Chapter Text
“Oh, God," he prayed once again, "by all means test us to the limit of our endurance, but please make it humanly possible to go on. Please let there be some sort of path."
― Alive
Montreal loses their game in Carolina, which is annoying. Ilya’s team had won against Washington earlier in the day, Shane had seen, but he hadn’t had a chance to congratulate Ilya yet. Of course now, it would probably be less congratulatory and more having to listen to Ilya gloat about how the Centaurs had won while Montreal had lost. He should’ve reached out, really. He uses the three hour time difference as an excuse, but it doesn’t even make sense because Ilya’s game had been at noon, completed before Shane even got on the ice for his game in the early evening. Maybe he’s being shitty. He should be happy that the Cens are doing better under Ilya. Maybe it’ll make Ilya seem happier. Ilya doesn’t seem happy much these days. Maybe it’s another reason he hasn’t reached out yet, and maybe it makes him even shittier.
Whatever. Carolina has a better team than Washington.
Shane is walking up to the bus with the rest of his team though, when there’s some sort of commotion. J.J. is holding his phone out while Drapeau looks on with him, like they’re frozen in place in front of the bus.
Hayden nudges Shane. “What do you think’s going on?”
Shane shrugs. “Dunno. Washington player gloating at the press conference, maybe?”
They approach, and J.J. turns to face them. Drapeau looks a little stunned.
What’s going on?” Shane asks.
“A tragedy,” J.J. says, and he holds his phone out.
PLANE CARRYING OTTAWA CENTAUR’S HOCKEY TEAM, COACH, PERSONNEL, REPORTEDLY LOST CONTACT, PRESUMED MISSING -
Shane’s eyes scan over the words, once, twice. It’s not true. It’s some mistake. He knows it.
“Lost contact?” Hayden asks, his tone a mix of concerned and confused. “What’s that mean? Like they lost their ability to communicate? Won’t that make landing hard?”
J.J. frowns.
Shane feels like he’s in a dream, unfocused and slightly muffled, his peripheral swirling and unclear.
“I do not think they will be landing,” he says solemnly. “The last reports are of the plane losing altitude. An engine went out, and then it just… disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Asks Hayden. “Fuck. How does a plane disappear? Like, off their radar?”
J.J. shrugs, but he scrolls down a bit on the article while the other three men huddle in close, reading from his phone.
Air Traffic Control reportedly lost contact with the aircraft at approximately 5:30 PM Pacific Standard Time, while the aircraft would have been at its cruising altitude over a remote area of Alberta. Concerningly, it is possible the aircraft would have been in proximity to the Rocky Mountains, making emergency landing difficult. The United States NTSB is investigating this incident in cooperation with the Canadian government and Transportation Safety Board of Canada. We have contacted both for a statement…
Shane’s eyes skim lower down on the article.
The Ottawa Centaur’s Captain, Ilya Rozanov, was traded to the Centaurs last year after….
… he was reportedly a passenger on that plane…
Shane doesn’t realize he’s falling until Hayden grabs him by his armpit and holds him up.
“Hey, hey, man,” Hayden says frantically as J.J. helps him stand.
“Hollander. Captain,” J.J. says. Shane feels like he’s in a fishbowl, the words blurry and hard to understand. His knees buckle again.
“Shit, man,” Hayden says. “We gotta get him on the bus before reporters come over, okay?” He speaks to J.J. “Shane, buddy,” he says to Shane. “Let’s get you sitting down.”
“Shit,” J.J. hisses.
Shane He feels like a child, maybe. Like adults are talking around him, and he’s just learning to walk, to hold himself up while everything is collapsing around him.
“Rozanov. That’s his friend, man,” Hayden says.
“The camp,” J.J. agrees. “Oh, Hollander,” J.J. says softly. “Hey, there is no news yet, yes? Maybe they just lost contact and they are returning. Maybe they made an emergency landing, yes?”
Shane doesn’t answer. He thinks he blacks out.
Someone is helping him get on the bus, walking him to the back. There are murmurs around him.
Is he okay?
Oh, he’s close with Rozanov.
Fuck, I hope they’re okay.
Is there any news?
Hayden sits down next to him and murmurs to J.J. “I got it, it’s okay. We don’t wanna overwhelm him.”
Shane is very grateful to his friend.
“I can’t check the news,” Shane says quietly, monotone. “Can you?” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It sounds too far away.
