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- Sochi, 2014
Shane laid awake in his cardboard bed, and stared at the ceiling.
JJ snored loudly in his own bed a few feet away. The accommodations in the Olympic Village were modest at best, which made for close quarters with his roommate. Not that Shane would have been able to sleep if he were in a luxury suite, anyway.
He felt restless. His heart wasn’t racing, his pulse steady, but his mind was being bombarded by waves of conflict. He was in Russia, preparing to hopefully bring a medal home for his country, and all he could think about was Ilya Rozanov.
It was ridiculous. Rozanov had made it abundantly clear that he was not thinking about Shane, after all. He had seen him earlier that day, in the nosebleeds of the ice rink during the men’s free skate, and Rozanov had told him to fuck off. That he didn’t want to see him, or talk to him. That they were nothing.
Shane knew this deep down, of course. That they weren’t anything, and they never could be. Hearing Rozanov say it out loud, though, felt like a stab wound.
Rozanov was Russian. Vaughn had scared the shit out of him with that comment about Russia’s zero tolerance for gay people in this country, and Shane had texted Rozanov against his better judgement. He knew it wasn’t safe, or smart, to reach out to him here. To be seen talking to him. But he couldn’t help it. He had needed to know Rozanov was okay. And despite everything, even now, Shane wanted to text him again.
He wouldn’t get a response. Rozanov had snapped at him that he had no interest in replying to his “boring” texts when Shane had confronted him about it earlier. That was embarrassing enough. He just couldn’t help the thought that naggled his brain, that he wouldn’t feel better until he laid out all of his thoughts and told them to Rozanov. That he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he expressed his true feelings.
Shane wasn’t masochistic enough to actually do it, though. He wouldn’t be able to survive the hit to his ego if he sent an emotionally transparent text to his arch-rival/something-but-not-something only to get no text back, again.
He thought back to something his mom had said, when he was a kid with a lot of big feelings without the confidence to say them out loud yet. She said that sometimes, when she was younger, and had a fight with a friend, or her parents, or broke up with a boyfriend, she would write down all of her feelings in a letter to that person, and then burn it.
“Sometimes you just need to get the words on the page,” Yuna had said, and brushed the tears from his cheeks after a particularly tough practice, when he had felt like his teammates were speaking an extroverted, sociable language Shane had never learned, and was not privy to. “Maybe it’s hard to say them to someone’s face. Maybe you can’t say it, but feel like you need that closure anyway. Try it out, and see if it helps.”
Shane had gone home, and written a long letter to his team, tears dripping on the page. He wrote about how he couldn’t help but feel like everyone was in on a secret but him, the secret of how to be easy going, friendly, and not feel like his tongue was made of lead. He just wanted to be friends, he wrote. He just wanted to feel normal.
After he was done, he folded up the letter and brought it to his mom. They sat in front of the fireplace, and Yuna held his hand while he nervously tossed the letter into the flames. He gasped a bit at the proximity, sparks jumping, but Yuna had reassured him that he was alright, and they watched it burn out together. She asked if he felt better, and he had said yes.
Shane felt like it had been a partial lie. He felt an emotional release, but his problems hadn’t been solved. Now that he’d named them, he had decided he was going to do whatever it took to be like the other kids, and if he couldn’t, then he’d learn how to pretend.
Maybe pretending was the way to go. Shane had pretended to understand how to be sociable, and now he was Captain of his team. He pretended he wasn’t terrified to be with a man, and Ilya Rozanov had waltzed into his hotel room, and consequently, his life. Perhaps he didn’t have a fireplace nearby, but he did have his phone. And he could still pretend that writing things down helped, until maybe they did.
Shane opened his phone in the darkness of the room and opened the notes app after lowering the brightness. He sighed, and shifted into a sitting position against the pillow. He didn’t simmer in his thoughts. He let his instincts take over.
Ilya,
I know we can’t talk like this. Like friends, or even like we know each other at all. We definitely can’t talk like we care about each other. But I can’t help feeling like I do care. Against my better judgement, all I want to do is talk to you. Check on you. Make sure you’re alright, and ask how your day was. It’s the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever had the urge to do, but I can’t help it. I know you told me to go away. That you thought my texts were boring and you weren’t going to answer them. I’ll listen, if that’s what you really want. But hearing that, after the last time we were together, when we…
I can’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt. But I knew going into this that we weren’t anything, like you said. I just have to accept that, I think. Still, I hope you’re okay. I wish you had answered that, at least.
Shane looked out and stared at the wall for a while, until he realized no more words were coming. He clicked the phone off, settled back against the pillow, and slept.
