Chapter 24: The Long Game: Chapter 24

Ilya wasn’t able to keep his promise to Shane for very long. After losing a road game in Buffalo, and then two home games, the Centaurs won the first game of their southern road trip, an afternoon match against the much higher-ranked Carolina team.

“Fucking right!” Bood yelled as the team returned to the dressing room at the end of the game. “New year, new energy. We’re gonna be unstoppable, baby!”

Ilya hoped so. He hoped so. He believed in this team, despite their long history of losing. He had great teammates and a great coach. He was playing on a line with Bood and Troy now, and they were really starting to click. It felt great to have a player on his right who could keep up with him. The team just needed a few wins to gain confidence. Maybe this would be the road trip that changed everything.

Troy seemed happy about it too. Or maybe he was mostly happy that Harris had traveled with the team for this southern road trip. It wasn’t something Harris did often, but Ilya was glad he was getting a working vacation to some warmer climates. The team was heading directly from the arena to the plane that would take them to Tampa Bay. They’d have the rest of the night and all of tomorrow off to enjoy the warm Florida weather.

Harris was shooting video of the celebration in the room while Troy grinned at him from his stall, completely moony-eyed. Ilya sat next to Troy. “Still haven’t told him?”

“Not going to either.”

Ilya scoffed. “This would be a good chance. Romantic day together in Tampa tomorrow, maybe?”

Troy’s cheeks darkened slightly. “As if.”

“Think about it.”

“No.”

Coach Wiebe entered the room, and everyone cheered.

“Huge win tonight, guys,” Wiebe said with a huge smile. “I’m proud of you. Barrett with two beautiful goals? Are you kidding me? Amazing stuff, Troy. And where are our all-stars? Wyatt, Roz? Massive saves tonight, Wyatt. Absolutely incredible. And a goal and two assists from our captain? Can’t ask for more than that. Love it.”

Ilya stood and waved, which made everyone laugh. He realized he was actually in a great mood for the first time in a long time.

“All right,” Coach said, and clapped his hands together once, “let’s go to Florida, folks!”

The room erupted in cheers.

The party continued all the way to the plane. Everyone was rowdy and laughing, and Ilya soaked it in like a sponge. He’d missed this feeling.

Ilya was sitting alone, across the aisle from Harris, who seemed to be hard at work on his laptop. Near the end of the flight, Troy moved to sit in the empty seat beside Harris. Ilya smiled to himself, and looked out the window to hide the wistfulness that had probably crept into his expression. If things worked out with Harris and Troy, Ilya couldn’t promise he wouldn’t be a little bit jealous. It would be amazing to have your boyfriend so close.

The plane dipped suddenly—some unexpected turbulence. Everyone laughed at Bood, who had been standing in the aisle and was now on the floor. Ilya hastily wiped at his shirt, where Coke had splashed from the can he was holding. Ugh. He shouldn’t have worn a white shirt.

He pulled out his phone and checked to see if there was any score yet in the game Shane was playing tonight. It had just started, so no. Nothing yet.

They hadn’t spoken much since their phone call over a week ago. Ilya missed him, but he also thought the space from each other was good. They would talk—really talk—when they saw each other again, but for now Ilya needed time to think about what actually needed to be said.

He loved him, he knew that. He wanted to make sure Shane never doubted it. He didn’t expect their impending conversation to be easy, but whatever was said, he needed Shane to know he loved him. That he was still willing to do whatever it took to be together. But he also needed Shane to know all of the reasons why Ilya had decided to see a psychologist. He needed the man he loved to know the worst about himself.

A bang louder than any noise Ilya had heard during a flight rocked the plane. Everything shook violently for a moment, and Ilya’s can of Coke fell to the floor. He didn’t have time to worry about it before the plane fucking .

Ilya was screaming. He knew he was screaming and that he should probably stop, but everyone around him was screaming too. He gripped the arms of his seat and closed his eyes, as if either of those things would help.

The plane leveled out with another horrible shudder. Suddenly, the screaming stopped, and the cabin of the plane was eerily silent, as if everyone was holding their breath at once.

The pilot made an announcement. Ilya’s brain was too panicked to translate all the words, but he heard “engine” and “emergency landing.” He focused on the word . Pilots were trained to deal with this, right? He’d if Shane hadn’t been such a pill about Ilya wanting to get his pilot’s license.

Shane.

What if Ilya died? What would Shane do? How would he mourn?

Several rows behind him, Ilya heard Nick Chouinard yelling about a fire. He didn’t want to look.

