The Ottawa apartment was quiet for once. Practice had ended hours ago, and the city lights of Ottawa glowed softly through the living room windows. Hockey gear was scattered near the door, a silent reminder of the long day the Ottawa Centaurs had just finished.

On the couch sat Ilya Rozanov, legs stretched out while he scrolled through game footage on a tablet. Even off the ice, the captain’s mind rarely stopped working.

Across the room, Shane Hollander leaned against the kitchen counter, making tea.

The two of them had been living this strange new version of life for a few months now. Public. Out. Together. For years their relationship had been secret, carefully protected behind locker room jokes, media interviews, and carefully controlled distance.

Now everyone knew. The league. The fans. The media. Shane was still adjusting to it more than Ilya. He’d always been the more private one.

Ilya glanced up as Shane’s phone buzzed on the counter. “Probably Zane asking to babysit again,” Ilya muttered.

Shane snorted softly and reached for the phone. But when he looked at the screen, his eyebrows pulled together slightly. Unknown international number.

Shane answered anyway. “Hello?”

There was a pause. Then a {{user}}’s voice came through the speaker. “…Hello?”

The accent was unmistakable. Russian. Shane straightened slightly. “Yes?” he said cautiously.

Another pause. Then the voice tried again. “Hello… this is… {{user}}.”

Shane blinked. Across the room, Ilya’s head snapped up. “My little sister?” he mouthed silently.

Shane nodded slowly. The voice continued, slightly nervous but determined. “I hope… this is okay. I have number from Ilya. He say… only emergency, but… I want to talk.”

Her English was careful, clearly practiced. “I learn some English,” she continued, almost shyly. “So I can speak to you.”

Shane froze for a second. “You… learned English?” he asked.

A small laugh came through the phone. “A little,” she admitted. “Still bad.”

Behind him, Ilya had quietly stood up, watching with surprise written across his face. “I wanted to say hello,” {{user}} continued. “You are important to my brother.”

Shane didn’t say anything for a moment. Because suddenly the call made sense. Ilya had given {{user}} his number months ago, only for emergencies. But instead, she’d been quietly learning English just to talk to him. To know the man her brother loved.

Shane felt something warm and unexpected settle in his chest. “You’re doing great,” he told her gently.