2. Vegas, 2014
The ride down the elevator was excruciatingly slow. Shane felt like time was dragging this moment out to spite him, like some personal vendetta. He was just glad he was alone. His tie was undone on his collar, his hair mussed, his eyes glassy. He knew he must look like a wreck. He shook his head and pulled out his phone, and began to craft a text to Rozanov.
See you next season! :)
Fuck, no. He deleted that just as quickly as he wrote it out. That level of easy eagerness did not match what just happened in that hotel room.
It had been hot, of course. Rozanov was in a rare state tonight, and it had culminated in a raw sexual energy that had invigorated Shane. He’d never felt that way before, strung out and desperate for it, and Rozanov knew just how to coax it out of him. It had been amazing. And completely fucked up.
Shane’s head hit the wall of the elevator. Everything about tonight had been so exposing, left him so vulnerable, and yet he felt like Rozanov had been behind a thick wall of glass, transparent enough to see every detail of his beautifully crafted body but still unable to touch what was underneath. The imbalance of it had left him reeling. The connection between them that felt so innate to their meetings was barely present, held at a careful distance.
Rozanov gave him nothing. Shane had fished for any tiny little detail, an iota of small talk, anything to make him feel like he was being used just a little less, and Rozanov had given him one word answers. Blew smoke out into the room and stared into space, as if he were tolerating Shane’s presence, before finally asking him to leave. Let Shane redress in awkward silence in the entryway like an idiot.
Shane stared until the tears gathering subsided a bit, and typed another message very slowly.
We didn’t even kiss.
He backspaced every letter until the words were gone and Shane swore under his breath. He was well, and truly, fucked.
Shane barely registered the doors opening to the floor of his hotel room. In one moment, he had been there, eyes closed as he leaned against the wall, and the next he had seemingly teleported to his room, his mind blocking out the actions that led him to this armchair, looking out at the sparkling Vegas strip.
He felt empty. His chest ached. He let his body move on autopilot and carefully navigated to the notes app on his phone, where he scrolled past the dark thoughts of a different day, and added today’s date as a new heading.
Rozanov,
I feel so far from you. I was just with you, and yet you were a million miles away. Why are you acting like this? What did I do? Don’t you see how tight the hold you have on me is? How you could tell me how high to jump, and I would kill myself trying to prove I could go even higher? It’s not fair. You don’t even give a shit. Everything comes so easy to you-fame, hockey, sex, me. I’m helpless to your pull. You ask me to beg, and I beg. You tell me to make your special day worthwhile, and I fall at your feet at the chance for you to tell me I did good. I should be angry with you. I think maybe I am. It means so little to you that maybe my anger would still be a waste of time.
I was aching for you all night. I thought you felt the same thing. Maybe I misunderstood that, too.
A frustrated tear fell and Shane wiped it away roughly. He was done feeling pathetic. Feeling like he had no control over himself when it came to Rozanov, when it was clear Rozanov didn’t have the same problem.
Shane squeezed his eyes shut and held his head in his hands for a long time. Then he looked out the window, nodded once, and put the phone face down on the table.
3. Boston, 2016
The door to Shane’s Boston hotel room unlocked with a snick as he held the key against the pad for just a tad longer than was necessary, and prayed Hayden was out.
He hadn’t gotten so lucky. Hayden was sprawled on his bed, reclined against 3 pillows, and clicking aimlessly through channels on the TV. He looked up briefly as Shane entered, and turned his attention back to the screen as Shane toed off his shoes.
“Hey, bud,” he said absently, and didn’t notice that Shane was avoiding looking at him.
Shane felt like someone had taken his insides and twisted until he was wrung dry. He nodded back at Hayden’s greeting but couldn’t make his mouth work to reply.
“I think some guys are meeting downstairs for dinner soon. You in?”
Shane was distantly aware that he was being weird, unmoving in front of the door, eyes unfocused. He snapped out of it when he realized Hayden was now staring at him.
“Yeah,” Shane said, quickly. “I mean, no. I think I’ll just get some room service, or something.”
“Okay,” Hayden said, and Shane recognized the tone as one Hayden used on his toddlers, apprehensive like he was trying not to spook a horse. “Everything good?”
“Sure. Fine.” Shane moved for the sake of moving, crossing the room and busying his hands by tidying up in inconsequential ways. Duvet, straightened. Pillow, propped up against the headboard. Suitcase, wheeled slightly to the left. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” Hayden said carefully. “You just seem kinda high strung. Would have thought you’d have come back a little more zen, if you know what I mean,” he added, and waggled his eyebrows.
