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Shane buys two of the Bugatti’s and the Mercedes off a bewildered specialist car salesman called Carl in Montreal on Tuesday evening. Carl doesn’t ask any questions apart from ‘can you pay upfront?”, and swears in delight when Shane offers to pay triple for next-day delivery.
“Fuck,” Carl exclaims down the phone, “I can finally take the wife to Italy! How about I add in an Aston Martin too, then she’ll get to see all of Europe!”
The Porsche and Rolls Royce he finds closer to home Wednesday morning, in the dealership he bought his first car from, his dad hovering proudly over his shoulders when he was handed the keys. He’s had two different cars since. But the first one was special because of the mere fact it signalled his rapid acceleration into adulthood. And he hopes what he brings back from there for Ilya will be special too. He hopes it’ll signify his atonement.
They are sitting out on the driveway now, gleaming in the sun, their Montreal contemporaries sitting pretty beside them, arriving promptly at 10am. So Shane should be happy, he nearly has the full collection, five of the six cars he had forced Ilya to give away before he moved here.
But just like his husband, he’s not happy. There’s still one car missing.
The goddamn Maserati M12. The garish speed demon Shane resented when it lived in Ilya’s Boston home, and now the one thing he so desperately needs to get his hands on.
He had to mute the phone call with Carl earlier when he told him that there were only 62 Maserati M12’s in the world.
“But listen, if you can pay for it, I can get it! Even if I have to kill a man!” Carl swore, but Shane was too busy throwing up the sandwich he had earlier in the sink to hear him. He was trying desperately to spit out the disdain he felt for himself, so he could hurry up and fix his mistakes.
He doesn’t remember Ilya telling him that before. How rare and special the Maserati was. When Ilya sold them all, he didn’t say much apart from it was time for a change.
“You can help me pick out a sensible boring car hmm?” he had huffed in Shane’s ear, his fingers rapidly descending down his chest because they only had 12 hours that day to rejoice in each others company.
And maybe Shane should have questioned it more, but Ilya said the money would go towards the Irina Foundation in between curling his tongue with Shane’s, that all words were swallowed down by his lover leaving only IlyaIlyaIlyaIlya….
Now look at what his lustful selfishness has cost him.
A husband who resents him, who left yesterday with Anya, maybe never to return. Which is silly, because he will come back, if only to pack his bags and leave permanently. He promised Shane he would, sent a text a few hours after he had left Shane struck still in their living room.
‘I’m staying with Bood. I will be home tomorrow afternoon. I love you.’
He stared at the I love you until his eyes went fuzzy. It should have been a relief, but instead it felt like warning, something weary and tired that was losing all meaning.
See Shane didn’t realise their discussion yesterday over lunch was a fight until Ilya stormed out of the kitchen. And if he didn’t realise his husband was mad at him, then how was he to know if his ‘I love you’s’ held the same gravitas from before?
He thought Ilya was teasing about a sibling for Anya.
“She needs a friend Shane, someone she can cuddle with and play with! Don’t you want a friend Anya, my baby girl? Don’t you?” Ilya had cooed at his feet, where the baby girl in question waited patiently for him to sneak her part of his sandwich.
One dog is enough, Shane had said. Anya is already enough work, and balancing her and practice and away games, it’d be too much. Maybe in a few years, when we are retired, he had said. He should have said nothing. He should have said yes. Let’s steal her a litter of dalmatian puppies. Let’s rescue every dog in every shelter in this city so she can have so many friends, she’ll explode with happiness. He should have played along because then Ilya wouldn’t have left the room, and Shane wouldn’t have followed, and instead they’d have laughed, cleaned up after lunch, snuck kisses over the sink.
But Shane followed Ilya, because he always will, even if it was for his execution and Ilya was branding the axe. It was swift, the cutting.
.
“You don’t let me have anything,” Ilya had whined and Shane had let out an incredulous laugh from the shock of it, at how Ilya sounded like a child. Shane hadn’t meant to sound demeaning but then Ilya was angry, spitting with it, a tidal wave of fury erupting from him.