“Yeah, buddy. I’m gonna be checking the news the whole bus ride, okay? You’re gonna be the first to hear anything.”
Shane nods.
His phone rings.
‘Mom’
“You wanna get that? I can give you some privacy,” Hayden says.
Shane shakes his head. He can’t do that right now. Because his mom knows about him and Ilya. His dad knows about him and Ilya. They’re the only two people in the world who know, and if Shane talks to them, then…
Then it’s not just his friend Rozanov who was on that plane. It’s Ilya. It’s his soulmate. It’s the man he wants to marry.
His phone vibrates.
[Mom - 9:44 PM]
Call me when you can. We are praying for him. We love you so much.
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Shane says, his voice quiet but level.
“Shit. Okay. Hold on, uh…” Hayden scrambles a little, but somehow manages to procure a sick bag from somewhere in their seats, and holds it out.
Shane looks at it, and almost like it’s his own choice rather than his body forcefully rejecting his stomach contents out, he vomits once into the bag, then sits up straight again.
“I got it,” Hayden says, taking the bag.
“You don’t have to-“
“Four kids,” Hayden reminds him. He disappears for a moment, probably to throw the bag out in the bathroom behind them.
Shane looks at his mom’s text, and then he notices another notification. Instagram.
IlyaRozanov 1 hour and 28 minutes ago
sent you a message
Shane opens the message with trembling hands. He’s three hours ahead. They lost contact at 5:30 PST. It’s 9:48 PM EST. Ilya sent this as the plane lost contact.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you
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 doesn’t realize he’s dropped his phone on the ground until Hayden is picking it up, holding it back out to Shane, only he pauses, looking at it.
“Holy shit,” Hayden whispers.
Shane can’t move. He can’t turn his head to look at Hayden. He can’t lift his hand to take his phone. He can’t even tell if he’s breathing right now.
“Holy shit,” Hayden repeats. “Lily,” he says, putting the pieces together.
Shane can’t even nod. Someone else knows, now. Someone next to him. Which means it’s not just his friend on the plane, someone he respects, someone he runs a charity with. It’s Ilya. It’s someone he loves.
His phone rings again in Hayden’s hand. “It’s your mom.”
Shane doesn’t move.
“Can I answer? She’s probably… does she know? Can I answer?” Hayden asks.
“Yes,” Shane says quietly, answering all of the above.
Hayden sits down again and answers the phone, putting it to his ear.
“No, it’s Hayden. Yes. Yes, he’s here. I don’t know… maybe like, he’s in shock? No, nothing. Yes… yeah. No, I didn’t know. I just found out. Of course. Yeah. To yours? Yes, of course. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Yeah. I know. I know. Okay. I know,” Hayden says, then turns to Shane. “Can your mom talk to you?” He asks.
Shane doesn’t move.
“I’m just gonna… no, he’s not doing anything. I’m gonna hold the phone up for him.”
Then, his phone is held to his ear by Hayden, and he hears the voice of his mother. “My baby,” she says softly, and that’s all it takes for Shane to crumble.
“Mom,” he whispers.
“Oh, baby,” Yuna cries. “I know. We’re gonna figure this out. We’re gonna do everything we can, okay? You’ll be here so soon, and we’re gonna figure this out,” he says.
Shane nods. He isn’t sure what to figure out.
Because if he lets himself think about it, he knows. He knows.
Ilya is dead.
—-
Hayden is thankfully quiet for the rest of the ride to the airport. Shane would be grateful, if he had the capability to process anything. He’s aware that he cries the entire way to the airport, because his face is wet, but he’s not really processing that. He’s silent at least, not drawing attention to himself as tears stream down his face.
The bus pulls up to the airport where the team will get on their chartered jet back to Montreal. Hayden sets a hand on Shane’s knee. “We can wait until people are off,” he says.
Shane nods, before a sinking feeling hits him. How is he supposed to get on an airplane? How is he supposed to get on a plane and not think about Ilya’s last moments? What was it like? He obviously knew what was happening… he used his last moments to send Shane a message.
Shane retches again, but nothing comes out, and Hayden strokes his back. “Shane,” he says softly, in a voice that makes Shane ache. He doesn’t know what to do. There isn’t anything to do.
“I’m okay,” Shane says, and he stands when the bus is mostly empty.