“Fuck off,” Shane snapped. “I’m not high strung. I’m just thinking about the game tomorrow.”
Hayden held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine,” he said. “I get it. I know playing Rozanov always riles your nerves up a bit. I just figured Lily might have helped you blow off some steam. She usually does,” he added, and laughed when Shane sent a murderous glare at him. “Alright, okay, I’ll back off. Geez.”
Shane looked sharply at the floor, needing to break the eye contact, and instead saw that his hands were trembling.
“I need to take a shower,” Shane said abruptly, moving quickly to the bathroom, and barely heard Hayden’s suggestive “yeah you do,” before shutting the door too forcefully and falling back against it.
Shane’s heart was beating out of his chest. He felt like he was going to die. His breaths came out fast and sharp, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his head thunked against the door behind him.
What had just happened? How did a practiced, well repeated action like hooking up with Ilya Rozanov, turn into something so foreign and terrifying?
And nice, Shane couldn’t help but think. So foreign and terrifying and nice.
Shane had finally come to terms with it. With the fact that if he was going to have something with Rozanov, it was going to be one thing: quick, adrenaline-fueled hookups, without the pretense of anything more. That he was going to sneak out to meet him, and leave as soon as the sex was over. Transactionally.
So what the hell had changed? Why had Rozanov, once the script had been followed and should have ended, kissed him so softly? Asked him to stay? Made him a tuna melt, and had ginger ale waiting for him, and called him by his first name?
The implications were agonizing. Shane felt like his ribs were cracking into pieces. He turned the shower on to cover his alibi, and sat down on the closed toilet lid.
Shane knew one thing for certain. That whatever had just transpired, it could never happen again. He and Rozanov had drifted dangerously close to territory they were not allowed to enter, and now that he knew what it felt like to play house…make food, and sit on the couch together, and lay on his chest while Ilya played with his hair…
No. No, he couldn’t do this anymore. Rozanov could not become Ilya, to him. Maybe he was still Ilya in the deepest corners of his heart, in the entries on his phone when he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye and tell him the truth, but he couldn’t start to rename the box he had so carefully built around what this thing was between them. And the idea that somewhere along the way, maybe Shane had started to become Shane to Rozanov too, was something he was too petrified to consider.
Rozanov liked girls. He had plenty of them on rotation, and Shane knew this. He would be fine if this thing blew up in their faces, and Shane was starting to realize that he didn’t want to be the only one still in the blast radius when Rozanov was hardly singed.
He shook his head roughly to clear it. It didn’t work. He let out a long, measured breath, and opened the notes app on his phone.
The last entry was almost two years ago. Shane never read anything he had written. He always thought about deleting them, but somehow never could do it. He scrolled quickly to the bottom, and started a new message.
Ilya,
I’m sorry. You deserve a better explanation than what I gave you, but I think it would kill me to say these words out loud. That the real reason I can’t do this is because I am too terrified of feeling the things I’m feeling for you right now, and that acting on these feelings might just ruin my life. I know it seems hypocritical, considering all I’ve wanted from you is for you to feel for me what I’ve felt for you for an embarrassingly long time, but now that I’ve tasted a hint of what life could hold with you in it, if things were different…I’ve realized that I was fooling myself for ever letting myself feel anything at all. If I keep down the path I’m on with you, I will never recover when it inevitably comes crashing down. And it will.
You deserve to be happy, but your happiness might just break my heart. You’ll find a nice American girl, get married, and live a perfect life.
I need a change. I need to give myself the chance to live the life everyone else in the league lives every day. Wife, kids, house. Maybe I would be happier if I had those things. Hayden seems happy. Why aren’t I? Don’t I deserve it?
Shane stood and faced the mirror, schooled his face into a blank canvas, and turned off the shower.
4. Montreal, 2016
“Are you sure you can’t stay out a little longer? Please? Miles said he knows this amazing after hours place that makes a killer martini,” Rose said, as she held his arm on the curb outside the club.
“I don’t drink martinis,” he said, automatically, and Rose gave him an amused look. He tried to laugh. “Okay, I’m sure they have other stuff there, but I really do have to head home. I have an early practice tomorrow. Team meeting.” He tried to hide his wince. He had used that excuse before, and wasn’t sure it was convincing.
Rose pouted. “Boo,” she said, and waved to her driver, who was pulling up in front of them. “Don’t they ever give you a day off, after winning a game?”
“No,” Shane said, and left it at that. He tried to say it lightheartedly, but it fell flat. Miles appeared from behind them, and Rose gestured to the car. He opened the door to the backseat and blew a kiss at Shane, winked, and slid inside.