“You don’t Shane. Anything that was mine, is gone! I gave up my cars for you, you hated them. I know you did, and I sold them! And then I moved here, and bought a stupid car to drive on the stupid ice! I give everything for this, for you, and still you won’t let me have anything.”
He is right, Shane had thought numbly. He has been trying since their fight last year to be worthy of Ilya, but he is always failing.
He knows he is failing, because there are times when Ilya comes home from therapy with Galina, withdrawn and quiet for days, but only with Shane. He will laugh with Yuna over a glass of wine, or do a puzzle contentedly with David, or perform like a beast on the ice and a hero in the locker room, but with Shane his presence is tenuous. The coldness envelopes their bedroom, it haunts their home, secludes them at their dining room table. He’ll feel Ilya’s eyes studying him, searching for something, and Shane desperately wants to ask what it is that he is lacking.
He wants to ask Ilya if Galina likes him, and fuck how pathetic that would be to voice, ‘Hey babe, does your therapist think I’m cool or a massive liability in your life?’
He believes it’s the former, because what else could it be? He’s not denouncing how Galina has improved Ilya’s life for the better, but he fears that his removal is an integral part as well. He imagines her gently imploring Ilya to leave him, reminding him of all the ways Shane has been selfish.
He panicked, he felt then Ilya was gearing up to say it, finally ready to cut the brakes on their relationship and list the ways Shane was inadequate. He had thrown his hand out, a pleading gesture, “It’s OK Ilya,” he’d soothed, “It’s OK, I get it. It wasn’t right of me to get you to do that, it was selfish of me, and I know how easy it is to hate me for it, and it’s OK.”
Please don’t leave me, he wanted to sob instead, but thought how selfish that was, how the Galina in his nightmares would click her pen and tut, and probably say it was emotional manipulation.
Ilya didn’t say much after that, in fact he hadn’t even looked at Shane, had turned away, hand on his mouth like he was disgusted at the sight of his pathetic husband. He’d gathered Anya, and left so quickly it was like he had never been there. Left Shane struck still in their living room, planning how to fix the mess he made.
Fixing it resulted in this - an incomplete apology outside of their home. Shane wonders if he has time to get a dog, if that will make up for the lack of a Maserati M12. He wonders if this will endear him to Galina, or if it will cause Ilya to see how thoroughly incapable Shane is, how all he has to offer is material possessions.
Shane waits to see which way his husband will swing the axe. He knows Ilya will be home soon. He won’t leave Shane waiting, he’s not a vindictive man, and so he stands, stands, stands to attention on their porch, trembling despite himself. Fuck. He can be such a coward.
When Ilya pulls up, a little after 2pm, he stays in the (stupid, sensible, boring) jeep for a full minute. He can just about see his mouth gaping open, how he struggles to take off his seat belt. He stumbles out of the car, almost faceplants onto the tarmac. Shane rushes to him, then stops, not knowing if he’s allowed to touch him.
They stare at each other. Ilya’s eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but when he removes them, they are red-rimmed, and Shane finds another reason to hate himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry but I’m still looking for the Maserati. A dealership in LA said they’ll ring before 4pm, I think they might have one bu-”
Anya interrupts him, barking from inside the jeep, eager to get out. Ilya doesn’t move, and it’s so unlike him to not go running when she demands for it, that it frightens Shane.
“You bought these cars for me?” Ilya says, voice hoarse. Shane hopes he isn’t getting sick, he hates being sick.
“Of course,” Shane attempts a smile. It doesn’t work, judging by the grimace that crosses Ilya’s face. “I want you to be happy, Ilya.”
The with or without me goes unspoken, but he may as well have said it out loud, because Ilya breaks into tears, crumpling in on himself.
“Oh, oh baby,” Shane soothes, carefully gathering Ilya in his arms, allowing him the time to pull away. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Ilya buries his head into the junction of Shane's neck and shoulder, mutters something indistinguishable into his skin, grasps handfuls of his shirt with his fists. Shane cradles his head with one hand, lovingly rubs the other down his back. Anya barks again, and the momentary peace they’ve found with each other is broken. Ilya moves regrettably away, roughly wiping his face with his forearm and lets Anya out.
