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Shane was rage shopping. He dumped overpriced granola that he wouldn’t even eat into his basket, blood fizzing with frustration, as it had been for days. He kept replaying every single minute of his last morning with Ilya before he left. Ilya, who just got to be an asshole and then fuck off to Florida for a week-long road trip. They wouldn’t see each other for another three weeks, when their off days next lined up, and Shane was still so mad.
According to Ilya, everything was so easy. He was so determined that they could have it all, that they could come out and keep playing against each other like it wouldn’t matter. Like the league would just shrug and move on. And Shane was running out of ways to explain his fear. He was so scared, all the time. About what people would think, or say, or what it might mean for their careers. There was no roadmap for this, no one ever thought to write their situation into the player’s code of conduct. Would they be suspended? Suspected of cheating when they played each other? Shane was plagued, every day, with fear of what discovery might mean for their careers. And Ilya just refused to understand, leaving Shane to feel like shit – as if he must just not love Ilya enough to take the risk. When really Shane’s love for Ilya was the only thing making it worth all this risk to begin with.
Ilya’s parting words were still ringing in Shane’s head. Their fight had lasted for maybe twenty minutes, but it had felt like hours. It was so early that it was still pitch-black outside, and neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. Shane watched Ilya get his stuff together and followed him to the door of the house, still simmering with anger.
Shane had been opening his mouth to continue the argument— not all of the league is like the Centaurs, and you know it—
But Ilya had turned to him first, and the look on his face stopped Shane in his tracks. Standing in the foyer of Shane’s house, one hand on the front door knob, the other holding his duffel bag, Ilya didn’t look angry anymore, just sad.
“Maybe hockey is just more important than this. Us. Yes? Maybe is true for both of us, I don’t know.” The exhaustion on Ilya’s face took all the wind out of Shane’s sails.
Shane had wanted to say, no, of course not! Ilya, you will always be more important than hockey. But he was still a coward, at heart. “Maybe,” Shane said instead, his throat tight.
Ilya had closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing moment. Then he nodded and left without another word.
It had been days and Shane still felt sick. Despite what Hayden might think, he and Ilya almost never fought, and certainly never anything like that. A quiet, terrified part of Shane’s mind didn’t even know if Ilya would come back during the next gap in their schedules. He didn’t think they had broken up, he was sure that if they had he would know it. But their texts since Ilya had left were abrupt and awkward. Shane knew he would feel twitchy and unsettled until he saw Ilya again and they could put this behind them. He knew their arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it was working. Shane could keep this secret as long as he needed to, if it meant he could keep Ilya and hockey. Ilya just needed a bit of time to cool off and he would understand too.
This was what Shane had been telling himself for days, but instead of appeasing him it kept stoking the flames of his anger. Any time he wasn’t at the practice rink, or actively playing hockey, he was replaying their last morning together. Now, out of sheer desperation, Shane had found himself in a high-end grocery store, filling a basket with over-priced fruit and a dozen different types of herbal tea.
On the whole, Shane tended to get by without being noticed in public. There was the odd double-take or lingering glance of someone trying to figure out if they’d met somewhere before but in his experience, people didn’t expect to run into an NHL star during their weekly grocery shopping, so they didn’t tend to be looking. Dressed in a plain black t-shirt and a baseball cap, he’d largely managed to go unnoticed so far.
In his back pocket, Shane felt his phone vibrate with an incoming text. He slung his basket into the crook of his elbow to fish his phone from his pocket.
Lily: Our plane is going down
Shane stared at the text, sure he must not be understanding it correctly. He read it three times, standing arrested in the middle of the grains aisle. Dimly, he was aware that his muscles had seized up, his whole body responding with dread before his mind could catch up. Shane was still trying to process the message when the next text arrived.
Lily: It’s on fire, I can see the fire
But – but that didn’t make any sense. Ilya was flying today, of course, on his Florida road trip, but his plane couldn’t be on fire. That wasn’t a thing that actually happened. It was a joke, surely. But it didn’t feel like the kind of joke Ilya would make. And if it was a joke, Shane wasn’t sure he understood the punchline at all.
Shane was fighting against the cold grip of fear that had made its way to his heart when the next text came in.
Lily: I love you so fucking much
That was when the panic set in, as the texts started coming in thick and fast.
