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Ilya couldn’t tell you why he said it.
It certainly was not what he wanted, to see Shane with somebody else. Shane was his whole world, Shane was all he had. It made him sick to his stomach, to be honest. But somewhere in his fucked up brain, he thought maybe it was what Shane wanted.
It was not what Shane wanted.
Things had been going so well. Ilya was playing in Ottawa, and despite the fact that they weren’t exactly the best team in the NHL, he did love his teammates. Shane stayed in Montreal, and they saw each other as much as they could. Not as much as they would like, but it was more than they used to get. Ilya knew it was too good to be true, that the other shoe had to drop at some point. He wasn’t allowed to be this happy.
Maybe that’s why he started that conversation. Despite it being the farthest thing from the truth, Ilya had told Shane that it was ok for him to see other people while they were apart.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying,” Ilya continued, glancing away from the hockey game playing in the living room of Shane’s Montreal apartment, “We won’t be seeing each other as much as we would like, I wouldn’t be upset if you found someone to…satisfy your needs elsewhere.”
Shane stared at him like he had just grown a third eye.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck would I want anybody else?”
“I-” Ilya started, but Shane cut him off.
“I’m not cheating on you. I would never do that to you. Why would I want that?”
“I don’t believe in cheating.” Ilya said with a shrug, and Shane’s annoyance quickly shifted into anger.
“You don’t believe in cheating…” he repeated to himself, shaking his head, “I think you should leave.”
“Shane-”
“I think you should go, Rozanov.”
That was three months ago. Ilya had gotten into his car and drove back to Ottawa two days early. He had never done that. No matter how bad their argument was, they never sacrificed their precious time together. They hadn’t talked for three whole months, except for a few days after the initial fight, when Shane had called in the middle of the night.
“Shane, it’s one in the morning, what-”
“You really wouldn’t care if I fucked someone else?”
Ilya exhaled.
“If that’s what you wanted, of course not.”
“You’re being serious?” Shane asked.
“Yes.”
It was silent for a few moments, and then-
“Are you expecting me to say the same thing? That I don’t care if you saw other people? That I would just sit in our house and wonder who you were laying next to this time?”
“No, Shane, that’s not- I wouldn’t-”
“Yes, Ilya, it is what you meant. If you wanted to see other people, you could have just said so.”
Click.
Ilya hadn’t fallen back asleep that night. He stayed up, staring at his ceiling and wondering what he had just done.
He couldn’t imagine sleeping with anybody but Shane. Feeling anyone else’s arms around him. Hearing anyone else breathing next to him.
So why would Shane want to?
He spent those three months praying every night to whoever was listening that he would come back, that Ilya would get the chance to grovel on his knees and explain, and tell Shane how sorry he was.
But of course, Ilya is never that lucky. Now, he sits alone on a barstool in Denver. His team occupies the space around him, talking and laughing and drinking. Ilya nurses his fourth beer, observing his teammates. None of them knew what had happened. None of them even knew he was in a relationship, save for Troy Barrett who had walked in on them twice during camp.
Oh fuck, the camp. The fundraiser. The one he and Shane had started together. He hadn’t even thought about that.
Ilya sighed heavily, reaching for his crucifix and running his fingers over the cool metal.
“Yo Captain!” Ilya lifted his head towards the noise to see Bood grinning at him, “Cheer up! Come on, let’s show these rooks how it’s done!” He said, gesturing to a tray of whiskey shots.
He mustered up a fake grin, and made his way over.
---
Ilya doesn’t know why he did it, but he drank deep into the night. It only made the pain worse.
It was almost three in the morning by the time Ilya stumbled back into his hotel room. They were wheels up in four hours, and he hadn’t even started packing yet. His head spun in a way that told him he was going to be severely hungover tomorrow. He had lost track of how many shots they had ended up doing, but he couldn’t care less either. He plugged his dead phone into the charger and started packing his stuff clumsily. Their road trip was over, he was just going home, so there was no need for organization. It took him over an hour, being intoxicated, but he got it done and collapsed on the bed.
He reached for his phone, now charged to 21% and tapped the screen to wake it up.
He was greeted by a picture of Shane at the cottage, shirtless and wearing swim trunks, sunbathing on the dock. Ilya had taken it from the deck, after grabbing towels for them both. He remembered that day well. It was a good day.