Rose slid both arms around his neck and kissed him, lips parting. Shane couldn’t help but feel his lips were made of concrete as he returned the pressure. It was a brief kiss, short but sweet, and Rose smiled against his mouth as she pulled away. Shane smiled back at her, and it felt like a mask.
“‘Night, babe,” Rose murmured, faces still pressed close, and Shane was sure it would sound sultry and inviting if he were anyone else. Right now he wanted to get as far away as possible.
“Goodnight,” he said, and held the car door open wider as she slipped inside.
“Text me later!” Rose said, before turning to Miles and giggling. “Okay, now let’s go get me some drunk fries.”
Shane shut the door to the car and watched it peel off the curb into the night before making his way to his own car. He let out a long, shaky breath.
He had no idea how he had managed to keep it together this long. How he had sat in a booth with Rose and her friends, and drank, and smiled, all while feeling like his heart had been ripped clean from his body.
Ilya had been there, at the same club. Watching him dance with Rose, and then grinding on some girl he was sure he had taken home already. Shane had felt the magnetic pull he always felt when Ilya was nearby, the humming under his skin that drew him closer without his permission, and couldn’t help but stare. In a room full of beautiful people, his beautiful girlfriend included, Shane still only had eyes for one person.
It was pathetic. It was wrong. He was so, so fucked.
Shane’s hands were shaking almost uncontrollably by the time he sat in the driver seat of his SUV. The key fumbled around the ignition until Shane could steady it enough to insert it and start the car.
He moved on autopilot, exiting the parking lot and making his way down the city streets lined with people. The radio played an upbeat French pop song, but the words were indistinguishable over the pulsing in Shane’s head. He turned it off.
What was he doing? Who was he kidding, being here tonight? Being with Rose? Couldn’t everyone see he was a fraud?
By all accounts, his life was perfect. Prolific NHL career, lavish lifestyle, gorgeous movie star girlfriend. It was everything most people could never even dream of, let alone obtain. So why wasn’t he happy? What was the thing missing inside of him that everyone else seemed to have so inherently?
He thought he was finally doing it. The thing that guys like Hayden and JJ had been doing for years, and telling him he was missing out on. Shane shook his head. He had understood the appeal, of course, of having a normal relationship with a woman. Everyone in his life was so happy for him. Jealous, even, that Rose was his girlfriend. And he had gotten so close to succeeding, until he came face to face with the one reason his life would always be fucked.
Ilya had looked ethereal under the flashing lights, otherworldly in a way that Shane still couldn’t understand was possible. It was slightly overshadowed by the pit in his stomach at seeing him there, but Shane couldn’t help but notice it anyway. Would always notice it, above everything else, probably even if he was blind. It was an indescribable agony, to have your greatest desire laid out in front of you, and know that you were never meant to have it.
Shane didn’t know what had felt worse. Was it seeing Ilya kiss that woman, beautiful and alluring and filling Shane with an arousal that he hadn’t felt in months, all while imagining that it was him in her place? Or was it the overwhelming, stabbing pain that sank into every nerve like a chemical burn, a sadness and jealousy he couldn’t even begin to name? That maybe he had desperately wanted to live in a world where Ilya was dancing like that with him, and it could never happen?
Shane was suddenly filled with an unrelenting overflow of emotion. The road ahead of him became blurry, and to his horror, he realized that he was crying.
Sobbing, chest heaving, like a dam had broken. The street lights outside streaked in his vision, and he had no choice but to pull over to the side of the road.
He had the presence of mind to turn his hazard lights on. He was still Shane Hollander, after all. But after that, the only thing he could focus on was trying to keep his lungs from exploding. He put his forehead down against the steering wheel, and cried out in a way he had never done before. His shoulders shook violently. If he was thinking more clearly, he would think it was pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. This was the culmination of years of Shane’s self destruction and deepest fears coming to fruition.
Distantly, he realized he was speaking the same phrase over and over, almost like a mantra.
“Please, oh god, please, please, please…”
He didn’t know what he was asking for. Please, make this stop? Or please, let him not have fucked this up beyond repair. Please let him have what he wanted, even if it was doomed.
The tears didn’t stop coming, and with trembling fingers Shane did the only thing he could think to do at this moment. He opened his phone, and began to write a new note below the others.
Ilya, please. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I ruined everything. I ruined everything. I fucked up. I miss you, and I can never tell you. Please.
Please, forgive me.
It was incoherent. It was barely a message. But it was the only words he could formulate in this moment, a stream of consciousness of his most basic, ingrained thoughts.
