Chapter Text
December 2016
Ilya's phone rang. Alexei's name flashed on the screen. Ilya sighed and answered.
"Yeah?" Ilya asked in russian, not bothering saying hello while he was making his way upstairs in his house.
"Dad had a stroke." Alexei said.
Ilya stopped mid-stairs. "What? When? Is he okay?"
"Yesterday. It was a minor stroke, he's okay. Mostly normal. Except for his memory, you know." Ilya nodded to himself.
"Okay. Is he at home?" he asked Alexei.
"No, still at the hospital."
"I can come." Ilya turned around on the stairs to go and fetch a suitcase.
"No, we can manage without you. Send money so I can hire a nurse," Alexei snapped.
"No, I'm coming."
"No, Ilya. We don't need you. We need your money."
"Alexei, I..." Ilya began.
The line went dead. Alexei had hung up. "Fuck," Ilya cursed. He considered whether to look for flights to Moscow. But he had a game tomorrow, and his dad was okay according to Alexei. He tried calling his dad, but he didn't answer. He probably didn't have his phone since he was in the hospital. Ilya tried not to feel guilty about being so far away from his father, but failed. Even though his dad had never been kind and Ilya had always felt judged, Grigori was his father. He still loved his father, even if he had tried not to. He had tried to cut ties or distance himself. But the loyalty toward his father had always been stronger than Ilya's ability to stand up for himself. He touched his cross and tried to breathe. Ilya did what his brother asked and transferred the money. His dad would get help from a nurse, and he knew his money would be put to good use. Even if Ilya himself was useless.
January 2017
Ilya sat in his car on the driveway after driving home from practice. He stared at the front door, and the thought of selling the house grew stronger and stronger every time he came home. The house was too big, and everywhere he went in it, it reminded him that he was alone. He had tried to fill the house with parties and friends to numb the feeling of loneliness. But every time the house had been full, he had withdrawn, and the loneliness had remained. Once, he had even left his own house during a party because he couldn't stand seeing all the couples making out and sitting on each other's laps.
He had been miserable ever since Shane left him sitting on the couch that night in October. When the grief and shame of being left hadn't faded, and when the news about Shane and Rose hit, Ilya had realized he was in love with Shane. He had realized it too late, but he also realized that his feelings wouldn't make a difference. He couldn't be with Shane even if he wanted to. Ilya was broken, and Shane didn't deserve that. Ilya couldn't be open about who he was or who he loved, and Hollander deserved to be loved loudly and openly. Shane deserved someone like Rose. Simple, open, and safe.
Even though Ilya understood that Rose was better for Shane, it had still hurt to see him with Rose at the nightclub. On top of that, Ilya had been in such a bad headspace that he had made out with a random girl just to make Hollander jealous. He had felt ashamed of it afterward. It had been stupid. But he had been so heartbroken that he was out of his mind, in incredible pain. He had realized it was an idiotic thing to do—that he was an idiot, and that was exactly why he didn't deserve Shane.
A week had passed since Ilya saw Shane at the club, and in a week or so, he would have to see Shane again. The All-Star game was going to be played in Tampa Bay, and he and Shane would be on the same team. Ilya didn't know how he would get through it without wanting to cry the second he saw Shane, but he was also far too curious to know what it was like to play on the same team as Shane to back out. Shane challenged him on the ice in a way no one else did. It used to be fun, ecstatic, and electric to play against Shane, but a week ago, it had been torture. It had been painful playing against Shane and knowing there was no way for them to meet up that night, knowing he was not going to get to touch Shane the way he wanted to. Then he had seen Shane with Rose on the dance floor, and ever since then, Ilya truly understood that everything between them was over.
Ilya sighed painfully at the memory and stepped out of the car, locked it, and moved toward the front door. He turned right back around when he remembered he needed to bring in the mail.
Ilya opened his mailbox, took out the mail, and walked through the front door into the empty house. He flipped through the mail sluggishly. Bills, flyers, a press release. But one letter stood out. It was handwritten in curly letters and had foreign stamps and international postmarks. It didn't look like fan mail. He looked closer and saw it had Russian stamps. Ilya stopped breathing. Suddenly, he recognized the handwriting. Slowly, he turned the letter over and opened it with shaking fingers. He unfolded the paper, which was written in Cyrillic. His heart hammered against his chest as he began to read.
"Ilya,
I know you are not expecting this letter from me, and I understand if you don't write back, and I understand that you cannot come to visit. I don't want that; I want you to be safe. It is not safe here.