Hayden walks in front of him, slowly, and stops him when they’re off the bus. “Everyone knows you two are close, okay? With the charity and stuff. No one is thinking anything about you being upset, alright? I just… I know it’s not the most important thing, but if you’re worried about that, you don’t have to be.”
Shane leans in and hugs him and tries and fails not to sob into his neck.
Someone will bring their bags and equipment and everything to the plane. Shane just needs to walk, to put one foot in front of the other until he’s on the plane, crossing the tarmac to their privately chartered jet.
No one says anything to him, but he feels eyes on him, curious, sympathetic. He hears whispers, murmurs. Hayden stays by his side, not unlike a guard dog, and fuck, Shane loves him. He hasn’t even questioned anything, he hasn’t said a single thing about it all.
Ilya is dead. Shane wonders if there will even be a body, or if it'll all be burnt up in the wreckage. If they’d gone from cruising altitude to crashing, probably.
“I’m just gonna text your mom, okay? So she knows we’re getting on the plane, and then she can meet us at the airport,” Hayden says, once he and Shane are seated in the back row of the plane. He hands Shane a water at some point, and Shane stares out the window the entire flight home, thinking about the last things Ilya would have seen. He gets through it, somehow. The plane lands.
He wishes it didn’t. For a brief second, he wishes it didn’t. He wishes his plane would crash too, because it would be easier than having to face this. Maybe he’d see Ilya again. He doesn’t really believe that, but Ilya does. Shane is a selfish, horrible man, because he would sacrifice every single one of his teammates if it meant he could see Ilya again.
Hayden gets up after the plane lands and talks to some people up front. Shane can’t see well, but it looks like he’s talking to the coach and the social media manager. He comes back a few minutes later as the plane is taxing. “They’re gonna make sure there’s no press, okay? We may have to hang back a bit. Just… You know. Hollander and Rozanov. There’s gonna be people wanting a statement.”
Shane nods. “Okay.”
He moves on autopilot once they’re cleared to de-plane. J.J. claps him on the shoulder once, and a few other teammates say passing words of comfort. Shane doesn’t register them. His coach stops him before he gets off.
“Be in touch, Cap. Whatever you need,” he says.
Shane nods. “Thank you,” his mouth says, but he doesn’t even feel himself say it.
Hayden walks him out, takes him inside, practically shields him from any onlookers, and then he’s pushed into his mom’s car in the passenger seat while Hayden gets in the back. His mom reaches his arms over the center console and hugs him immediately.
“Shane,” she exhales into his hair.
“Have you heard anything?” Shane asks, his voice too flat. He feels guilty for being able to speak, for being even somewhat composed. He should be inconsolable, right? Will that happen, he wonders?
He hasn’t had the courage to check his phone, and he’s trusted that Hayden would tell him if anything was reported, but he also knows his mom. He knows she’d fight for answers and use her connections.
A car honks at them from the pick up line.
“Let me get on the road, honey. Okay?” She says.
Shane nods.
They’re pulling out of the airport when he can’t wait any longer. “Mom,” he says, his voice cracking.
“The plane reported turbulence about five minutes before it went down. It stabilized, and then it lost altitude suddenly,” she says.
Shane feels his vision go black around the edges like he’s in a tunnel. He can’t tell if it’s blurry because he’s crying again or because his body is shutting down, focusing on vital things like breathing instead of seeing. All he registers is the red and white lights from the cars in front of them.
“The pilot reported that, and said they’d lost an engine. Air traffic control directed them to turn around and go to the nearest airport which was… I don’t remember. But they lost contact shortly after. They don’t know why,” she says.
“Yes, they do,” Shane says quietly. “Are they searching for wreckage now?”
Yuna nods. “Yes. But…” she hesitates. “They haven’t found anything yet. They were over the Rockies, but the plane hasn’t been found yet, where they would expect it to be. It’s possible, if it drifted for a while after telecommunications went down… They don’t know how off course it was before-”
Shane lets out a ragged sob, broken and awful, torn from his chest.
Yuna grabs his hand, and he feels Hayden reach forward to grip his shoulder.
“Hayden, are you… You’re okay coming to Ottawa?” Yuna asks.
“Of course,” Hayden agrees. “I talked to Jackie. She can come tomorrow and her sister will watch the kids,” he says.
Yuna nods. “Dad is home in case there’s any news. We have food, he’s making up the guest bed for you, Hayden,” she says.
“I want to die,” Shane whispers softly.
“Baby,” Yuna says, clutching his hand so much it hurts. Shane wishes it would hurt more.
