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The Centaurs had won their game against Carolina, the first game on their southern road trip. The whole team was in good spirits, trusting that this first win would lead to more on the road. Hockey players were superstitious like that.
Ilya was letting himself feel it too. He had always known the Centaurs could be a good team, and that had only solidified with the new additions the team had made over the last few years. With the rest of the team finally starting to believe it, everything seemed to fall into place.
Passes were connecting, Hazy was getting closer and closer to a shutout, and Troy had finally started to push himself to skate faster, letting Ilya reach some of the top speeds he was capable of. Ilya almost couldn't believe it. It felt like Boston had, long ago.
The cheery mood continued all the way to the plane, which was taking them to Tampa for their match the following day.
Ilya sat alone near the back, wanting to bask in his win without interruption. Harris settled in the aisle across from him, tip-tapping away at his laptop that faded away behind the background noise of the engine. Troy slipped into the seat beside Harris after an hour of the flight. Ilya turned his head toward the window, hiding a painful smile. He was glad for them, truly, he hoped it would work out. He just wished he could have that with Shane.
They hit a patch of turbulence - Just one small dip, really. Bood had lost his balance and ended up on the floor. Ilya's can of Coke had spilled, staining his shirt. He put it on the seat next to him, putting the tray table up so he could have the room to dab at the stain. Damn. It wasn't coming out.
Ilya grabbed his phone to check if Shane had scored in his game. It had just started, so no. Nothing yet.
They'd spoken a little since their phone call a week ago. They hadn't really broached the subject matter again, mostly talking about hockey and having phone sex. Ilya missed the more emotionally honest Shane he had seen that night, but he knew that it was pretty hard for Shane to talk about stuff like that over the phone.
Hell, Ilya wasn't up for talking about that stuff yet either. He had figured out the bare bones of it, but Ilya had no idea what either of them were supposed to do going forward. It seems that both of them had conflicting issues with the future they had planned.
He loved Shane. More than Ilya had thought was possible. They just needed to be honest with each other. A relationship can't survive on a foundation of lies, Galina had said to him in their last session. It had hurt to hear at the time, but it was true. They needed to actually talk about their relationship, and be truthful at the same time.
A sharp bang sounded throughout the plane, closer to a clap of thunder than anything else. Ilya had just enough time to look out the window to the clear blue sky in terrified confusion before the plane started shaking, sending Ilya's can of coke to the floor. He didn't have time to worry about it before the plane fucking dropped.
Everyone erupted into screams, Ilya included. It devolved into a cacophony of sound, combining with the alarms and beeping coming from the cockpit and the erratic thumping of Ilya's heart. He couldn't move, frozen by terror, his hands glued to his armrests and his eyes squeezed shut.
We're going to crash
I'm going to die
I don't want to
Oh god, I don't want to die
Is this how his mother had felt, at the end?
Suddenly, the plane levelled out, Ilya's stomach flying up from the bottom of his pelvis to the pit of his throat, then gliding back down to rest in his abdominal cavity. He stifled the urge to vomit. The screaming had gone as abruptly as it came, the only sounds coming from the cabin were a few stifled sobs and the heavy breathing of it's passengers.
The pilot's voice filtered though the crackly loud speakers. Ilya couldn't manage to catch most of the words but he got "engine" and "emergency landing." Landing, not a crash. That meant they'd be okay, right? Shane would know.
Shane.
Ilya didn't want to think about it, but his mind pulled him towards it anyway. Images flashed through his mind of Shane mourning, having to run to the first empty room to be able to cry, standing in the back rows of his funeral procession, watching the pallbearers carry Ilya's casket in. Only being able to grieve in private.
Ilya heard someone yelling from the back of the plane about a fire. He kept his eyes closed.
Ilya was going to die and never see Shane again. Never get to fully apologize, to try and fix their relationship. God, they hadn't even seen each other in person since their fight. Was that really going to be Shane's last memory of him?
If nothing else, he could try and offer comfort to Shane, to make him sure that Ilya loved him, and didn't blame him for anything.
Ilya quickly pulled up his Instagram and started writing a direct message to Shane.