Lily: I need you to know you are the best thing that ever happened to me
Lily: Love of my fucking life you know
Lily: I was wrong I’m so sorry
Lily: Nothing is more important than you
Lily: Nothing even comes close
Lily: I would quit hockey tomorrow if it meant I could be with you it doesn’t matter I don’t want it
Lily: God fuck Shane I don’t want to die
Lily: I’m sorry
Lily: I love you
Shane’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t breathe. He had no recollection of dropping his shopping basket, but somehow he was outside, on a shopping street in the cold Montreal air and he had no idea how he’d gotten there. Had no idea what to do. His whole attention was a thousand miles away, somewhere above Florida on Ilya’s burning airplane but he couldn’t do anything.
Too late, he remembered his phone, gripped like a vice grip in his fist. It had been one unbearable minute since Ilya’s last text, and Shane’s panic was a living thing in his chest. His fingers shook violently as he struggled to type a reply.
Shane: I love you too
It was so obvious, so clearly the only thing he could possibly say, but it also felt hollow and empty as Shane sent it. It wasn’t even close to enough. He wanted to tell Ilya that Shane would walk through hell to keep him. That he would stand in front of a train for him, that he wished they could see each other, hold each other, speak to one another. He wanted to tell Ilya that he had taken all of those things as a given and now the idea that he might never have any of them again was stealing all the thoughts from his brain, all the air from his lungs.
Shane: Talk to me? What’s happening?
The text went through, but there was no reply. One minute passed, then two, and Shane’s mind was just a blank white panic. He leaned against the cold brick exterior of the store, his back pressed hard against the wall, his knees locked to keep his feet under him. He felt exposed out here, alone and completely useless, but he didn’t trust his legs to carry him the short journey back to his car. He had only enough presence of mind to pull his ball cap lower over his eyes and keep his head down.
Fingers trembling, he tried to call Ilya. It went to voicemail. He tried again, and the same. He tried again and again and again until his hands were numb and his battery was rapidly draining in the cold.
“Please,” he said under his breath, over and over again. “Please, please, please.”
Finally, finally, the line connected.
“Hi.” Ilya’s voice came through and Shane had to bite back a sob. Ilya took his own shaking breath and said again, “God, hi.” Ilya sounded wretched, wrung out and exhausted, on the verge of tears himself. But he was alive, and that was more than enough.
“I—” Shane started, but his throat seized up. He had to take several deep gasping breaths before he could continue. “Are you—are you okay?”
“Yes, I— we landed. I’m sorry, we’re all trying to call people, and the signal is shit—”
The line was indeed awful, glitchy and a little delayed. Shane could hear a lot of noise filtering through Ilya’s end of the line. Sounds of machinery and the voices of Ilya’s teammates speaking to each other or into their own phones. “You’re still on the plane?” Shane managed to ask. You’re not alone, is what he meant.
“Yes, I— fuck. Is good to hear your voice.”
“You too,” Shane said, in what might be the biggest understatement of his life. “Fuck, Ilya—” he bit the name back and looked around sharply, but no one on the street was even looking in his direction.
Finally, Shane thought he could manage the walk to his car. He set off unsteadily down the street, phone cradled like a lifeline to his ear. He tripped over his own feet as he walked, dizzy with relief and still high on frantic, directionless adrenaline.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya was saying now, “I’m sure I scared you.”
That was one word for it. Shane was pretty sure he’d just lived through the worst ten minutes of his life, but he didn’t think that was what Ilya needed to hear right now. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Shane said, as Ilya continued.
“I didn’t want to die without you knowing… you know.”
Shane had really come that close to losing Ilya forever. The very idea opened a chasm of terror in Shane’s mind that he could barely think around. “I knew,” Shane assured him, his voice barely stronger than a whisper. “I knew.”
Finally, Shane reached the safety of his car and collapsed into the driver’s seat, pulling the door shut behind him. He pressed his head back hard against the headrest, screwing his eyes shut as he focused on the sound of Ilya’s voice.
“I— I have to go,” Ilya said, “we’re finally going to get off this godforsaken fucking plane.”
Shane took another deep, steadying breath. “Okay, yeah.”
He wished Ilya was alone. He wished they were together. He wished Shane could throw his arms around Ilya’s shoulders, pull him close, assure himself that he really was okay.
“I love you,” Shane said instead, because it was the best he could do.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” Ilya replied. “I’ll call you later.”
The line disconnected then, and Shane was left alone in his empty car. It was long minutes before his hands were steady enough to start the engine.