya with a curious expression. “What will I be, then?”
Ilya tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, pretending to contemplate his answer.
“You will make a good мама, I think,” he said, glancing at Shane out of the corner of his eye. Though he hadn’t phrased it as a question, Shane knew him well enough to recognize the one that was inherent in his words.
Shane had never really considered what his future children might call him. Even when he had discovered he was an omega, and had started sleeping with Ilya, children really hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind. He knew, logically, that birthing parents could choose to be called whatever they wanted, regardless of their primary or secondary genders—he called his own birthing parent Dad, after all—but now that Ilya had brought it up, he realized it was a decision he would need to make sooner rather than later.
He pictured her in his mind, the same sharp-eyed, curly-haired little girl he pictured whenever he thought about his and Ilya’s daughter, and tried to imagine her calling him Dad or Daddy. It was fine, but it didn’t feel right. Not the way it felt when he imagined Ilya scooping her up into his arms, her little giggles as she cried Papa! That felt right.
But then he imagined himself holding her, eyes that looked so much like his own looking up at him as she called him Mama.
His hands went back to his stomach. He knew it was impossible this early on in his pregnancy, but he thought he felt a little flutter there in response to his thoughts. Maybe she liked Mama, too, he thought.
“I think…Mama…could be good,” he finally said, testing the word out for himself.
Ilya’s smile was bright. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Shane nodded, his lips curling into a small smile of his own.
Reaching across the center console, Ilya took one of his hands and threaded their fingers together, and they rode the rest of the way home like that, hand in hand, and hopeful for the future.