Fuck. This was really happening. They were going to die, and Ilya would never get to have the big conversation with Shane. Would never get to tell him everything that Ilya had been hiding in his heart.

If only Shane wasn’t playing a game right now. Ilya could—well, not call him, but talk to him somehow. He wished he could text, but all he had access to was Wi-Fi.

Fuck it. Ilya opened Instagram and started typing a new private message to ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer.

Shane, he wrote, then stopped. He had no idea what to say. There was no possible way to put everything he needed to tell Shane into words.

But the plane was on fire, and Ilya didn’t have time to think. He wrote what was in his terrified heart: You are the best thing in my life.

His eyes were blurry, making it hard to type. He quickly swiped at his eyes and kept writing.

I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.

He let his mind take him away from the nightmare happening around him and back to a rink parking lot in Saskatchewan. Ilya couldn’t remember what Shane had said, exactly, that first time they’d met. He only remembered freckles splashed over rosy red cheeks. He remembered Shane’s hand being unfairly warm when he shook it. He remembered being studied by dark, earnest eyes.

It was entirely possible that Ilya lost his heart in that moment. It took his brain a long time to catch up, but his heart had known right away.

He wished Shane could respond. He hated thinking about Shane seeing these messages…after.

He’d keep them forever. Ilya knew he would. Fuck. He had to say something really good.

I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

He did. Ilya only had vague ideas of the afterlife and any gods who may be waiting there, but he believed his soul would stay with Shane, however it could. He believed the people you loved stayed with you until it was your time to go. He often felt his mother with him, and he knew he’d do the same for Shane.

And maybe he’d see his mother again soon. That was a nice thought. Ilya pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the crucifix pendant through the fabric of his shirt. He prayed, quietly and with no real structure. He murmured requests for whoever was listening to keep Shane safe, to let him live a long, happy life.

To please not let this plane crash, because Ilya had wasted so much fucking time hiding how much he loved Shane—from the world, from Shane, from himself. He needed more time. He needed to love Shane properly.

The plane tilted to one side, then the other, and a moment later came the glorious thud of wheels touching down on solid ground.

The jubilant roar from his teammates was earsplitting. Probably because Ilya was cheering louder than anyone. He looked out the window and saw flashing lights from various emergency vehicles but holy shit, the pilots had managed to land on the actual runway, safe and sound.

“Thank you,” Ilya said, gazing at the ceiling of the plane. “I won’t waste it.”

Montreal lost their game in Washington, which was annoying. Shane saw that Ilya’s team had won big against Carolina that afternoon, and he fully expected Ilya to give him shit about it.

He 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 hardly ever checked his Instagram messages, but sometimes Ilya used that when he was on a plane and couldn’t text.

Shane checked them now.

The messages were…intense. Romantic, certainly, but weird.

“Whoa,” J.J. said. “The Centaurs’ plane had to make an emergency landing.”

Shane turned to where J.J. was sitting across the aisle. “What? Is everyone okay?”

J.J. thumbed at his phone screen. “Sounds like it. Must have been scary, though.”

Shane read the messages from Ilya again. Holy shit. Those were meant as, like, his .

“But they’re okay?” Shane asked again, panic rising even though he knew Ilya was okay. He had the evidence right there in his hand.

J.J. looked at him with amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I said they’re fine. Landed safely.”

But dread had already clawed its way into Shane’s heart, filling his head with horrific alternate outcomes. What if those messages had been Ilya’s last words? What if they’d been all Shane had left?

He texted Ilya. I heard about the plane. Are you ok?

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.

Shane: I’m almost at the hotel. I’ll call when I’m there. Sorry. I 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. He would have been fucking . Who was Ilya’s next of kin, even? The brother he never spoke to? Would Shane have been allowed to spread his ashes somewhere that Ilya would have liked? Maybe at the cottage, or maybe he’d prefer to be buried in Moscow with his parents. God, they’d never talked about this sort of thing.

Anger flared through Shane’s body, hot and sudden. They had lots of reasons to keep their relationship a secret, but those reasons seemed extremely unimportant now. What if Ilya had ? What if he had fucking ?

Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly, and for the rest of his life.

He clutched his phone to his chest, and turned his head to face the window so his teammates didn’t see the way his lip was trembling.

Ilya knew, as team captain, that he should be at one of the tables in the hotel bar with his teammates. He should be making the rounds, checking in with everyone. Especially the rookies.

But he just…couldn’t.

The adrenaline had worn off quickly, and now he was standing alone in the parking lot outside the lobby, smoking a cigarette. Sure, his New Year’s resolution had been to quit smoking for real, but he’d this cigarette.

