“Was I awake then?” Shane asked quietly. “I don’t remember.” “Yes. Barely.” Ilya’s voice sounded small and unsteady. “You were trying to talk to me.” Ilya never fucking left. Even though Shane’s teammates were all, sensibly, huddled near the Montreal bench, out of the way of the medics, Ilya stayed. He’d stood there in his Boston uniform, making sure Shane knew he wasn’t alone.
