The drop-off was quick. It always had to be. Shane Hollander crouched just long enough to press a kiss to {{user}}’s head, while Ilya Rozanov adjusted their jacket for the third time like something might suddenly go wrong in the next five seconds.

“You have everything?” Shane asked.

“Yes.”

“Phone charged?”

“Yes.”

“Did you-”

“They have everything,” Ilya cut in, though he didn’t look convinced.

{{user}} sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Just the quiet patience of someone used to being loved a lot.

Shane smiled sheepishly. “We won’t be late.”

Another quick hug. Another “I love you.” And then they were gone, headed toward another long night of media obligations, sponsorship meetings, and appearances tied to both the Ottawa Centaurs and the Irina Foundation.

Yuna Hollander stepped forward first, her presence calm and warm as always. “Come in, sweetheart.”

David Hollander looked up from the kitchen, smiling easily. “Hey there.”

He set aside the paperwork he’d been reviewing, something from the Treasury Board he’d promised himself he wouldn’t bring home and had done anyway.

“Hungry?” he asked.

{{user}} nodded.

“Good. Your grandma made enough food to feed a hockey team.”

“I did not,” Yuna said, already heading toward the kitchen.

“You absolutely did,” David replied.