His phone rang when his lungs were full of smoke. He exhaled too quickly, which made him start coughing.

“Hi,” he said, and then coughed again.

“Ilya. Jesus. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” He coughed again, and thumped his chest with his fist.

“Where are you? What’s going on?” A pause. “Are you smoking?”

“No,” Ilya said, and stamped out what was left of his cigarette on the ground. “I am in Tampa. At the hotel. The team is all together in the bar.”

“It must have been terrifying.”

“Yes. It was scary, but we are okay now. Everyone is okay. Maybe a little…” He waved his hand around in the air. “Shaken.”

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” Shane said gently.

Ilya smiled tightly. “I think I am…crashing maybe. A bit.”

“Adrenaline is wearing off. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Yes.”

“Are you…in the bar now?”

“I wanted some air, so I am outside now.”

“You smoking!”

“I am enjoying the warm Florida night!” He sighed. “And also smoking a little.”

“Well,” Shane said, “I’ll allow it.”

“Great,” Ilya said flatly.

Shane laughed, which made Ilya’s heart race. What if he’d never heard Shane’s laugh again?

“Can I see you?” Shane asked. “Can we FaceTime?”

“Yes. Of course. One second.” Ilya bent to retrieve his cigarette butt, pocketed it, and started walking to the other side of the parking lot. On the way, he sent Shane a FaceTime request.

He could tell right away that Shane had been crying.

“Oh,” Ilya said softly. “Sweetheart. I am so sorry.” They didn’t use pet names very often, beyond the nonsensical Russian nouns Ilya liked to throw at Shane, but Ilya said this one with his whole heart.

Shane gave a fragile, trembling smile. “You should be.” Then he covered his mouth with his hand as his eyes filled with tears.

“I am okay,” Ilya assured him. “Still here. I should not have scared you with those texts.”

Shane only shook his head in response, mouth still hidden by his hand. Ilya hated seeing him so upset, but he loved seeing him. Loved his freckles and his little nose.

“I did mean what I wrote,” Ilya said. “All of it.”

Shane lowered his hand, cleared his throat, and said, “So a little brush with death and you turn into Mr. Poetry?”

Ilya laughed softly. “Was it too much?”

“No. Fuck you, it was beautiful. And I’m glad it wasn’t…” Shane stopped talking. Then he took a steadying breath and said, “I’m glad it wasn’t…necessary.”

Ilya’s eyes started to burn. “Yes. Me too.”

“You’re not allowed to die, Ilya. Not before I do.”

“Do you have to win ?”

“I have to not lose you.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“Shane,” Ilya said soothingly, “it is okay. I am okay. Is over.”

“You’re so far away,” Shane said, sniffing hard. “I want to rent a car and drive there.”

“Would be a long drive,” Ilya said with amusement, “from Washington.”

“Thirteen hours.” Shane smiled sheepishly. “I looked it up. Right after I looked up available rental cars in Washington.”

Ilya chuckled fondly, which made Shane laugh too.

“Maybe you could play for us against Tampa,” Ilya joked. “Give us a chance of winning.”

“I doubt I’d play very well, to be honest.” He exhaled. “God. I just keep thinking—”

“I know,” Ilya cut him off before he could say it. “But I didn’t. I’m here. I’m fine.”

Shane nodded. “I wish you were here with me right now. I want to hold you. I want to, fuck, feel your heart beating.”

“Now who is the poet?”

“Shut up.”

They both laughed again, then smiled at each other for a few silent moments.

“You look way too good,” Shane said, “for someone who just went through a harrowing ordeal.”

Ilya was too tired to translate those last two words, so he replied with, “I love you.” In Russian.

Shane repeated it back. Then said, in English, “You should go be with your team.”

Ilya sighed. “Probably. Yes.”

“Call me tomorrow. Or later tonight if you want. I’ll just be, y’know, freaking out in my hotel room.”

“Don’t. Jerk off or something instead. Send me pictures.”

“While you’re hanging out with your teammates? Absolutely not.”

“I won’t them.”

“Good night, Ilya.”

“I almost died!”

“I’m really not ready to joke about that yet.”

“Sorry. Good night, moy pomidor.”

“Tomato, right?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. I love you.”

“I love you. Send pictures.”

They ended the call, and Ilya went back inside the hotel. He considered joining a table, and he considered going up to his room, then he spotted Troy sitting alone at the bar. Why Troy was sitting there and not upstairs making out with Harris was beyond Ilya.

He left Troy alone, and joined one of the tables. He picked the one that had the most pitchers of beer on it, and immediately poured himself a glass. Time to get fucking drunk.