A tear rolled down his cheek, but Ilya quickly wiped it away. It was his fault. It was his fault that he would never call that place home again. His fault they would never curl up on the mattress and watch the sunset from the windows again. His fault, his fault, his fault.
“Roz!”
The voice from outside his door startled him.
“What?” He groaned.
“Luca is fucked up man, I need your help packing his stuff.”
“Get Barrett to do it.”
“Harris said no.”
Ilya groaned even louder, rolling off the bed and throwing open the door. Wyatt stood in the hallway, still in his jeans and polo from the bar.
“Is just him, no? You can pack yourself.”
“Aren’t you the captain? It’s your job to take care of the rooks.”
“Yeah, on ice. Luca drank too much.”
“Roz.”
“Hayes.”
They stared at each other for a minute before Ilya huffed, grabbed his room key, and followed Wyatt to Luca’s room.
---
Ilya doesn’t know why, but he was expecting to see a head of black hair when he opened the door into his apartment.
Montreal had a bye week. Shane was supposed to be here waiting for him. They planned it months ago.
It was early, but Shane never slept in, so he would’ve been sitting on the couch, probably answering emails. Wearing his glasses. He would’ve looked over at him and smiled. Met him halfway with a kiss, pulled him by his tie into their room.
Ilya sighed loudly. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Crying too. There wasn’t much else to do, when half of your heart was missing. He left his suitcase by the door and headed straight for the balcony. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the windowsill, and lit one up as soon as he stepped out into the crisp air.
He had picked the habit back up alarmingly fast, though he still heard Shane’s voice in his ear whenever he put the stick between his lips.
“If you get lung cancer and die, I will never forgive you.” He grumbled, and Ilya laughed, kissing his mouth sweetly.
“Oh, but if I died, at least I would die yours.”
Shane had shoved him, and then pulled him back even closer.
“You still aren’t allowed to leave me.”
“Never, moya lyubov’.”
When he was nearly finished with his cigarette, his phone rang.
Yuna Hollander
He stamped out the remainder of the lit cigarette and picked up his phone, settling against his railing.
“Hello Yuna.”
“Hi honey, how are you, did you get back ok?”
Ilya shut his eyes, unwilling to let any tears fall at the sound of Yuna’s caring tone. He didn’t understand why she still called, let alone why she was so nice to him.
“I’m fine, tired. Yes, I just got in a few minutes ago. Is everything ok?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” She answered, sounding a bit confused.
“No reason,” He backtracked, “How are you? How’s David?”
“Oh we’re just fine, we just haven’t heard from you and wanted to check in.”
“Oh. Sorry…”
“Nothing to apologize for, we know you’re busy. We just wanted to let you know we’re thinking about you.”
“Thank you.” He said, unsure of what else to say.
“Get some rest, we’ll talk soon.”
“Yeah. Ok, goodbye Yuna.” He said, and hung up the phone.
This was the 6th call since he and Shane broke up. Did he not tell his parents what happened? Why would they still want to talk to him, to hear his voice? Why would they still care if he was doing well?
He wasn’t, and why would he tell her otherwise? What would he say? That he was dying inside? That he was miserable, and he would do anything to hold their son in his arms one more time? That he’s the reason Shane won’t come home?
Right. Fat chance. He would tell her he was fine, and make short conversation until they hung up. Until Yuna stopped calling.
He put his pack of cigarettes back in its place on the windowsill, and headed inside. The cold silence enveloped him once more, and any peace he felt outside dissipated. He headed for the guest bedroom, where he slept now. He tried to sleep in his bedroom, but it still smelled of Shane’s cologne from the last time he visited and Ilya simply couldn’t handle it.
The guest bedroom was impersonal, with no memories or familiar scents. It worked, and it would continue to work until the last notes of his lover’s scent disappeared.
Ilya was well aware that Shane was it for him. He knew in his heart that there would never be anyone else, so he didn’t even bother with calling Shane anything but his, even though he knows he didn’t deserve to call him that.
Ilya changed quickly, and crawled into the cool sheets. He fell asleep thinking of black silky hair and a soft smile that knocked him off his feet.
---
Ilya doesn’t know how he found himself on this highway, but as his fingers typed in the address of Shane’s cottage, he didn’t make any effort to stop them.
The familiar drive did nothing but make the ache in his chest deeper, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the feeling of pulling into the driveway and seeing the place he used to call home.
