Chapter Text
Ilya had just gone over to his stall and started unlacing his skates when his phone buzzed. He stopped to glance at the display: "Jane."
Strange, Ilya thought. He and Shane never called each other, even before. Maybe he was calling to tell him he and Rose Landry were engaged before he could read it in the press. A misguided attempt at politeness, since he had Hollander had never been anything. Not really.
Well fuck Shane Hollander, and fuck his phone calls. The buzzing stopped– for a moment– then started back up. Once again, the screen flashed "Jane."
Ilya's stomach dropped. Maybe something had happened. Maybe someone knew something about them. Maybe he and Rose Landry already eloped. Hollander had never called him, so something had to be wrong. Ilya unlocked his phone and answered the call. It was loud in the background.
“What?” asked Ilya, trying to sound bored. "Am in locker room, can not talk."
"Yeah... yeah..." Shane's voice sounded shaky.
Ilya braced for what he could say next.
"That's okay, just listen." Shane took a deep breath and continued. "I'm glad you picked up. I wouldn't have blamed you for, for screening my calls. I get it. And I was a dick. I shouldn't have left like that last time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was really nice that day, before. I had such a great time with you. I always do. Even when you're being an asshole."
Why was Shane saying this? "And now you have polite, pretty girlfriend. Congrats."
"No, I know. It's not like that, anymore. We're just friends. I... I had a whole plan. To win you back at All-Stars. I bought a bunch of new clothes, I got a hair cut, had a whole speech planned out. And a back-up speech, in case I struck out the first time."
"Wow."
Shane huffed out a laugh, then sucked in a breath and Ilya heard collective screams in the back.
Ilya didn't like those screams. "Why is it so loud there, are you on rollercoaster?"
"No... no. The plane. There's something wrong. I think it's– I think it's going to crash."
Ilya's throat tightened. "...What?"
"Yeah... sucks."
Another round of screams rang out, as Ilya maneuvered away from his teammates and into a toilet stall. He locked the door and sat down.
"Fuck!" Shane exclaimed.
"Hollander..." Ilya whispered. He tried to say the next part with a steadier voice. "Plane will not crash. Would be too expensive to replace every Metro," he attempted to joke.
"Something's on fire..."
"Will be fine."
"I'm not going to keep arguing with you. I hope you're right." Ilya could hear the grin in his voice as he said this, but he also heard the fear.
"Am always right, Hollander."
"I just... I just needed you to know. That I'm sorry. And I like you. A lot. More than I should. Even though it's a bad idea. ...I'm an idiot."
"I like you, too, Shane," said Ilya quietly.
"Yeah... I never said I was the only idiot."
Ilya let out a small laugh. "You are asshole."
"I'm sorry to do it like this... it's not fair."
"So many apologies, Mr. Canadian... You are going to be very embarrassed when everything is fine."
"Maybe," Shane said. "...I just wanted you to know... how much... how much you always meant to me."
"Da. I know. It is same for me."
"Never, uh, hockey was never more fun than when I played with you."
"Well, will play together in Tampa. And I will buy new, sexy clothes, too, if you are back on the market..."
"I wish–” Ilya heard more screams in the background and other loud noises. Some woman shouted the word “Brace” repeatedly. “Fuck. I'm not going to have time. Please, if I don’t… please, uh… please tell my parents I love th–"
The line cut out. Ilya let out a grunt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He looked at his phone. His only call with Shane had lasted two minutes and 11 seconds.