He exhaled a long, rattled breath, and made a vow to never feel this way again, if he could help it. His skin was tight with dried tears, and he rubbed his eyes, hard. There were no tears left. He was empty.
He put his blinker on, pulled onto the road, and drove home in silence.
5. Montreal, 2017
There was a warm, giddy feeling sparkling in Shane’s stomach.
Were they butterflies? He was pretty sure that’s what people called it. A fluttering deep in his abdomen, tickling him from the inside out. It was that, or the familiar contented bonelessness he usually felt after an orgasm. Right now, it could be either one, but the source was still the same.
Shane had hung up with Ilya about fifteen minutes ago. He hadn’t moved a muscle since their strangely glorious, unbearably sexy, unexpectedly intimate Skype call. Ilya was in Moscow, and Shane had been missing him terribly. He was worried sick about him, if he were honest with himself. Ilya’s father had just died, and from the few details had shared about his family, being in Moscow was extremely difficult for him. And out of all of the things Shane suspected Ilya usually did to sublimate his negative feelings-parties, alcohol, sex with strangers-Ilya had called him.
Usually Shane would have run straight into the shower. He did feel disgusting, with his release drying all over his stomach and chest. But he was convinced that if he stood up from this bed, washed away the evidence, that the spell would be broken, and he wouldn’t have proof that it was real. This, Shane’s lack of concern for the mess, was the true testament to how out of his mind he felt at this moment.
Ilya may have been thousands of miles away, an ocean apart, but Shane felt him everywhere. He felt him strongest in his heart, and in that unrelenting flutter in his belly. He smiled, and it was toothy and unrestrained.
Shane rubbed his eyes under his glasses and laughed. He remembered the look in Ilya’s eyes as he came, full of desire and longing, face close to the camera. He was sure his own face mirrored something similar. How he had talked, candidly and unembarrassed, about some of his favorite memories of Ilya, and Ilya had offered his own. Had told him that every moment from the beginning that Shane had secretly thought he was alone in the depth of his attraction, Ilya had felt the same.
Of course, Shane had been nervous the whole time. Phone sex was not something he had done before, and it had the potential to be majorly embarrassing, but just like every other foray into a new sexual experience, Ilya never made him feel anything less than desired. As if he loved all of Shane’s quirks, and found them sexy. Loved his glasses, and his freckles.
Loved. Now, that was a scary word. Something he had long since deleted out of his vocabulary, when it came to Ilya. Something he was not allowed to think, and definitely not allowed to say.
Shane thought about what he had admitted tonight. That despite the other men Shane had been with, they were nothing compared to Ilya. That he thought about him every time he jerked off, and that he had never had anything like what he had with Ilya with anyone else. That didn’t seem like nothing, to him. It actually seemed a hell of a lot like that thing he tried not to name.
Those butterflies turned into a nervous spinning feeling, now. A bit of excitement mixed with dread. He picked up his phone, and tested out the words in his notes, underneath all of the heartbroken words he had written before.
I love you.
Nothing bad happened. The world didn’t implode. The sun didn't spark out of existence. Shane’s life didn’t end. The only thing that happened was that the feeling in Shane’s stomach settled, and a calm sense of peace washed over him.
I love you, he wrote. I love you and I think I’m scared. I think I know I won’t be able to tell you that in person, but I’m telling you here. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know in this moment that I love you, and I wish you were here.
He knew he was surely and utterly doomed. That he had to be some kind of pathologically self destructive. But he couldn’t find it in him to care. He would deal with that when he got up from this bed, and the moment ended.
For now, he just closed his eyes, and smiled.
+1. Ottawa, 2021
“Lyubimyyyyy,” Ilya called out, and drew out the word. He ascended the stairs of the home and made his way into their bedroom. Shane was not in the main room, but the bathroom door was closed and Ilya heard the shower running. He opened it without hesitation, and walked inside.
Shane was under the spray, and looked at him sharply in annoyance. “Ilya, you’re letting all of the steam out,” he complained, and gestured towards the open door.
“I can’t find the insurance card for the Porsche and I need it to pay stupid speeding ticket,” said Ilya, holding the door wide open and admiring his gorgeously wet, naked husband.
Shane sighed. “It’s your car, Ilya, I don’t know where the insurance card is. I never drive that death trap.”
“Is not death trap, is beautiful car! The only reason they gave me the damn ticket is because they were too jealous of me for having her,” Ilya said, and pouted. “Plus, I do not believe for one second that you do not have organized folder somewhere of copies of every registration and document for everything that we own.”