Shane, He wrote, hesitating. It's not like he didn't know what he wanted to say. In all honesty, his last words had been half written ever since he had left Shane's cottage for the first time.
You are the best thing in my life.
I love you. Always. Nothing can change that.
You have given me so many happy memories. So much hope. Thank you.
Do not blame- Ilya backspaced, blinking back tears. The rest of his note wasn't really applicable to his situation now. A few months ago, hell- maybe even a few days ago, he would have been ecstatic to find himself hurtling toward a tragic accident, one that could leave him dead young, talented and blameless.
Not anymore.
He skipped to the last line.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
He pictured himself, floating above Shane and watching over the rest of his life. Shane would try and keep it together, and who knows, he might succeed. At least until retirement. And then what?
Without hockey to fortify Shane, how would the rest of his life turn out? Wandering around aimlessly, never really there? Would he try and chase the pain, like Ilya did for so many years, with alcohol and temporary company? Would he gamble away the last of his savings, desperate to feel something, anything?
Or would Shane have an accident? Some small, understandable mistake. A few too many glasses of wine at dinner, a couple more Valiums to go with it. A patch of black ice, on a road he shouldn't of been on. Cleaning the bathroom with the wrong mix of chemicals.
Ilya brought his hand up to his chest, clutching at his mother's cross like a lifeline. He muttered under his breath in a mix of Russian and English, pleading for his life, for Shane's, for the rest of the Centaurs.
To please not let this plane crash- because Ilya had wasted so much fucking time lying to Shane, keeping him at an arm's distance, pretending it was all for the best. He needed more time. He needed to love Shane properly, and let himself be loved in return.
The plane careened side to side, and moments later they felt the tug of the wheels touching down, the loud screech of the breaks being applied.
An earsplitting cacophony of cheers and whoops came from his teammates. Ilya went to join in, to start celebrating with them, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a loud sob. He bought his hand up to his mouth, to muffle the sound, but it didn't help. He couldn't stop. He collapsed in on himself, his forehead resting on the seat in front of him.
He felt movement towards him, coming from the aisle. Before he could turn to look, he was enveloped in a hug. Ilya's face was pressed into a very soft knit sweater, a big hand stroking down from the nape of his neck to the middle of his back. Harris. As much as Ilya didn't like being vulnerable in front of other people, he was glad that out of everybody aboard the plane, that Harris was the one who was hugging him. He could hear Troy ushering the rest of the team past him, and cringed.
Ilya spoke, his voice sounding rather wet. "'M sorry."
"It's alright, Ilya," Harris said with a slight chuckle. "I'm crying too."
Ilya laughed with him, still hiding his face in Harris' chest. Troy cleared his throat, looking rather unsure.
"We're good, Roz. Plane landed, nobody got hurt." Ilya straightened up and pulled away from Harris. That was what he should be worried about. Not his own stupid feelings.
"Yes, we are all very lucky." He said, standing up from his chair. Harris sent a glare toward Troy. Ilya ignored it, nudging past the both of them and off the plane. He took a deep breath in before exiting, putting his feet on solid ground once more.
Montreal had lost their game against Washington. Shane tried to swallow his disappointment. He knew Ilya would probably try and rib him about it, especially given that Ottawa had won against Carolina earlier in the day. He'd feel better about it once he had food in him.
Shane didn't check his phone until he was on the bus, heading back to the team's hotel. He had one text and one missed call from Ilya. The text said: Sorry about the Instagram messages. Call me.
Shane didn't even use his Instagram, but sometimes Ilya would message him through there when he was on a plane and couldn't text.
Shane checked it now.
He looked at them, frozen for what felt like hours. Why the fuck had Ilya sent him this? He flicked back to the text from Ilya. He was apologizing, telling Shane to call him. Had he done something to himself? Ilya had called Shane. And Shane hadn't answered. Shane tried to type out a message to Ilya, but his hands were shaking too much. He couldn't fucking call him either, not with his teammates around. Fuck!
"Whoa," J.J. said. "The Centaurs' plane had to make an emergency landing."
