Chapter 23: The Long Game: Chapter 23

Shane had no idea how he got back to Montreal. He couldn’t remember a minute of the drive, he’d been so consumed by a whirling storm of anger, shock, fear, and shame.

The words kept repeating in his head, continuing even as he made his way into his house, up the stairs, and finally collapsing on his bed.

He should have stayed. He should have stayed and fought for himself, or…

Fuck.

It would be ridiculous to say this was their first fight—their entire relationship seemed like one unending fight sometimes—but this was the first one that had left Shane feeling terrified. Obviously he had fucked something up. He hadn’t been paying attention to Ilya, or to what Ilya had given up for him, and he now realized that Ilya had given up a whole fucking lot for Shane. For .

Of course he resented Shane. Ilya had left his home country, his family—even if only a brother he hated remained—his team, his friends in Boston, his entire fucking life, really. He’d changed everything.

Meanwhile Shane was comfortable in Montreal, playing with the same team he’d started with. Winning Stanley Cups. He had friends he could talk to about Ilya—a teammate even—and his parents lived nearby. He’d set his boyfriend up in his hometown, not far from Montreal, because that was convenient for him. Everyone he loved all in one tidy circle.

And in the summers they went to Shane’s cottage. God, their entire relationship was about Ilya fitting into Shane’s life as easily as possible.

But Shane really hadn’t had any reason to believe Ilya resented it. Ilya loved the cottage, loved Shane’s parents, loved . He liked his teammates in Ottawa, and told Shane all the time that it was a great organization, better than Boston had been. He’d been the one to tell Shane, way before they’d talked about making any big life changes, that he wanted to become a Canadian citizen. Ottawa made sense.

But even knowing all of this, Shane had clearly missed something important.

He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to drive right back to Ottawa and apologize, but Ilya had made it clear that he wanted space, and Shane should respect that. Maybe they could talk tomorrow. Or tonight. Or…

Shit. Shane really wanted to call him right now. Or at least text him. The season resumed tomorrow and they wouldn’t be able to see each other for who knew how long. At least a week or two.

He typed out a message to Ilya. I’m sorry. Call me when you want to talk. Please.

God, was that pushy? Should Shane just leave him alone?

Fuck it. Shane hit send. Ilya could ignore it if he wanted, but Shane really hoped he wouldn’t.

He waited a few minutes, just in case Ilya decided to call him right away. But Ilya didn’t even text, and Shane’s heart sank.

Needing to talk to , he called his mom.

“I messed up,” Shane said as soon as her face filled his phone screen.

“What? With your coach? It’s a day off. How could you—”

“No. With Ilya.”

The concern left her face immediately. She even smiled. “There’s nothing you could do to ruin things with him. What happened?”

Shane sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I take him for granted. Everything he’s given up, and everything he’s changed.” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “He’s lonely, y’know? And I’m living my life, happy as can be, assuming that our rare times together are enough for him.”

“He told you this?”

“More or less. I mean, no. But he said enough to help me figure out the rest.” He exhaled. “I’m the worst boyfriend.”

“That’s not true. And Ilya would agree with me, so don’t start.”

Shane pressed his lips together, trying to fight the lump that had formed in his throat. “I don’t deserve him.”

Mom fixed him with an exasperated glare. “Shane.”

“He’s going to break up with me,” Shane said miserably. “This was never going to work. It’s too hard. I’m asking too much of him.”

“He’s an adult,” Mom said. “And he loves you. Against all odds, you boys making this work. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m proud of how hard you’ve both worked to be together. It’s powerful.” She laughed softly. “I wish I could brag about it to everyone I meet.”

Shane shook his head. “Nothing to brag about now. I’ve been a complete asshole. Shit, I’m so selfish. I thought being closer together would make things better for both of us, but he was happier before.”

“This is a conversation you need to have with him. For what it’s worth, he likes being in Ottawa. He told us that he likes this team better than his old one. He loves his teammates, and his new coach.”