She jumps out of the car, dances around Shane and then bounds into the open door of their home.
“There’s still time,” Shane said, watching her disappear inside, “the rescue centre closes at 5.”
When he turns, Ilya is looking at him blankly.
“No. We are not getting a friend for Anya today,” he says, “I was being silly.”
“Ilya, no, you want another-”
Ilya interrupts, grabbing Shane’s face between his palms with a suddenness that should make him flinch, but instead soothes like a balm.
“I need you to listen. Please. I do not want another dog. Well I do. But not today or next week or even this year. You are right, my very smart husband, Anya, is enough for now. She is our spoiled little princess-”
“Your spoiled little princess!” Shane can’t help but interject and Ilya places a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Ah, ah, ah, I said, listen please sweetheart. Anya will only be jealous if we get her a brother or sister. We have to ease her into it. OK? What I said yesterday was stupid. It was so stupid and not true Shane, no, listen, it wasn’t true. You give me everything. You make me so happy, that sometimes I wake up in the morning and I think I’m in a beautiful dream. I would give up anything for you, just like I know you’d do the same. My cars, pfft, my cars I sold because I didn’t need them anymore, they were someone else’s, they were cars for an Ilya who doesn’t exist anymore.
Remember, you hated them because I would be so reckless with them? You used to say every time I’d leave you to please drive safe, and I never felt so loved from something so simple-”
“Not simple. I always want you to be safe.”
Ilya wipes tears Shane didn’t know he was shedding away.
“And you make me feel so safe. All of the time. I want you to feel safe too,” he swallowed.
“I do, of course I do.” Shane scrunches his face up, at the thought of it.
“You bought me back my cars, Shane. That’s not- why?” Ilya asks, eyes wide and frightened, and Shane feels unable to articulate anything other than ‘I love you’ and ‘does this mean you aren’t leaving me’?
He swallows, tries to be brave and worthy, “I know sometimes you hate me-”
Ilya moans in distress, knees buckling under the weight of Shane’s belief of his husband’s resentment.
“I don’t!” he cries, “You said this yesterday too, and it’s bullshit Shane, I don’t hate you!”
“It’s O-”
“No, don’t say it’s OK! I love you. I love you so much. Please, I need you to know that. I need you to believe that,” he pleads.
Shane nods, more for Ilya’s sake than his own, “OK, I mean yes. I know you love me, but it is O- alright if you-”
He stops himself, knows that they’ll just be talking around and around in circles and bites the bullets.
“I was being selfish. I don’t want you to leave me, so I bought the cars to convince you to stay.”
Ilya’s grasp on his face loosens, he’s slack jawed and silent. Shane, uncomfortable, continues,” But obviously, I thought earlier, because I don’t think now you want to leave me, right? I thought earlier that I can’t make you stay, that’s even more selfish, so you’d obviously could keep the cars.”
Silence.
“Sorry again about the Maserati. I didn’t know it was so rare. You probably told me that before. Sorry, I should have listened.”
Ilya blinks at him, “How could you think I’d-”, he stops, blinks again, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Shane feels the exhale of it on his lips, and leans in slightly, always hungry for any part of Ilya he can take.
“I will never leave you, and if I did it would be kicking and screaming. I needed too… I shouldn’t have left yesterday, and I am sorry for that. I should have stayed but I had to… I think sometimes I am very unfair to you sweetheart, and it is something you do not deserve. It is something I need to work on.”
“With Galina?” Shane asks, surprised at the flicker of irritation in Ilya’s face that her name causes.
“No, not with her. With someone else. I think, I think she has been very good to me in many ways, but very bad in the most important,” Ilya smiles sadly.
Shane tugs him close, this time resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder, attempting to hide the utter relief and devastation his words have caused. But he knows Ilya can feel it, can feel it in the way he starts holding him tightly, and swaying him tenderly.
There is so much left to say, but they are exhausted, and hungry, and Shane will have a phone call with a harried LA dealership owner who’ll be convinced to buy two out of the three cars, and Ilya will have the exhausting search for another therapist, but for now, they just want to one more moment of peace together.