I know Alexei has contacted you and told you that I had a stroke. When I woke up in the hospital, I was alone and realized that the person I have been has pushed away everyone I loved.
My memory fails me, I know. But I want you to know that I have a moment of clarity now as I write to you. I am grateful that I still can.
I want to apologize to you. I know you have no reason to believe me. But I am sorry for everything I have said and all the ways I made you feel small.
I tried to take credit for all your success, but the truth is, it is yours alone. I am proud of you, my son.
I have known that you are different ever since you were little. I recognized it because I was just like you. I was afraid when I grew up, and I was afraid that something would happen to you. When you have lived in denial your whole life and been taught that being different is wrong, it is hard to feel worthy. Ilya, you are the one who is strong and brave. I am a cowardly old man who never dared to be himself, and I took it out on you. I treated you the same way my father treated me. And for that, I am sorry.
I took it out on your mother too. I know I carry the blame for her death. Even though we never loved each other, I wish I had treated her differently. But I was an unhappy, miserable man.
I am not trying to defend myself. I am trying to explain. It is hard to be honest. Even now, when I know I will die soon.
I didn't love your mother. And I don't love Paulina. The only one I ever loved that way was named Ivan Lysenko. This will surely come as a shock to you. But it is because of this that I knew you were different when you were a child. It pains me to think of Ivan. But as you know, I had no alternative. I couldn't love him. I couldn't fight for him; it would have cost me everything. I didn't dare to and Ivan left me. I denied myself the happiness I felt with Ivan, and it made me bitter and angry.
I am old now. I have lived my whole life unhappy. Unhappy when I chose Russia over Ivan. Unhappy when I married for appearances. Unhappy when I saw how you and your brother suffered. Unhappy when I found out Ivan had died. Unhappy when I woke up in the hospital alone. I have many regrets at the end of my life. But you are not one of them.
Don't be like me, Ilya. Don't choose misery. Don't live with regrets. Choose the one who makes you happy.
I am sorry I was not the father you deserved.
Ya tebya lyublyu.
Farewell,
Papa"
Ilya cried. He had tears streaming down his cheeks. His father had just confessed in a letter that he had loved a man and that he regretted his actions and choices. Ilya's head was spinning. His father knew about his sexuality, or at least to some extent. And he had said he was sorry and that he loved Ilya. He wiped his tears on his sleeve. The letter contained all Ilya ever wanted, but he still felt conflicted. Happy, sad, hurt, confused, but most of all angry.
His father's confession didn't erase everything Ilya had been subjected to, but it was an explanation. His father had suffered his whole life, and his denial of himself had made him bitter, angry, and scared. Ilya was so angry about everything. Angry that his father had to deny who he was. Angry that his father had been abused by his own father. Angry that he had been so indoctrinated that he had done the same thing to Ilya. Angry that it had taken his father's entire life to finally be honest. But he also felt sympathy. He understood his father's fear. Because it was his fear too. The fear of not being enough. The fear of the consequences of loving a man. The fear of becoming like his father. Ilya did not want to live his life like his father. Ilya took a breath and tried to calm down.
Ilya stared at the sentence: "Don't choose misery." Wasn't that exactly what he had done? He realized he had chosen misery when he didn't fight for Shane. He had done just like his father, and now he was miserable. Panic rose inside him and he felt hot tears on his face again. He had let Shane leave him that night in October, and he hadn't even tried to talk to him. Hollander had shut Ilya out of his life, and Ilya had let him. He had wanted an explanation, but he hadn't dared to ask. He had sworn that day that he knew Shane felt the same way as him, so why hadn't he tried to make Shane explain himself? He had just sat there on the couch and let Shane vanish from his life, and he hadn't even tried to stop it. And then Shane met Rose.
Months had passed since he talked to Shane. He wondered if Shane missed him as much as Ilya missed Shane. Probably not, since he had Rose. But Ilya was terrified of becoming like his father. Terrified that he would lose the love of his life because he made the same choice as his father. For once, he chose to take his father's advice. He was not going to choose misery. He was going to do what his father hadn't dared to do. He was going to fight, even if it cost him everything.
He searched his pockets for his phone. He tried to see the screen through his tears but had to wipe his eyes again. His fingers shook when he saw the conversation with "Jane." He opened their chat and paused. What was he going to write to Shane? Ask him to explain? Would Shane even answer? He took a deep breath and decided that he needed to talk to Shane in person. He needed to look Shane in the eyes when he told him everything in his mind and in his heart.
This could not wait. He closed their conversation, went online, and searched for flights to Montreal.