“Are you sure it’s not in the glove box?” Shane said, and pointedly ignored that comment.
“No, it is not in glove box. That is also ticket I need to pay. ‘No proof of insurance,’” Ilya said petulantly, and put air quotes around the last part.
“Are you kidding me, Ilya?” Shane said, turning to face him now. “That is so irresponsible of you. First the speeding, and then not even having the paperwork…” He shook his head. “Is the registration in there, at least?”
“Yes! And for the record, I was not speeding! They saw fast, beautiful car, and pulled me over because car can go fast! Was profiling!” Ilya defended.
“That is not how profiling works, Ilya,” Shane said, and worked shampoo into his hair. “It’s not profiling if you are actually speeding. And you probably were. I tell you all the time that you drive too fast, and you never listen. You should be glad that a speeding ticket is the worst thing that happened,” he finished, and shook his head. Shane looked very disappointed in him, and Ilya wanted to squeeze him.
“Okay,” he said, and slid open the shower door. Shane wore an annoyed expression, but his eyes were not as serious as the set of his mouth. He didn’t fully give in when Ilya kissed him out of the reach of the water, but his gaze softened a bit. “I am sorry, moya lyubov. I know you do not like it when I speed.”
“If you die in a fiery car wreck, I will kill you,” Shane said, and Ilya smiled wide, knowing he meant it.
“I know you would,” he said. “And to make it up to you, I am going to go pay this ticket, and then I am going to come back and join you in the shower. As soon as you tell me where to find your copies of the insurance cards.” Ilya tickled him under his ribs, and Shane swatted his hand away.
“Fine,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I scanned it into my notes app. Just look up Rozanov Porsche in the search bar and it’ll probably show up.”
Ilya tilted his head back and laughed. “I knew it!” He said, and took Shane’s phone off of the bathroom counter on his way out, as Shane yelled out, “And close the door!”
Ilya flopped onto the bed and opened Shane’s phone. He smiled at the lockscreen, a picture of Ilya holding Anya in his arms like a baby. She was wiggling and slightly blurring in the photo, and Ilya was beaming, caught mid laugh.
He typed notes app at the search bar of Shane’s phone. He wasn’t going to go looking for it if he had to make it back in time before Shane got out of the shower. He opened the app, and searched for his name.
At first, he found what he was looking for, presumably. The top hits brought up a highlighted portion of his last name followed by a bunch of attachments, dated recently. What caught his eye, however, was another note, his name highlighted next to the following words:
Rozanov,
I feel so far from you. I was just with you, and yet you were a million miles away.
Ilya’s stomach dropped. He looked at the date on the note. It was last updated in March of 2017.
Ilya looked sharply at the bathroom door. The shower was still going. Ilya felt like his heart was going to punch out of his ribs. He didn’t want to snoop. He didn’t want to invade Shane’s privacy, and he knew Shane probably never wanted him to see these words. But something in Ilya couldn’t help it.
His dad had died in March of 2017.
He prayed Shane would forgive him, and opened the note.
The first date was not from 2017. Shane had manually written 2014 at the top of the small paragraph as a heading. Ilya scanned the words quickly, and then felt like he was going to die.
We definitely can’t talk like we care about each other. But I can’t help feeling like I do care. Against my better judgement, all I want to do is talk to you. Check on you. Make sure you’re alright, and ask how your day was. It’s the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever had the urge to do, but I can’t help it.
If Ilya remembered correctly, based on the rest of the message, Shane had written this at the Winter Olympics in Sochi. When Ilya had been so cruel to him out of fear of his own feelings. These words were gut wrenching. Ilya felt a wave of self loathing so intense he feared he might choke.
The next date was later that year. This was the excerpt that the app had pulled in the preview.
Why are you acting like this? What did I do? Don’t you see how tight the hold you have on me is?
I should be angry with you. I think maybe I am. It means so little to you that maybe my anger would still be a waste of time.
I was aching for you all night. I thought you felt the same thing. Maybe I misunderstood that, too.
Oh, god. This was from that night Vegas after he had won MVP. He had felt so strung out and raw that night. He had put up a wall to keep himself as far away from Shane as possible, knowing that loosing the reins on his self control even a fraction would result in him saying something too damning. Something too honest about how he had felt about Shane, then, before he wasn’t allowed to feel it. The fact that Shane had turned it on himself, felt so worthless and rejected as a result, was horrifying to consider.
Ilya felt tears burning his eyes. How could Shane have ever forgiven this? How could he look at Ilya now, and not see all of the horrible ways he had treated him over the years, under the guise of his own self protection? How could he have fooled himself into thinking his actions were justified?