“I can’t…” He says, and he reaches up with his free hand, now balled into a fist, and hits himself on the head, hard.
“Shane,” Hayden gasps at the same time Yuna says “Shane,” so soft, so disappointed.
He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about disappointing anyone. All his life, he’s tried not to disappoint people; his parents, his coaches, his teammates, his fans. He never felt that with Ilya. He never worried if he was disappointing him. Maybe he should’ve. Maybe he was letting Ilya down too, and he didn’t even know it.
He hits himself again, twice more, as Yuna struggles between driving and intervening, and Hayden manages to reach around his headrest and catch his wrist.
“Sorry,” Shane says gruffly, shaking his hand away and setting it on his lap. The hand on his wrist was enough to snap him out of it, at least. He’s sure Hayden is scared, trying to catch Yuna’s eye in the rearview mirror. His mom has seen this before, though. Not for a while, not since Shane has been an adult. He used to do this when things were too much, when he couldn’t process anything. Hitting himself was something concrete, tangible, it hurt, but he could understand it. It distracted from the other things. He hasn’t done it in years. He thinks this warrants it.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says.
“I need to close my eyes,” he says.
“Okay."
They’re quiet the rest of the way to Ottawa. Yuna pulls up to the house, and Shane’s dad steps out just as the car parks. Shane doesn’t move, so Hayden steps out and opens his door, and only then does Shane realize he should unbuckle. He steps out, and he’s instantly enveloped in his dad’s arms, firm and grounding. He fights every urge to push him away. He doesn’t want to cry more. If he’s given kindness, he’ll cry.
Still, he leans into the touch, inhaling deeply against his dad’s shoulder.
“Son,” David says quietly.
“What do I do?” Shane asks, his voice broken and small. “Dad, what do I do?”
David is quiet for a long moment, his hands firm on Shane’s back. “Nothing without us,” he finally says.
—
Somehow, Shane manages to change and brush his teeth. He forgoes dinner and thankfully no one pushes the issue. He crawls into bed and he takes out his phone, switching it to Do Not Disturb as he pulls up Instagram.
He rereads Ilya’s messages, trying to hear them in his voice, with his accent, before he taps on Ilya’s account. The last post is of the foosball table Shane had gifted him for Christmas. Shane hasn’t even seen the post. The one before that is of Shane’s exercise ball in Ilya’s gym. There’s one of a puzzle Ilya had done with Shane’s dad, one of his loon tattoo. Every single one, in some form, is about Shane, about them. No one else would know or suspect, but each and every post is an homage to their relationship, like a diary written in code. Had Ilya been so desperate to share their relationship that he was sharing these little clues, secret messages, an online journal to show how much he loved Shane?
And Shane hadn’t even congratulated him after his game.
He doesn’t actually stop crying, but at a certain point there’s just a steady stream of tears rather than body raking sobs. His mom comes in to check on him. She asks if she should stay, but he says no. She looks like she doesn’t believe him, but she leaves, despite the way it looks like it pains her.
His dad comes in after, sitting on the edge of his bed. He wishes he knew the right words for his dad to say, because he knows he wants to say something. He wants to comfort Shane, to tell him it will be okay, but there’s nothing to say. Nothing will ever be okay.
Hayden comes in a while later, sitting in the same spot his dad had. “Jackie can come with the kids tomorrow, if you want,” he offers.
Shane doesn’t answer.
“Maybe that would be a lot. I don’t know what to say,” he says after a pause. “I can’t even… I don’t know what you’re going through. I’m sorry. I just… I never knew. He makes you so happy. For so long,” Hayden trails off. He must have done the math, realized how long ‘Boston Lily’ had been in Shane’s life..
Shane nods once. He doesn’t know how Hayden is still using present tense.
“Whatever you need, man. Anything. Jackie and I are gonna be here. Okay?”
Shane nods again. He can’t speak, but Hayden doesn’t push it. He squeezes Shane’s shoulder and leaves.
Shane only knows he slept, because when he wakes up, it’s just starting to get light out. He’s confused for a brief moment, confused by being at his parent’s house, by the time, but then he remembers.
Ilya is dead.
He lets out a wretched sound and grabs his phone, turning notifications on again.
Rose has texted, same with J.J. and his coach. There are multiple news alerts.
The plane is still officially missing. There has been no progress, no leads.
There’s a text from a number he doesn’t recognize, and he opens it.