Shane’s heart lifted a bit. “He said he likes Ottawa?”

“More than once. And honestly I think he’d live in the city dump if it meant being closer to you. He’s head over heels.”

“But that’s the problem! If he’s making all of his decisions based on me, he’s going to resent me. He already does.”

“Talk to him,” Mom said patiently.

“He doesn’t want to talk.”

“You’ve tried? He said that?”

“He ignored my text.”

“Uh-huh,” Mom said flatly, clearly not convinced. “When did you send it?”

Shane’s cheeks heated. “Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“Good grief, Shane. He could be in the shower. Or on a treadmill. Or asleep. Or charging his phone. Relax!”

Shane huffed a laugh. “You sound like Ilya.”

“Because we’re very much aligned in our views when it comes to you.”

“You both think I’m an uptight wet blanket.”

“We both love you to death, and want you to be happy. And we both know you can be your own worst enemy.”

“Well. I had another enemy, but then I fell in love with him.”

Mom laughed. “Talk to him. Give him time to respond, and if he doesn’t, then try again. And for god’s sake to him.”

“I will. And if he won’t talk to me, I’ll…drive to Ottawa and stand outside his door until—”

“Or you could just be cool for once in your life.”

Shane’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. Ilya is such a bad influence on you!”

“He’ll call. I promise. Be patient.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And Ilya loves you.”

Shane nodded, hoping those words were still true. “Thanks. Bye.”

He stared at his phone for several minutes after the call ended, trying to will Ilya to text him back. When no messages came, Shane opened Instagram and scrolled through Ilya’s posts. He never paid much attention to them, especially since Ilya mostly posted photos of random things he saw, and rarely posted selfies.

The most recent post was from yesterday—Christmas—and it was of the foosball table Shane had given him. No caption. He scrolled and found a photo of the exercise ball Shane had been balancing on in Ilya’s gym. One of the latest puzzle Ilya had completed with Shane’s dad. One of Ilya’s loon tattoo.

One of the two plastic heart rings, together on Shane’s dresser.

Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand.

And Shane hadn’t even bothered to look at it before. Not really.

He looked now. He scrolled until his eyes were so blurry he had to give up and sob into his hands instead. How could Shane have doubted for a second how fiercely Ilya loved him?

“This isn’t working,” Ilya said as soon as Galina closed her office door behind him.

“Our sessions, you mean?”

“Yes. I feel worse than ever. Everything is fucked.” He knew he wasn’t being cool, but it had been a rough twenty-four hours and he was barely holding himself together. He’d turned his phone off yesterday as soon as Shane had left his house. He’d spent a couple of hours lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to nap. Then he’d gone to the gym in his basement and rode his exercise bike hard. After that he’d punished his heavy bag for a while.

He hadn’t seen Shane’s text until this morning, and he hadn’t replied yet. He didn’t know what to say. He’d already had his appointment with Galina booked for today, so he’d decided to talk to her before reaching out to Shane. He wasn’t above wanting someone to tell him what to do because he was fucking lost.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Galina said calmly.

“No,” Ilya snapped. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You said I would feel better. You’re supposed to fix me.”

Galina didn’t react to the anger in his voice, or the absurd finger-pointing. She only looked at him with quiet interest, and maybe a hint of amusement. “You’ve been coming to see me for less than two months. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Ilya put his finger away, but despite feeling foolish, he needed her to understand how urgent the situation was. “I can’t do this if I am going to feel worse. I have to focus on hockey, and I have to be a good boyfriend, and I can’t do either of those things if I’m this fucking sad.”

“Ilya,” she said firmly. “Sit.”

Ilya sat, sighing heavily as he did so. “What’s wrong with me?”

Galina sat in her own chair and crossed her legs. “You are a human being with a lot of responsibilities and pressure. You play a physically taxing, dangerous sport for a living. You are hiding a very big secret while also living your life in a spotlight. You are in love with a man you aren’t allowed to be in love with. You are carrying trauma from your childhood that you’ve never allowed yourself to process properly. And also you feel things very deeply. Deeper than maybe anyone realizes.”

