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The thing about regret is that it tends to be deeply unhelpful. All it really stands to do is make someone feel worse. And that is where Shane found himself. Deep in the hole of regret. But he thought it would make the anxiety quiet down. He thought that the treacherous pockets of air in his chest would go away if he just said what was on his mind. Typed what was on his mind. For one single second, between floors in the elevator, he believed that it would solve all of his problems. For that split second, he felt weightless. Like whatever was going to happen in his life was now out of his hands. That didn’t last.
He regretted it as soon as he sent it. He felt pathetic. Small. Wishing he wasn’t in a tux still. The weird, floaty headspace he had been in before he realized the horrifying truth was replaced in a whoosh by a heavy, constricted feeling. His hands tingled and his body started to feel hot.
Pressing send and watching the message make the “schwoop” sound away from his phone was terrifying. He hated that he had the ability to get a message to someone so instantly. As soon as he sent the message, he wished he could take it back. He wanted to grasp at the air, like the text was a physical thing he could catch and bring back to inside his mind.
Shane didn’t think that it could feel worse. It didn’t occur to him that the limbo he was feeling before sending the text would be something he craved. He felt like an idiot. He wished that he had known that the feeling of unknown was so much better than his current reality.
When he had typed the message, he originally was going to say something else. Something noncommittal, like:
but that rang false to his ears. It wasn’t what he wanted to say. A better, braver version of himself would have said it to Ilya’s face. To force him to react. To turn away from the door of his penthouse and walk back to him smoking on his bed. To look at him in the eyes and say “why didn’t you kiss me? Did I do something wrong? If you tell me what I did wrong, I can fix it. I won’t do it again.” Shane was out of his depth. He didn’t know how to act with Ilya. He had nothing to base his behavior on. He had no one to talk to about what he should be doing. The way Ilya had been acting had freaked him out. He worried that it was his fault. That worry was then complemented by the absurdity that Shane in any way affected how Ilya’s life went. That Shane’s ego had now gotten so big that a part of him worried that he was the reason that Ilya was brooding, smoking a cigarette on his bed. That Shane was the reason that he didn’t look at him. Didn’t walk him out. Didn’t even start to offer to have him stay the night. Not that he would have. But Shane didn’t know for sure. It was never an option. All he knew was that it was clear that Ilya wanted him gone. He couldn’t invite himself to stay that night. This was new to Shane, but he knew that was not how this worked.
Shane tore out of his tuxedo and got into the shower. He wanted to wash it off. He wanted to wash it all away. He was going to take a really long shower. Every moment in the shower was another moment that he didn’t have to know that Ilya was ignoring him and not texting him back. An amount of time where he physically couldn’t check his phone, because he was in the shower. A barrier between himself and reality.
If Shane had been acting rationally, or had more time, he would have been able to follow his normal routine. Before he did anything, when he had time to think, he was able to think about the worst case scenario. Sending this text, even going up to Ilya’s room were both things that happened with so little forethought that he wasn’t able to consider what the worst thing would be was. On reflection, he realized that the thing he would have been most worried about did happen.
Thinking about it, waiting for Ilya to say something, anything was when Shane realized what the worst case scenario really was. His initial thought when the message escaped from his phone was that Ilya would respond something mean. Something slamming the door on whatever this thing between them was. Something dismissive. Something making fun of him. Something about how they weren’t anything. That Shane wasn’t anything to Ilya. None of that happened. What happened was so much worse. Silence.
That wasn’t entirely true, though. It would have almost been better if it was. Shane only allowed himself to check his texts with Ilya every so often, to try to avoid going crazy. It was one of those ideas that made a lot more sense in his head. It was an idea that he would have suggested to someone if they came to him in his predicament. Before he knew. Before he understood the kind of unique torture that this was. One of the (many) times Shane allowed himself to go back to the text chain, he saw it. The three dots. Ilya was typing. Shane gasped and threw his phone, not prepared for the rejection that was surely on its way. He told himself after he saw the three bubbles that he wasn’t going to even look at his phone right away. He didn’t need to pick up the phone to know that it was a rejection. Of him. Of them. Of whatever this not thing they were doing was.
The worst part of it all was that up until this point, Shane had been good. He hadn’t sent Ilya texts that he drafted, either in his head or actually in their text chain. It had taken him a huge level of restraint, but he managed to keep that at bay. They had hooked up two times. Shane didn’t know much about how this all worked, but he knew enough to know that a person that you hooked up with two times consuming most of your waking thoughts was not normal. Shane so desperately wanted Ilya to think he was normal. At least until it was okay to not be. At this rate, though, Shane knew it was likely too late. He had been too honest, too himself, too needy, and for that, he would never hear from Ilya again. No. That wasn’t quite right. He would hear from Ilya. Often. Every time they played each other, for the rest of their careers, he would be seeing Ilya in person and hearing him chirp. Every single time he watched any sort of hockey analysis, it was inevitable that Ilya would be brought up. What he would never have again was the private version of Ilya. The softer version. The one that the public didn’t see, unless they knew what to look for. The version of Ilya that got overwhelmed at the press conference of their first All Star game together. The version of Ilya that, in his own way, thanked Shane for stepping in and answering the long-winded, overly complicated question that the reporter asked them both. Shane was irrationally angry at that journalist. Why was he using this opportunity to show off the fact that he went to school for journalism? He was asking the question that everyone else was asking, but way more complicated just to hear himself talk longer?