Shane whipped his head round to where J.J. was sitting across the aisle. "What?" was all he managed to get out, too scared to formulate anything else.
"Crazy, right? People are saying the engine caught fire."
Oh, fuck. That's bad, that's really bad. He looks down at the text from Ilya again. Ilya wouldn't have been able to text Shane unless he had cell signal, so he had to have been off the plane. He had to be safe.
Shane found it in himself to speak again. "Is everyone okay?"
J.J. glanced up from his phone. "Yeah, looks like it. I mean, the plane landed safely."
Shane nodded, turning back to the seat in front of him. The fear was still eating away at him, settling into his bones. Ilya had almost died. And there was nothing that Shane could have done to save him.
He texted Ilya. I heard about the plane. Are you okay?
Ilya replied right away. Yes. Can I call you?
Shane glanced around the bus at his teammates. A lot of them were wearing headphones, but there was no way Shane was going to be able to sound calm about this.
I'm almost at the hotel. I'll call you when I'm there. Sorry. I just can't do this with my teammates around.
Ilya texted back a heart emoji. Shane read his Instagram messages a third time.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
But he wouldn't have been. Ilya would have been fucking gone. Who was Ilya's next of kin, even? The brother he never spoke to? Would Shane have even been allowed to see Ilya's corpse? Probably not. Not unless he had an open casket funeral. Would Ilya even want that?
God, they'd never talked about this sort of thing.
Because why would they? Why waste those precious few hours they got together with talking about grim what-ifs? They'd never talked about medical proxies, or career ending injuries, or leaked text messages. He suddenly understood why his mother had wanted to draft a statement just minutes after he came out to her.
And Ilya… He was all alone too.
The rest of Ilya's team would be calling their families as soon as they got off the plane, or talking amongst themselves about who they were thinking of, in what might have been their last moments. Ilya didn't get to do that. He had no-one who knew who he would have left behind.
Shane cradled his phone to his chest, and lent his head against the window, shielding his tear filled eyes from the gaze of his teammates.
Ilya was standing outside the hotel bar, listening to the muffled conversation of the Centaurs from inside. He had abandoned his captainly duties to try and calm himself down with a cigarette, which was only half working.
He had stopped crying, at the very least. Ilya had passed most of his teammates on the tarmac in his rush to get away from the plane, and had seen how disturbed they looked at his overtly emotional display. He couldn't- He couldn't do that in front of them again, especially not to the rookies.
Ilya's phone started buzzing in his pocket, to the familiar tune of O Canada. He took it out and answered Shane's call.
"Hi." He said, leaning back against the wall like all his strings had been cut.
"Ilya. Jesus. Are you okay?"
"Yes. Fine." Ilya said on reflex. He winced, knowing that he shouldn't be lying about his feeling to Shane again, but before he could retract his words, Shane spoke.
"Where are you? What's going on?"
"I am in Tampa. Outside of the hotel. The rest of the team is all together in the bar." Where Ilya Should be, but he was too busy moping outside.
"It must of been terrifying."
Ilya's chin wobbled. "Yes. It was scary, but we are okay now. Everyone is okay. Maybe a little…" He trailed off, looking for the word. "Shaken."
"You can tell me if you're not okay," Shane said gently.
Ilya gave a weak chuckle. "I think I have cried more in these past two weeks than I have in my entire life."
He could hear the pain in Shane's voice when he said, "Oh, Ilya."
Ilya hummed. "It's okay. It was just very different from what I had expected."
A pause. "What you had expected?" Shane repeated back to him, confused.
Ilya chewed on his lip, deciding wether or not to tell Shane. He didn't want to scare him, but he also didn't want to lie any more to Shane. "I used to think about it, sometimes."
He can almost hear the furrow in Shane's brow. "Plane crashes?"
When Ilya starts to speak, it's halting - then comes out all at once, like a ball rolling down a set of stairs. "Accidents. I daydreamed about ten-car pile ups or stray skate blades. Something I would not be blamed for."
He can hear Shane take a shaky breath in. "I never acted on it. But…" Ilya's lower lip trembled. "When the plane started falling, all I could think about was you. And I realized that I do not want to die." Ilya's voice cracked on the last few words.
