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Summary
The next day at practice, he was sure everyone could tell. He felt wobbly on his skates, unsteady like he hadn’t been in years. Not since early childhood.
“You good?” Hayden asked when they sat down together for a water break. “You seem off.”
Shane hoped he hadn’t noticed him wincing. “Yeah, my uh, my back kinda hurts.” It wasn’t entirely a lie: his lower back did feel tight, in addition to everything else. “I think I just slept weird or something. I’ll be fine.”
“Go see Dr. Whitaker if you still feel bad tomorrow. Gotta be in good shape by game time, right?” Hayden asked, patting his shoulder affectionately. He looked worried, which made Shane feel fleetingly guilty.
“If I do, I’ll go see him, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I am fine. Promise,” he said, then leaned over so they could knock their helmets together like always. For friendship, for good luck.
“Okay,” Hayden said, sounding unconvinced.
He played well the next day - better than usual, even.
He could feel the lingering ache of Ilya inside him for the entire game.
Or: a series of ways and times Ilya left a lasting impression on Shane.