After what he called the three dots incident, Shane started getting desperate and a little crazy. He allowed himself to come up with theories. Maybe Ilya had been typing a response and then dropped his phone into a storm drain. Maybe Ilya was typing out a response but realized that what he wanted to say, he wanted to say in person. Maybe Ilya was taking time away from his phone to be with the people in his life. Shane tried to hold on to that one. What didn’t help was the crackling feeling of jealously in his chest when he thought about it. Ilya was surrounded by people all the time. People that cared about him, that wanted him around, that saw Ilya as a positive addition to any social situation. He was never places by default, like Shane was. There were people in Ilya’s life that were his priority. That he made time for. Shane had allowed himself to believe that he could one day become one of them. He was learning slowly that this would never happen.
The crushing conclusion Shane arrived at was that Ilya had become Shane’s entire universe. He was the person that Shane wanted to filter all aspects of his life through. Shane closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold in the tears welling in them. Not that it really mattered if he cried. He was alone. He was always alone. Sure, he had Hayden and he was appreciative of that, but this was not something that he could go to him about. Even if it was, he wouldn’t know how to start. He wouldn’t know how to explain how this small, non-relationship relationship was the thing that was running his entire life. That was dictating his mood. This wasn’t something that he could explain to Hayden. Happily married, Hayden. Hayden with children who probably couldn’t even remember, if he had ever experienced it, the crushing feeling of not being wanted. The horrific feeling of being seen, finally, entirely, and told ‘no, not for me.’
It was so much better when Ilya had complete control of the situation. After the commercial, and before they had each other’s numbers, it was easier to be casual. Shane had no way of reaching out to Ilya. And that was good, because he knows that he would have wanted to. Would have tried to. Even stupid things. Like:
But he couldn’t send texts like that, so he didn’t. As soon as he had Ilya’s number, it was more dangerous. He allowed himself to see the possibilities of the future. Shane didn’t allow himself anything as crazy as imagining that they would be together in any real way, but the thought of them one day being friends sent a chill down his spine. Sure, Ilya would never get the excited, stomach-slippy feeling when he saw “Jane” light up his phone screen, but maybe they could consistently be in each other’s lives.
One week later, Shane was still distraught. Enough texts messages had come through at that point that he had to scroll down to find his unanswered message. He allowed himself to look at it one more time before deleting it. He thought that if he deleted the pathetic text message off of his phone, it would be like he never sent it. Like the tears that pooled in his eyes that he refused to let fall. He wouldn’t be able to go back and see the incredibly loud silence that followed.
It was the summer, now. Shane was trying his best to focus on staying in shape for the next season of hockey. The problem with doing something like that, something he had been doing for years, was that it gave him plenty of time for his mind to wander. For him to think about all the ways that he could have acted better to not mess up this thing they had going. It was so good. It was simple. Simple for Ilya, at least. Easy enough for Ilya that he was willing to let it continue. That he occasionally stoked the flames of their dynamic to see each other again. That’s when it finally happened. He got a text back. Shane knew that Ilya had been on his phone between the time of the text and now. He had sunken to a new level of low and was tracking his activity on Instagram. Ilya was not only posting a bunch about going out and clubbing, but he was following a lot of women and liking their posts. A lot of hot women. There was a twitter account dedicated to tracking Ilya’s activity on Instagram, and it was the worst discovery that Shane ever made. He could still remember when he found it. He made a burner account to follow it. To set up notifications to go off whenever there was an update. When he screenshotted the message that meant the most to him at the time.
Shane was so happy that Ilya had followed him on Instagram. He knew that he did, of course, he saw the notification on his phone from the actual Instagram app, but something about getting the notification from the Twitter account made it all the more real.
Shane was always going to follow him back. He just didn’t want to do it right away. It gave him a thrill to see the words “Shane does not follow Ilya back.” It felt like power. He should have known then that whatever this was was out of his depth. This was not something that he could deal with.
Finally, after an agonizing workout, while he was in the shower in the locker room, he heard his phone ding. He didn’t know if he wanted it to be Ilya or not. A part of him hoped for a moment that it was his mom. That maybe, it was his coach, even. It couldn’t be one of his many group texts, those were all silenced. There was always too much going on in them for him to participate in a meaningful way and he couldn’t keep up with all the jokes. It was when he heard Hayden’s voice that he knew for sure.
“Boston Lily is texting you!”
It was nice on some level that Hayden knew that there was someone that existed for Shane. That was the biggest thing that kept Shane from worrying that it was all in his head. That he had made it all up. Well, that and the fan edits he kept seeing online. Hayden had showed him them as a joke, thinking he would get a laugh out of it and forget about it, but really, it unlocked something far worse in Shane. A way to see how their interactions were seen by the public. Not everyone, of course, but the few that were tuned in on a level that Shane never could dream of being. Shane tried to limit the amount of time he spent looking at edits, but he could either do that or text Ilya and this felt safer.