Now that I’ve tasted a hint of what life could hold with you in it, if things were different…I’ve realized that I was fooling myself for ever letting myself feel anything at all. If I keep down the path I’m on with you, I will never recover when it inevitably comes crashing down. And it will.
You’ll find a nice American girl, get married, and live a perfect life.
Maybe I would be happier if I had those things. Hayden seems happy. Why aren’t I? Don’t I deserve it?
The tears fell in earnest, now. The date read 2016, and Ilya had a feeling he knew what this apology was for. He never knew what had been going on in Shane’s mind when he ended their day together so abruptly, after finally agreeing to stay the night. Ilya had been heartbroken, then, even if he refused to admit it to himself. He had forgiven Shane a long time ago, though. He hated to say he understood, even at the time. He hadn’t wanted anyone else, but the solution to his problem was so unclear back then. They were still doomed at that point. Ilya had never wanted the American dream. His Canadian dream was too perfect. Ilya just hoped Shane felt the happiness he had written about wanting so badly. He deserved it more than anyone.
The next two messages were difficult to decipher the timeline of, despite being dated 2016 and 2017. The first one was a heartbreaking apology. Ilya wished he knew what it was for.
This is all my fault. I ruined everything. I fucked up. I miss you, and I can never tell you.
Please, forgive me.
Ilya’s hands shook. He had never blamed Shane for any of the mistakes made during the time they weren’t exclusive. Their lives had been too fucked up. There was no light at the end of the tunnel that they could see. The chasm in Ilya’s chest widened as he took in the words. He was heartbroken at the idea Shane had felt this anguish, all this time, and never told him.
I love you. I think I know I won’t be able to tell you that in person, but I’m telling you here. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know in this moment that I love you, and I wish you were here.
If this was from March of 2017, that had to be when Ilya was in Moscow for the funeral. Ilya had told him he loved him for the first time then, too. Of course, he had said it in Russian, so that Shane would never know how he really felt, but now that he knew Shane had done something similar…had felt for Ilya what Ilya had felt for him at the same time, but was too afraid to say it…Ilya felt a fresh wave of affection in his heart for him.
Ilya didn’t hear the shower turn off. He was still staring down at Shane’s phone, eyes wide and full of tears, when the bathroom door opened.
“Did you find it?” Shane said, scrubbing a towel over his hair, and froze when Ilya looked up and met his eyes.
“Ilya? Ilya, what’s wrong?” he rushed out, anxiety flooding the words, and Ilya felt a pang of guilt for causing Shane to have to comfort him in this moment. He didn’t deserve it.
Ilya said nothing, words lost to him, and simply handed Shane’s phone back to him.
Shane squinted at it for a moment. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Once his eyes focused, he went deathly white.
“Oh my god,” he said, in a mixture of panic and embarrassment. “Did you read this?”
“I’m so sorry,” Ilya choked out. “It came up when I searched for the documents…I’m so sorry…”
“Oh, wow. No, it’s okay. I had forgotten about these. Ilya, I’m so sorry, you were never supposed to see that-”
“Why are you apologizing?” Ilya said, harshly. He looked up at Shane with wild eyes, shock and anguish on his face. “How can you apologize when I should be the one begging for your forgiveness?”
Shane’s mouth dropped open, and he looked taken aback. “Ilya, no-”
“I caused you so much pain,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. “You were so hurt, all these years. How can you even look at me?”
“Ilya, you don’t understand,” Shane said, desperately, and reached out for his hands. He held them tightly in his lap, and his own were trembling. “This was just my way of venting when I had no one to vent to. I would write out how I felt, like I was writing a text, or a letter to you, and it helped me sort through my emotions. These are the things I felt at my most vulnerable. They aren’t a real reflection of how I felt the whole time,” he insisted.
“But you did feel them,” Ilya said, soberly. “I made you feel these things. And I made you feel like you couldn’t say them to me.”
“Yes,” said Shane, apprehensive. “I did. But you have to know, I never held these things against you. I knew how fucked up our situation was. I had no intention of telling you any of these things back then because I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings, when I didn’t know if you felt the same. And even now, when I know you did, our lives were so impossible. We felt so hopeless for a future together, I think acknowledging our feelings would have been more painful for each other.”
Ilya looked deeply into Shane’s eyes, then. They were brimming with unshed tears, so emotive in the way Shane’s eyes always told his whole story in one look. Ilya loved getting lost in them, but hated when they looked like they did now. So full of sadness and fear. He stroked a hand over Shane’s cheek, and rubbed his thumb gently under one eye.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I still can’t let you apologize for this. I know the circumstance was difficult for us both. It does not excuse my behavior.”