[Maybe: Svetlana Vetrova -11:44 PM]
Hello. Is this Shane?
This is Ilya’s friend, Svetlana.
I think maybe you are important to him.
I would like to talk.
Shane bolts upright, typing out a response immediately.
[5:36 AM]
Yes. It’s Shane.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel like I’m dying
He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s true, but it doesn’t make sense to send it to her. He’s never talked to her. If he’s honest, he’s hated her. Not that that’s fair. He’s appreciated how she’d been there for Ilya, but he remembers that night, the first time Ilya had been to the cottage, when he’d said he could marry her. Shane’s blood had boiled. And before that, during the infamous day of tuna melts, when he’d said it was nice to have someone regular around. He’d hated her. He’d hated her for existing and for knowing Ilya first.
Now, he wants to see her more than anyone. She knew Ilya. She knew him, maybe like Shane did. Maybe she hurts as much as he does.
[5:42 AM]
There is no more news. I keep checking. Do you know anything?
Have they found anything?
[5:44 AM]
Nothing.
[5:45 AM]
You love him, yes?
[5:45 AM]
Yes.
[5:46 AM]
I thought it was you.
He loves you too.
I wanted to meet you.
[5:47 AM]
It’s my fault. I wanted it to be a secret.
I want to see you.
I feel like I’m going to die. I don’t know what to do.
I want to wake up
[5:50 AM]
I will come. Ottawa?
[5:54 AM]
Yes.
[Address attached]
This is my house. I’ll be there later today. I’m at my parent’s now.
The possibility that this isn’t really her, that it’s some reporter or scammer doesn’t even cross his mind. It doesn’t matter. If there’s a chance, he needs to see her.
[5:56 AM]
Okay. I will come.
Shane, I’m not giving up hope. Okay?
Ilya would not want that.
—
It’s a near impossible task to leave his parents. They don’t want him to leave, and it hits Shane, halfway into the argument, with Hayden and Jackie standing outside to give him privacy, that they don’t trust him to be alone. They’re worried about him. They don’t know what he’ll do on his own.
“I have to,” he says, his voice broken. “I need to be in our bed.”
“Then let us come,” his mom begs. “We won’t be in the way. Let us just be there, Shane. You shouldn’t be alone.”
He takes a steadying breath. “His friend is on her way.”
His parents look a little stunned by this.
“Svetlana, you know? His oldest friend. She’s coming. I just need… I’m sorry. I’m so close, if I need you, I’ll call. Please. I promise. I’m not going to… I’m gonna be safe. Okay? I’ll call you later.”
His dad looks to his mom, and squeezes her hand, and he watches the two of them communicate silently. They know each other so well. He wonders if he and Ilya ever looked like that to anyone else.
Probably not. Shane wouldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t allow Ilya to love him like that in front of anyone else. He didn’t deserve Ilya, and now he’s gone.
“Okay,” Yuna says finally. “You call every hour, and if you don’t, I’ll come over.”
“Okay,” Shane agrees. “Jackie and Hayden will drive me there.”
Yuna nods, and she pulls him into a tight hug as David wraps his arms around the both of them.
“We love you, Shane,” he says, his voice soft.
Shane pulls away first because he doesn’t want to cry again. “You’ll keep calling places?”
“Yes,” Yuna agrees. “I won’t stop.”
—
Jackie and Hayden hug Shane at the door, helping him carry in the packaged food his mom insisted on sending him with. He knows he won’t touch it, but at least he’ll have something to offer Svetlana. She sent him her flight info earlier, and she’d insisted on renting a car from the airport.
It means he has two hours between Jackie stroking his hair and telling him to call if he needs anything, that they’re getting a hotel nearby, and Svetlana arriving.
The moment the door closes behind Hayden and Jackie, he realizes this is a terrible idea. He’s alone in his cottage, the place he’s spent so much time with Ilya. He also can’t think of anything worse than being here alone than being here with his parents or Hayden. It’s not that he doesn’t love them. They’re being great. They’re being perfect. It’s just, nothing can fix this. No one can fix this. And he just wants to be alone for a while. He doesn’t want to have to hold himself up in front of anyone else for a while.
He toes off his shoes and pads to his bedroom, which he really sees as their bedroom, and he crawls into bed.
He inhales into his pillow deeply and he hates himself. He hates how neurotic he is, the way he’d changed the sheets the last time he and Ilya had had a night here together. They don’t smell like him.