Ilya blinked. He hadn’t actually been expecting an answer. Especially not one that was so…thorough.

“Is that all?” he said dryly.

“I think you are depressed.”

Ilya hugged his own chest protectively. “Like my mother.”

“Not necessarily. Depression is complicated and manifests in many different ways. And there are many ways to treat it.”

“Drugs.” Ilya didn’t want drugs. Other than painkillers that were absolutely necessary, he avoided pills. Pills could be a weapon.

“Again, not necessarily. Antidepressants can be very helpful for some people, but they aren’t the only thing that helps.” She waved a hand in the air, indicating her office. “This helps. Being here. Talking. Some people respond well to things like exercise.”

Ilya snorted. “I can’t exercise more than I already do.”

“No,” she agreed, “but you can do physical activity that is purely for you. Not for hockey. A hike, or a long bike ride. Tennis with a friend. That sort of thing.”

“In Ottawa? In the winter?”

She smiled. “It doesn’t have to be exercise. We haven’t known each other for very long, but I think you need to do more things that are just for you in general. Your priorities seem to be divided between hockey and your boyfriend.”

“I like those things,” Ilya argued.

“Last time we met I suggested you talk to Shane about the things you’ve given up for him. Did you do that?”

“Yes!” Ilya practically shouted. “That’s why everything is fucked!”

“He didn’t take it well?”

“We had a fight. Yesterday. I haven’t spoken to him since because he doesn’t understand anything. He asked if I’d choose him over hockey and I couldn’t believe he even asked, you know?”

“What made him ask that?”

Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to say the next thing. “I asked him first,” he mumbled.

Galina’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And why did you ask him?”

“Because…” Ugh. This was embarrassing. “He hurt my feelings. I asked him if he wanted to go to a party at my teammate’s house.” He sighed. “It was stupid. Of course he was right to say no. We have never done anything like that before, and it would have been ridiculous to bring him but…I wanted to. I want to introduce him as my boyfriend to my friends.”

“That would be an enormous step,” Galina said. “One that would require some serious discussion beforehand, I would imagine.”

“Yes, well. We didn’t discuss. I asked him, he said no, and I got angry.”

Galina made some notes while Ilya stewed in his own humiliation for a moment. “I take it,” she finally said, “that Shane is not ready to go public.”

“No. I don’t even know if ready. But some days I think I’ll scream or die if I have to keep this secret any longer.”

“Does he know that?”

“No. I…haven’t talked to him much about my feelings still. I still have not told him that I’m seeing you.” Ilya’s eyes began to burn with tears. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again. Not for a week at least. We both have busy schedules, and road trips.” He swallowed. “I’m scared. I think I’ve ruined everything. I shouldn’t have mentioned that party.”

“I think you need to talk to him. Really talk. I’ll bet you’ve been keeping important things from each other because you don’t want to ruin the precious time you have alone together.”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”

She smiled. “You might have to suffer through a tough conversation. I suspect you’ll both feel better on the other side of it.”

Ilya knew she was right, but he couldn’t imagine how to start the conversation with Shane. At the same time he felt a strong urge to leave the appointment and call him right away.

“What do you want to say to him?” Galina asked. “If you could say anything.”

Ilya considered her question for a long time, scrolling through the long list in his head of things he should probably discuss with Shane.

His lips curved up on one side. “Are you going to pretend to be Shane?”

She smiled back. “Not exactly.”

“Good. You’d have to be much more annoying.”

“I doubt that’s what you want to tell him.”

“No. I tell him that he’s annoying all the time.”

Galina waited patiently for Ilya to get serious. Finally, Ilya took a slow breath, in and out, closed his eyes, and started talking.

Shane was about to head to the arena for his game against Toronto when Ilya finally called him.