The cottage in Ontario stood right on the edge of Lake Muskoka, a place Ilya had come to adore. He wasn’t planning on going inside, but he was here now, wasn’t he?
He knew the door code by heart, so he typed it in and opened the door.
The smell of Shane immediately welcomed him, and he felt his heart speed up. He knew Shane wasn’t here, but what if he was.
He wasn’t.
Ilya dropped his keys on the center island in the kitchen and wandered quietly. He knew every inch of this house by heart, could probably navigate it blindfolded. The couch was decorated with a bunch of stupid pillows, and this time that was Yuna’s doing. A worn out paperback copy of a hockey memoir lay on the coffee table, right next to the tv remote.
Against his better judgement, he let himself wander into the bedroom. Shane was everywhere in this room, how it smelled, how it felt, how it looked. Shane was in it all. Ilya sat on his side of the bed, and looked around. A picture of them in Shane’s parents backyard still hung on the wall. Shane must not have come back yet.
He looked outside to see the sun setting, and he knew it was time for him to go. He had practice in the morning, and he shouldn’t be here in the first place.
But instead, Ilya took off his shirt so he was just in his sweats, and crawled under the covers.
He slept without nightmares for the first time in almost three months.
---
When he woke the next morning, it was not to an alarm, or notifications blowing up his phone.
No, he woke to the feeling of a hand cradling his cheek.
He startled, his eyes opening quickly to see Shane sitting on his side of the bed looking at him with an expression Ilya couldn’t quite place.
“Oh shit,” He said, scrambling up and out of bed, looking around for his shirt. “Fuck, Sha- Hollander, I am sorry, I am idiot, I don’t know why I came.” He rambled, finding his shirt folded on the chair. He snatched it, along with his phone on the side table. “I’ll go, I'll go right now I'm so sorry.”
“Ilya.”
“No, no no no. I go, I’m leaving, I’m sorry,” He said, hurrying towards the door, but a hand closed around his wrist.
“Come back please.” Shane said, and Ilya looked back at him.
And my God, was he gorgeous. His hair had grown a bit, falling just past his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, and any argument he had died in his throat. Who was he to deny this man anything?
“Ok.” Ilya whispered.
He walked back over to his side, but didn’t sit. He stood awkwardly, looking in the eyes he had missed more than he could express.
Shane Hollander sat in front of him, shirtless in pajama pants. His hair was a mess, and he had his glasses on. He looked absolutely ethereal.
“What are you doing here?” Ilya asked.
“Well, it’s my house,” He said, and Ilya winced. He knew he should’ve stayed in Ottawa, this was a terrible, no good, very very bad idea.
Yet Shane did not look angry.
“Why are you here?” He asked gently, and Ilya’s face crumbled.
“I…” He started, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Shane looked at him for a moment, and then reached out towards Ilya.
“Come here.”
“Shane.”
“Ilya. Come here.”
He obeyed, crawling back onto the bed, and sitting in front of the other man.
“Shane. I- God I’m so sorry.” Ilya said, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I know.”
“No, you-” A small whine escaped from the back of his throat as he tried to compose himself and started to speak again, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say, there’s no words in english or russian to explain how fucking sorry I am.”
“I know,” Shane said, reaching up to cradle his jaw, “I’m sorry too.”
“There is nothing for you to be sorry for.”
“Yes there is. I overreacted, I didn’t listen, I made assumptions.”
“I didn’t mean it. I never want to see you look at anyone else. It would kill me, I could not bear it.” Ilya said, properly crying now.
“I know sweetheart.” Shane said, and he started crying too.
Shane crawled closer to Ilya, who snatched him into his arms and cried into the crook of his neck.
Ilya never thought he would get to do this again, to hold this man close and breathe him deep.
“I love you. Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you so much, I couldn’t breathe without you.”
“I couldn’t either. I know. I love you too, so much.”
“Shane, I-”
“I don’t want to talk about it now, not yet. Just hold me, please.”
“Ok. I can do that.”
Ilya could do that, and he would. For the rest of his life, he would hold Shane in his arms.
Six months later, when they saw each other for the first time after the plane almost crashed, Ilya couldn’t help but think that he could’ve lost this forever. He had almost thrown away the most precious thing he had ever had the pleasure of holding in his two hands.
But he didn’t, and they would be ok.