Fuck. He needs Ilya. He needs Ilya badly. He feels like he’s going to rip off his own skin, tear it from the bone, rip his own chest open, crack open his own ribs. He needs to scream. He needs to break something.
“Why?” He says into the empty room. Why? Of every plane? Of everyone? Why?
He wishes it had been him.
No, he doesn’t. Then Ilya would be alone.
Ilya doesn’t do well on his own. Shane thinks maybe he’s been ignoring that for a while, because facing it will make him feel too guilty. Ilya had come here, to Ottawa, for him. He’d given up so much, and Shane wasn’t enough for him. Shane didn’t give him enough time. Ilya’s been lonely, and so has Shane, but Shane’s been denying it, like if he can ignore it for himself, he can will it away for both of them.
Shane isn’t doing so well on his own either.
He needs something of Ilya’s. It’s delusional, but maybe there’s a sock, some underwear beneath the bed, something of his, something Shane hasn’t sanitized or compartmentalized or tried to erase from his life, something he hasn’t sectioned off because he’s a fucking coward, and Ilya is too good for him, making himself small just to fit into the segmented boxes of Shane’s life.
He gets on his hands and knees beneath the bed, and he finds something he didn’t put there.
He slides it out, flat and hard, leatherbound.
It’s a notebook. Or a journal, maybe. Shane doesn’t know the difference, he just knows it’s not his. It’s something Ilya must have stowed away, hidden in Shane’s life, tucked away just like his full fat cream in the back of Shane’s fridge, and his Russian vodka stowed away in the freezer. Is that really all Shane had given him? Ilya uprooted his life, and Shane had given him little hidden nooks where he can burrow into.
Shane cracks it open, only to find words he doesn’t recognize. He’s learned the alphabet, and he can sound out words, but he can’t put them together, not these words. He sees a few he recognizes. ‘мама’ , mom. ‘Любовь’, love. He sees his own name.
He looks at the top corner of the page, and sees the date is from some time last year. He sifts through it, until the last page, and sees it’s still from some months ago. He didn’t know Ilya was journaling. He wonders if there’s more, ones before this, ones more up to date. He wonders how long Ilya has been putting his thoughts inside of a journal because he can’t open up to Shane.
—
Shane had envisioned meeting Svetlana many times. Maybe over drinks at some fun, trendy bar. He’d ask her for embarrassing childhood stories about Ilya, and Ilya would groan and pretend to be annoyed, but Shane would know he wasn’t, not really. Ilya would be so happy to have his two favorite people in the world together in one spot. Shane would put his jealousy aside, and he’d be happy to meet someone who loves Ilya.
Shane never envisioned their first meeting to look like this. He never envisioned this lithe, beautiful woman having to hold Shane up by his arms so he wouldn’t collapse the moment he opened the door for her. He never envisioned crying so hard he’d end up getting snot on the shoulder of her shirt, that she would stroke his back and tell him she knows, she knows, you sweet, poor boy. There’s still hope. There’s no news, which means there’s still hope, but fuck, they both know they’re lying to themselves.
“I need your help,” he tells her, once he’s calmed down, once she’s been kind enough to get tissues from his own bathroom and pour him water from his own sink. He sets the leather bound diary on the table, and slides it across to her. “Please. I need to know what he was writing before… before-“
She looks down at the diary. “Ilya’s? In Russian?”
Shane nods once. “I was going to google it but… I need to hear it from someone he loved.” Shane gets a cold chill when he realizes he’d used past tense again. Svetlana isn’t, so he shouldn’t either, like maybe if he believes enough, it will be true. “Loves. I need to know.”
Svetlana nods once. “Are there more?”
Shane shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably. This one stopped a few months ago. Probably at his house.”
“Are you sure… I mean. You didn’t know he was writing these. They could find him. It’s been a day. If you read these, you can’t unread them,” she says. “His… privacy?”
He can tell she’s not even sure of herself, but he understands. He’s asking her to read the private thoughts of her oldest friend, something he never intended to be read. “It’s… It feels like this is all I have of him. Where he could be himself. His Instagram-” he cuts himself off, not wanting to cry again. “I just have to know.”
“Okay. I can do it,” she says. “I can type it out, maybe that would be best? So you can read it on your own, then?”
“You would do that?”
She nods.
“How long can you stay? You can stay here. I’d like you to, I think,” he says.