"Fuck, Ilya." Shane sounded like he was crying. "I don't want you to die either."
Ilya laughed wetly into the phone. "It is good that we are in agreement on that, then."
"I'm fucking serious, Ilya. You're not allowed to die. Not before I do." Ilya closed his eyes, letting Shane's stern tone wash over him. It still surprised him, the depth of emotion that Shane felt for him.
"Do you have to win everything?" He teased.
"I have to not lose you."
"Shane," Ilya said soothingly, "I will not let that happen. I promise, I will do everything in my power to come home safe to you."
"You're so far away," Shane said, sniffling hard. "I wish I could hold you."
Ilya grinned. "I am still very sweaty from harrowing near death experience."
"I don't care." Shane said firmly.
Ilya closed his eyes, listening to Shane's breathing over the phone. "я тебя люблю."
Shane repeated it back to him. Then said, in English, "You should probably get back to your teammates."
Ilya winced. "Yes, probably."
"Are they… all okay?"
Ilya rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Ah, I don't really know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
Ilya threw his head back against the wall, looking up at the night sky. "I could not stop crying, before. I did not want them to see. That is why I am out in the cold, and they are in bar indoors."
Shane hummed in sympathy. "I don't think they would judge you. Hell, most of them were probably crying too." Ilya felt his heart squeeze. No, the Centaurs would not think him weak because of this. But they would be worried, and that was almost as bad.
"Yes, Hazy was crying big fat dolphin tears." He said instead, even though he hadn't seen Wyatt since he first got on the plane.
He could hear the smile in Shane's voice when he spoke. "Well, there you go."
They both breathed together in silence for a while, before Ilya couldn't justify his absence from the bar for much longer.
"I think it's time for me to go now, Shane."
Shane sighed reluctantly. "Yeah, sorry. I don't want to keep you."
"I would talk to you for the whole night if I could, but I should probably go make sure the rookies are okay at least." Ilya pushed off the wall and started walking slowly towards the door.
"You do that. Goodnight Ilya, я тебя люблю." Ilya smiled. Shane saying those three words never got old.
"I love you too, Shane," He said, using English for Shane's benefit. "Goodnight."
They ended the call, and Ilya walked back inside the hotel. He quashed the impulse to go straight up to his room and instead walked into the bar. Most of the team had since gone to bed, but there were a few still scattered around. Most notably, the rookies were all squished around a booth, sharing a pitcher of beer between them.
Ilya slipped into the booth, and loudly said, "Who did you trick into serving you beer? You мальчики are not even legal in Canada."
Holmberg bristled. "I can drink in Canada."
"Mal-Cheeky?" Luca mouthed, furrowing his brows.
"Didn't have to trick anyone," Young said, sounding tipsy already. "Bood-daddy bought it for us!"
Ilya didn't know when the rookies had started calling Bood that, but he was glad to know that he had been looking out for them. "Ah. Good man."
"I don't know about that," Lapointe said, bitterly. "He made us call our parents first to tell them we're okay. My mom went fucking crazy."
Fucking children. Ugh. They don't know how good they have it. Ilya looked around the table once again. "And how are you feeling now?"
Ilya was met with a chorus of 'fine's. He tapped his fingers along the table, searching for the right way to say it. "I just want to make sure you all know that you don't have to be okay."
The rookies all looked confused at that, their eyes darting between themselves and Ilya.
"What does that mean?" Young said, sceptical.
Ilya shrugged, keeping it casual. "It will not help anyone to just push it down and try not to think about it. Trust me, if you do that, it will come back to bite you."
"No offence, old man," Lapointe said, while Luca tried to stop him by ineffectually tugging at his sleeve. "But why the hell should we take your advice?"
Ilya steeled his jaw. "Because you boys are in the NHL. This is a once in a life time opportunity. I do not want you to blow it because you're too worried about being a pussy to go to the team psychiatrist."
Holmberg bit his lip. "Don't they bench you for practically anything?"