Forcing himself to finish his post gym shower routine was harder than it had ever been. Ilya didn’t ned a text back right away. It had been two weeks since Shane had sent the text. One week since he deleted it from his phone. Not that that made a difference. It wasn’t like Shane had the privilege of forgetting what he had said. He forced himself to wait until he got home to read the text. No matter what it said, he knew it would ruin his life, somehow.
Driving home after saying goodbye to Hayden, Shane’s hands gripped the wheel tight and he drove as fast as he would allow himself. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled over and have to explain why he was speeding. He was a horrible liar and he knew he would say something stupid like ‘this person I’ve been seeing - well, not seeing, but hooking up with just texted me back for the first time in weeks and I’m pretty sure it’s to tell me to fuck off because I ruined everything.’ And yes, that maybe would get Shane out of a ticket, but the embarrassment would far outweigh the cost.
Walking inside his door, Shane toed off his shoes, forced himself to get a ginger ale, and sat down on his couch to read the text. Now the only text in the chain between them, because he had deleted everything else.
Shane felt all the life leave his body. Everything he had been scared of, everything he worried about was stupid compared to what had actually happened. The problem with being anxious for his whole life meant that it was something that he was actually very good at. The worst case scenario, the one he had imagined vividly in the two weeks that had passed had come true. He would trust his anxiety more, now. It had been right. It had been there for him when nothing else was.
He had messed everything up by sending a text because he was feeling vulnerable. He had failed a test that he didn’t even know he was taking. All he could do now was think of every single interaction that he had ever had with Ilya, wondering when it all went wrong. Surely it wasn’t one single text that messed everything up for him. He was probably constantly messing up, just not knowing it. All these little mistakes were going in a tally to come to this final disaster. Shane wished he had known that he was being reviewed or evaluated. If he had known the parameters of how he was supposed to act, maybe he would have done better. Ilya didn’t seem to have a problem playing by the rules. He was taking an open book test, while Shane was floundering. It was like he was taking a test that didn’t even have the questions on it.
What Shane wanted to do was ask what he did wrong. Specifically. He wanted to tackle this like he tackled everything else. He would consult the game tape and see where his mistakes were. And if that didn’t work, he would consult an expert to help him. He didn’t know anything about interior design other than the fact that he didn’t know anything about interior design, so he hired someone to do it for him.
More than anything, he wanted to take it all back. Every single thing. For a brief moment, he had a urgent and violent wish that he had never even met Ilya in the first place. That he had never been brave enough to approach him at that shitty rink in Saskatchewan. In that world, he would have been happy. If not happy, then ignorant. He would never know how much he had to lose when he inevitably screwed up this thing with Ilya. He didn’t think it would be this fast, but he knew himself well enough to know that it was only a matter of time. Eventually, he would trip a wire and be too him and ruin everything. Before, when he was more of a concept to Ilya, it was better. If he had been smarter, he would have buried the things that made him annoying for longer. At least then, he would have had more time with Ilya. Now, all he would ever be able to think about was how he was the one that screwed it all up. He was the one that took away the future that he, at his most honest, allowed himself to picture with Ilya.
He didn’t want to send a text back, but the feeling of that text hanging there was too much for him to bear. It was burrowing into his brain and making room for itself. He wished he could forget it all. That he wouldn’t have to think about how he ruined things every time he saw Ilya do something impressive, every time they played in Boston or against Boston, or every time Ilya’s name was bought up to him in interviews.
It was nice, though. For the short amount of time before Shane screwed it up, it was nice. He knew this wasn’t something that happened to people like him often. He was glad that now he knew. He knew, at least, what it felt like when someone was interested in him back. As fleeting as it was, now he knew. It was a feeling that he could store away. A sensation that he could check off his list. He could go back to only thinking about hockey, knowing that at one point, for even a short period of time, he wanted someone, and they wanted him back. As much as it hurt to think about, he wanted to remember it. It was like pressing on a bruise to make sure it was real.
If it wasn’t real, if it was so short lived, why did it hurt so bad? Why was it that this “thing” was upsetting him more than ending his years long relationship with Jessica ever did? Shane knew that he could get to the answer if he tried, but he wasn’t ready for that. It was too much for him to think about. Then, he got the death blow. The final notification from the twitter account that made all the fight leave his body. Making him boneless on the couch, falling under the weight of the finality of it all.
Laying down on the couch, Shane let himself cry. He let himself mourn for the thing that he thought would change his life. For the future that he only saw in glimpses. He mourned alone, under the too expensive blanket the designer got for him, in the dark. There was no reason to turn on the light. He wasn’t going to get up and do anything. He couldn’t even imagine making himself eat or read or talk to people. He decided that he was just going to lay on the couch and wait for sleep to take him. Wishing for exhaustion, he turned his phone off, and closed his eyes, and waited for it to be over.