“A few days. I can stay a few days. I can get a hotel-”
“No. No, Ilya would want you here. He would want us to be together. If… um. If you want,” he says. He doesn’t mention how having her here, Ilya’s oldest friend, his piece of home, with the same accent, makes him feel closer to Ilya.
“Yes,” she says, taking his hand from across the table. “He loves you so much. When he was back in Russia, the last time… for his father’s funeral. I knew he loved you then. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure it was you, but I knew it was love.”
Shane’s bottom lip shakes. “He always said how much he loved you too.”
Svetlana lets out a sound then, a high pitched cry that hits Shane in his core, and he stands up, kneels beside her chair, and wraps his arms around her body, holding her close. “Thank you for being here.”
---
Svetlana drives them to Ilya’s house in Ottawa, in the rental car. It’s a few hours later, after she’s eaten a few bites of some rice dish, and Shane has traced over the letters he can’t read over and over again. He needs to go tonight. He can’t imagine waiting a moment longer.
“Do you want me to-” she says once she parks in Ilya’s driveway.
“Please come with,” Shane says.
She nods, and gets out of the car. Shane leads the way, taking out the spare key.
He’s rarely here alone, only a handful of times when he’s arrived before Ilya. It’s never felt this empty, though.
He turns the key and steps inside. It’s dark, echoing the sound of Svetlana’s heels as she steps inside behind him. Shane kicks off his sneakers and waits as Svetlana bends over and pulls her heels off.
He hears a sniffle and turns to her, her cheeks wet, glistening with the moonlight seeping through the windows.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
Shane remembers how Ilya had said the same thing the first time he cried. Maybe it was a Russian thing, to apologize for emotion. Shane gets it.
“I just have never been here. To his home. I didn’t think it would be… without him,” she whispers, her voice breaking at the end.
She looks so delicate now, so small. Shane has spent years intimidated by her, jealous of her, this woman who has held such an important spot in Ilya’s life. It seems so silly now. Shane should have realized how much she loved him and how beautiful it was. Seeing her here, crying, small, Shane feels guilty for ever having one ounce of malice toward her.
“I know,” he says softly.
He also feels guilty for his own protectiveness of his relationship with Ilya, something that maybe bordered on paranoia. Ilya would have had Svetlana over if it weren’t for Shane, he is sure of it. He would have hosted dinners for the three of them, gotten drunk and laughed and talked about everything. Shane never would have allowed it.
“Um,” Shane starts, because he thinks of something. “It’s probably not a good time to ask but… have you heard from his family? His brother?”
She nods once, sharply. “You don’t have to worry about that. I will handle.”
Shane frowns. “You don’t need to do all that.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s just his brother. He barely speaks English anyway. And he is awful. Already asking about a body, about money.”
Shane’s chest aches at the mention of the word body. Is that all Ilya is now? Soulles, a shell, burnt up somewhere in the mountains? It’s so cold out there. Ilya hates the cold.
“What are you gonna-“ Shane starts.
“Ilya changed his will. I know this. His brother is entitled to nothing, and there is a trust for his niece. There is nothing more to say to that scum, okay?”
“Thank you,” Shane nods. While it’s of course unfortunate that Ilya has no family, no one back home, it does uncomplicate that aspect of things. “My mom is… she’s really pushy. Like, um. She pushes for answers. She’s talking to people, trying to find things out.”
Svetlana nods. “Yuna Hollander.”
Shane seems surprised by this. “Did Ilya mention her?”
Svetlana smiles softly, the first one Shane’s seen. “No. You are a very good hockey player, Shane. I like hockey. I like to know things.”
Shane nods stiffly. “Uh… I should go look. His bedroom, probably.”
“Okay,” she says. “I will wait out here.”
Shane is grateful. It seems as though Svetlana knows exactly where he’ll need her and where to stay back. Ilya’s bedroom is for Shane alone. No one else besides a decorator has stepped inside of it.
Shane walks through the house with a purpose, keeping his eyes forward, single minded with his mission. He moves to the bedroom, not daring to look at anything besides the night stand yet. It’s the place that makes the most sense, he thinks. Ilya would probably be writing in bed. Unless he had the journal with him. Unless the journal is burned, lost in the wreckage, with Ilya.
It wouldn’t be in the drawer where lube and toys are kept, because Shane goes in that drawer. He opens the thinner drawer above that one, and it’s about the first thing that’s gone right. There, right on top, is a journal identical to the one at home.