Shane opened his mouth to reply, but Ilya shook his head to stop him.
“I need you to know how much I wish I could change these things. How I wish I was not so afraid to be honest, back then. We could have had so much more time.” Ilya grimaced. “Maybe we were not ready, then, but I still regret it. I wish I had told you I loved you from the moment I knew it for the first time. And I know you wish you had too,” he added, when he heard Shane start to interrupt, “but this is my time to apologize. I am so heartbroken that you felt this way, moy lyubimyy. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like you need to hide how you feel from me ever again. If you are sad, or hurt, or angry, or happy,” he said, pressing a kiss to a tear that escaped on Shane’s cheek, “I want to be the first one to hear about it. Please don’t hide from me. I promise nothing you say could make me love you any less.”
Shane nodded, tears flowing silently, and leaned in to kiss him. Ilya returned the kiss eagerly, desperately, hoping to convey as much love and devotion as he could in the single action. His hands cradled Shane's face as he climbed to straddle Ilya’s lap, and then he buried his face in his neck. For a while they sat there, holding each other tightly, arms wrapped protectively around this thing they built with sweat and blood and tears. So many tears. But Ilya knew they both would have shed far more for even a chance their lives would bring them to this point.
“I love you,” Shane said, and Ilya knew he would never tire of hearing it.
“I love you,” Ilya replied, and sealed the oath with a kiss.
Shane was blending a protein smoothie for himself in the kitchen when his phone lit up with a notification. He pulled his reading glasses off of where they hung on his collar and put them on to read it.
It was a text from Ilya with a link to the Notes app. The little message underneath said Ilya has invited you to collaborate!
Shane smiled, and opened the attachment. Once he read the first line, he turned the blender off and sat at the kitchen island.
October 12th, 2021
Shane,
You look so cute right now. Anya just stole your slipper and you are going nuts. You are frowning so deeply! I hope your mouth does not get stuck like that. I think I will go kiss you and see if it goes back to normal.
October 14th, 2021
Shane,
Please stop with the blender at six in the morning. Your husband needs his beauty sleep. I do not know if you will still love me if I am not pretty and I don’t want to find out. It is Saturday! Come back to bed!
October 14th, 2021
Shane,
You are talking to Bood’s brother for too long. I am starting to get jealous. I sent you to get me a burger and all of a sudden you are getting burgers for some other man. This is cause for divorce.
Ok, I am kidding. But seriously. Please come back. I miss you and I am hungry. If you wait any longer I might have to eat you instead. Actually, yes, let’s do that. Take your time.
October 15th, 2021
Lyubov,
I am at the terrible health food store for you. This place is hell on earth. I would say it must be punishment for terrible things I did in past life, but I actually think it might be a reward. The fact is, I would not be here if I did not have you in my life, and so every minute I spend looking for quinoa and probiotic yoghurt, I am the happiest man in the world. I would not trade this hellish place for the most beautiful promise of heaven.
I’ve won many awards, and many trophies. More than you, maybe. But you are my greatest prize. I could never have thought that my life could have given me such great joy in all my wildest dreams.
Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you. More than words can say, but that does not mean I will not try to say them.
Shane’s vision blurred as he finished reading. Ilya was at the store right now, which meant he had just finished writing the last entry. He must have started them a few days ago, after he found Shane’s old entries on his phone. His were more observations than anything, but Shane guessed he wanted to keep his promise of saying the biggest feelings out loud. Shane found that didn’t mind hearing about some internal thoughts when he wasn’t around, though.
He hit the enter key a few times to start a new paragraph underneath the entry from today.
Ilya,
I love you. Endlessly. Don’t forget the kale.
Shane stood and set the phone down next to the blender as he resumed making his smoothie. When he was finished, he looked down and saw there was a new entry below his.
Shane,
That is the best you can say???? I pour my heart out to you and you ask for me to buy evil cousin of lettuce?
He snorted. He could picture Ilya now, probably in the check out line, brows furrowed as he watched his phone. Kale in the cart, even though he would never admit to willingly buying it for him.
Ilya,
You’re right. I should write you a long love letter. It will be 100 pages and be full of really
complicated English words that I’m sure you’ll love to learn. Or you could come home and I could show you how much I love you instead.
Shane chuckled, and drank his smoothie slowly. He patted Anya dutifully on the head, and watched Ilya type in real time.
I hate English. I will be home in 10 minutes.