Ilya tilted his head. It was an over-exaggeration, but not much. "Sometimes they can be… overeager, yes. But I would rather you be temporarily benched, than have any of you go and kill yourselves because you don't know how to ask for help."
They all blinked at him horrified. Ilya closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face, then opened them and said, "I shouldn't've said that. I just want you all to know that you can ask for help. Wether it's from me, or Bood, or each other. You have people in your corner."
He waited until all of them had nodded until he stood up from the booth. "Okay. You kids have fun. I am going to bed." Ilya didn't wait for their reaction, stalking off to the elevator and heading up to his room, face-planting on the bed the moment he saw it.
Sleep.
Fucking finally.
The next morning, as Shane was finishing his sweep of the room for anything he might have left behind, there was a firm knock on his hotel room door. When he opened the door, he found J.J. there, holding two coffees.
"That for me?" Shane asked, stepping backward to let him in.
J.J. shrugged. "If you don't want it I can drink two."
Shane took the coffee. "Thanks."
He wasn't sure why J.J. was here or why he'd bought Shane coffee. He was one of Shane's closest friends, but they didn't really… check in on each other like this. If that's what was happening right now.
"So," J.J. leaned against the wall. "You seemed kind of fucked up last night. About the Ottawa Plane thing."
Shane focused on the warmth radiating out from his cup of coffee. "No. Not really. It just surprised me." He shifted his weight between his feet.
"Uh-huh." J.J. said. "You want to tell me the truth now?
Shane squeezed the cup of coffee, feeling the liquid slosh around inside of it. Part of him wanted to tell J.J. everything. Part of him needed to tell him. Needed to talk to somebody else about how fucking unfair Shane's life was, caught between the two things he wanted most in the world, and having to tear himself apart if he wanted to get both. Shane wasn't sure he could tell J.J. about all of it, but he needed to tell him something. "It's nothing. I got some texts from… from Ilya. Rozanov."
"I know which Ilya," J.J. said with amusement.
"He sent them when the plane was… when he thought it was going to crash."
A heavy silence filled the room, giving Shane a moment to realize how weird that must have sounded to J.J. Ilya had thought he was going to die, and had decided to send his last words to Shane?
"He, um-" Shane tried to start, but didn't get anywhere. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without outing their relationship? "He's-"
Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He was so fucking tired of lying. He was still so scared. He shouldn't have to pretend that they were nothing out of fear for their careers, for their safety. He shouldn't have to hide this from one of his closest friends. He shouldn't have to worry about his reaction.
"He's okay," J.J. reminded him.
"I know."
J.J. took the coffee from Shane's hands and set it down on the dresser. "Look, I know you've got this… thing …for Rozanov."
Shane's stomach dropped. "What."
J.J. smiled sadly at him. "Why do you think I keep trying to set you up? Having a crush on a straight man is no good, buddy."
Shane was unable to stop the full body flinch that occurred. "I don't-" He cut himself off, shaking his head jerkily. "You don't know any-"
J.J. held his hands out from the sides of his body, half-shrugging, half-opening his arms for a hug. "Hey, hey, it does not matter to me."
"Fuck you." Shane burst out, panicked and backed into a corner. "Where the fuck do you get off saying things like that?"
J.J. looked at him with a gaping mouth. "Tabarnak, Shane. I did not mean to mean to upset you."
"I'm not fucking upset!" Shane shouted, suddenly all too aware of how loud he was being, and how thin the hotel walls separating them from the rest of their teammates were. He buried his face in his hands. "Fuck. I can't do this right now."
J.J. let out a defeated sigh. "Ouais. I should finish packing."
Shane nodded, not looking at J.J. He held himself upright until he heard the door click shut, then sat down with a thud on the bed.
What the fuck was he doing? He can't just lash out at people like that, especially not one of his friends. It was just getting all too much for him.
Fuck. He needed to see Ilya. Needed to hold him, feel in his arms that he was real, that he was alive. They only had two days left until they'd see each other again, but it felt like a lifetime. Why was there never enough time?
Shane's stomach roiled.
Two hours apart for the next ten years.
It felt like forever, almost.
Fuck that.
Shane's going to change the plan.