Shane opens it up, looking at the letters he can sound out, but not quite decipher. This one starts shortly after the last one ended. He slips through the pages, and it stops abruptly, right after New Years, right when Ilya would have left for his Washington game. Shane clutches the journal to his chest, hugging it close.
He misses Ilya.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, and it’s a mistake. He can’t help himself as he lays down, slowly laying back in the middle of the bed. He stays like that for a moment, before he moves up the bed, and rests his head on Ilya’s pillow.
It smells like him. Shane burrows into it, pressing his nose into the fabric. It smells like his hair product and his shampoo and his cologne and faintly human too.
He shuts his eyes and pretends Ilya is here, laying on Shane’s side of the bed.
“I miss you,” he says softly. “I really want you to come home, Ilya. You kinda have to. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you don’t come home. So you have to. For me. I know you’d do anything for me. So even if you feel like giving up, or you don’t want to come home for you, you have to for me. Okay?”
He keeps his eyes screwed shut for a few long moments, like the longer he keeps them closed, the longer he can imagine Ilya is there, next to him. If he opens them, the bed will be empty besides himself. He doesn’t want to see it. “Ilya,” he whispers, and this time he hears the wetness in his own voice, the crack in his throat as he tries to hold back a sob.
It’s futile.
He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until Svetlana is bursting through the door. She throws herself over him, covering his body with her own, her hands rubbing up and down his back, then wrapping around him and holding him tight to her chest. He’s screaming so loud it hurts his own ears. His throat aches. He’s sobbing, crying, but he’s mostly screaming, guttural and awful. He feels Svetlana tremble against him. He’s scaring her but he can’t stop, so he forces his head into the pillow, fabric stuffed into his mouth to at least muffle the horrible sound. He doesn’t want to hear himself either.
It’s like if he screams enough, he won’t have to feel it. He can take all of the pain and put it outside of him. A careful life of holding things in has done nothing for him. He lets it out, hoping it will help, but how does someone force out twenty-nine years of repression? Ilya had done his due diligence, spooning out careful bits of emotion. He’d worked hard, dutiful and careful, not enough to scare Shane off, but enough to let some of it seep out, to let it sit between them, or to take some of it on himself.
“Shane,” Svetlana whispers against his ear. “You have to breathe. You’re going to hurt yourself or pass out. Breath,” she soothes.
Shane tries to, but he chokes on the breath. He tries again, and then it feels like he’s hyperventilating. The only interruption between the wracking breaths are sobs, but it’s better than screams, maybe. He’s calming down. His head is pressed to her chest, and maybe he should feel weird about that, like it’s inappropriate or something, but he doesn’t. It’s comforting, being held there while her hands rub over his back.
He wonders if she did this for Ilya, back when they were children. When Ilya found his mother.
He wonders if he’s with her now. He hopes desperately that whatever Ilya believed about the afterlife is true, that he’s with her again. Maybe Shane would see her some day, then. He hopes it’s soon. He feels immense guilt the moment he thinks it, guilt for wishing himself gone, for what it would do to his mom and dad.
Maybe something good will happen, like an asteroid will come wipe out the entire planet. Then he could be with Ilya and his parents, and no one would miss him, and he wouldn’t have to miss anyone, because everyone would be together. It would be juvenile if it weren’t so dark.
Day two without Ilya, and Shane is manifesting a mass extinction event.
Svetlana makes a sound above him, soft and gentle, and it takes him a few moments to realize she’s singing something. It’s soft, and a little sad, in a language he wishes he understood better. He picks up a few of the words. He hears the word for sleep and the word for moon.
Eventually, his breathing slows down and his sobs quiet. He lifts his head up, and looks at her, his vision blurred. His head hurts so much from crying. It hurts so much he feels it in his teeth.
Svetlana doesn’t look scared when she looks back at him. She looks sad, maybe a little worried, but not scared.
“I’m sorry,” Shane says softly, just like she had.
“No reason to be.”
“What was the song?”
“Ilya liked it. When we were little. After… his mom. She would sing it to him, so then I would sing it to him too. He said he was too old for lullabies, but it always helped him sleep,” she says, her eyes watering.
Shane pulls her tight to him. He’s never been particularly physically affectionate, but he can’t help it. “I’m so happy he had you,” he whispers into her curly hair.
“He has us,” she says. “Let’s go back, okay?”
“Okay.”