“Oh my god. Hi.” Shane didn’t even pretend to be chill. “Ilya, listen, I—”

“Is okay,” Ilya said. “I should have let you stay. We need to talk, I think.”

Shane sighed with relief. “Definitely. Can we FaceTime? I want to see you.”

“Yes.”

A FaceTime request popped up and Shane clicked on it, realizing only after the video feed opened that he probably looked like shit. He’d barely slept, he was wearing his glasses, and his hair was in a very hastily made bun.

But he stopped caring about any of that once Ilya’s face filled his screen. He looked so tired but so soft at the same time, his lips curved just slightly upwards on one side. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink, like he’d just come in from the cold.

“Ilya,” Shane said, because he couldn’t think of any other words.

“I’m sorry I asked you to go to the party,” Ilya said. “And that I was mad that you said no. It was…not reasonable.”

“No. It’s fine. I mean, yes, I was surprised and confused, but I was such an asshole to you. You’ve given up so much and I don’t appreciate it enough. I get that.”

“I would give up more,” Ilya said simply. “Anything for you.”

“I don’t want you to. God, are you okay? I know you hate talking about your feelings, but I’m worried.”

Ilya’s jaw worked for a moment, as if he was trying to decide what to say. Then he said, “I have been seeing a therapist.”

“Oh,” Shane said, unsure if that was good news or bad. “Like, a psychologist, you mean?”

“Yes. Not the team one. One who speaks Russian. Is good. She has been helpful, I think.”

“She speaks Russian? That’s great.”

“Yes. Much easier to talk that way.”

Not for the first time, Shane felt terrible about not learning Russian fast enough. “So, it’s been…good?”

“I think so. Slow, but good.”

“How long have you been going?”

“A couple of months.”

Jesus. Why hadn’t Ilya told him? Shane wanted to ask, but it would probably sound like an accusation. “I’m glad you’re getting help. If you need it. And that you found someone you can talk to.” He couldn’t disguise the hurt in his voice, even though he had no reason to feel hurt.

“Shane,” Ilya said gently, “I have told you things I have not told anyone. You me. Therapy is…different.”

“I know,” Shane said. He did know. He was just mad at himself for not being a better listener.

“There is one thing I should tell you.” Ilya sounded nervous, suddenly. “She knows. About us. I told her.”

Shane couldn’t help the shock that he was sure showed plainly on his face. “You did? Like, you used my name?”

“Yes. I am sorry, but…I did not want to lie in that room the same as everywhere else.”

Shane supposed he could understand that. What good was seeing a therapist if you needed to lie to them? “Okay. I mean, she’s, like, sworn to secrecy or whatever. So that should be fine.”

“Yes.”

Shane sat on his bed. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want, but what made you decide to see a therapist?”

Ilya’s lips pulled into a tight smile. “Big question.”

“I know. Sorry. Forget I asked.”

“No. I want to tell you everything, but…not now, maybe.”

Shane nodded. “I get that.”

“It’s a lot, you know?”

Shane didn’t know, but he said, “Yeah. For sure.”

“But I am sorry I made you leave. I had a very nice Christmas with your family, as always. And I wasted a day and a night we could have been together.”

“I’m sorry for basically everything I said. Like, so fucking sorry. I love you.”

“I know, moya lyubov.”

Shane grinned. “I know that one.”

“Ah,” Ilya said in mock despair, “then you know my secret.”

“That you love me?”

“That I am very mushy inside.”

Shane laughed. “I knew that too.” He glanced at the clock beside his bed. “Shit. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

“I wish our schedules weren’t fucked. But maybe a bit of distance is good right now?”

“I think so. Yes. We will talk when we are in the same room again.”

They smiled sadly at each other for a few seconds. Shane’s heart felt heavy, and he was anxious thinking about their impending conversation, but he was more confident that things were still good between them.

“Try not to win too many games,” Ilya joked.

“You too.”

Ilya winked. “We never do.”