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He would do anything for Ilya. He’d told him, once, that he was willing to play the long game when it came to their relationship and he’d meant it. “Why are you getting sad?” Ilya asked. Shane blinked at him. “Sorry. Nothing.” He kissed him quickly. “I love you.” Ilya gave him one of his crooked, sexy smiles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
“You are worrying too much.” “Easy for you to say,” Shane grumbled. “Your mom hasn’t been texting all week with stressful details about this damn camp.” Ilya’s hands dropped to his sides. “No,” he said quietly. “She has not.”
☹️☹️☹️😩😩😩😩😩😩😔😔😔😔😔😔😥😥😥😥😥
“No kissing,” he said sternly. “Not even behind closed doors, okay? Not until we get home.” “Yes, no problem. I barely even like you.” Ilya’s words were undermined by the way he was pressing his cheek into Shane’s palm. “I’m worried about Hayden too,” Shane said. “Kissing you?” “No! Giving us away, I mean.” Ilya huffed. “Is possible. He is not smart.”
“I’m serious about the no kissing today. And don’t, like, be sexy.” “Impossible.”
He was terrified that one day Shane would realize he could be with someone who wasn’t a dark secret. That it could be easy to love someone.
He would do absolutely everything to protect this, and he was constantly terrified that, when it came to it, he wouldn’t be able to. Because the day would come.
He closed his eyes and focused on how good it felt to be with Shane, alone in the dark, and tried not to wish it could be the same in the light.
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“But everyone knows you’re friends, obviously. You have this charity together. What difference does it make if you also kiss?” Shane opened his mouth to explain the difference, but couldn’t quite find the words. The way Fabian said it made the distinction sound so unimportant. It really shouldn’t make a difference. But it did.
“We are very good at pretending to not be in love. Maybe we are bad at showing it when we are allowed.” Ilya’s words felt like a lead vest. Shane slid down in his seat and stared out the window, frowning. Neither man said a word for the rest of the drive.
Sometimes Ilya was so starved for touch he felt like screaming. He felt it most when Shane was close, like he was now, but off-limits.
Kiss me, Ilya wanted to say. Kiss me and hold me in front of all these people. Pull me onstage and do it. I don’t care anymore. Please. I’m dying. “Nothing,” Ilya said, and stepped away. “Nothing.”
He’d needed to pull over while driving home that night because he hadn’t been able to see the road through his tears. He’d been so confused and scared and devastated.
Shane wriggled against the leather seat. He really wouldn’t like to be watched, but as a purely imaginary scenario, it fucking did something to him. “Would you show me off?” Shane asked quietly. He could feel the heat of Ilya’s gaze even without looking. “I would never stop showing you off,” Ilya said. “If I could.”
Ilya watched his teammates laughing and chirping each other as he began to remove his gear, feeling a million miles away. He used to be the center of this sort of thing, dancing in the middle of the room to make his teammates laugh. Now he only felt a bone-deep exhaustion that couldn’t entirely be blamed on the game he’d just played.
Later, in bed, Ilya couldn’t get his brain to shut up. It was unfortunate because his brain had nothing nice to say about him. He knew, rationally, that he wasn’t worthless. He was an NHL all-star, the captain of his team, and was beloved by fans. He had a wonderful boyfriend who loved him so much he was willing to endure a lot of stress and sneaking around just to be with him. He was loved. But he wasn’t sure he deserved to be. He couldn’t make himself believe that. Not right now.
And then, Shane winked at the camera. Winked. And Ilya knew it was meant for him. “That’s my move!” Ilya said. The blanket he’d been wrapped in fell to the floor as he stood, one hand waving at the television, the other cradling his ice cream bowl protectively to his chest. “He did my move!” David and Yuna were laughing. Ilya wasn’t. “When did he learn that?” Ilya demanded. “I did not teach him.” “You know Shane,” Yuna said. “He studied it, learned it, and, I would say, perfected it.” “That move is called the Rozanov!” Ilya exclaimed. “He cannot do it.” “He just did,” David pointed out. Ilya
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Ilya’s expression turned serious, and for a moment Shane’s stomach clenched as if he expected Ilya to tell him something awful. But all Ilya said was, “I love you so much, Shane.” Shane knew it, but hearing Ilya say it in such a raw, unguarded way cut through him like a blade. The pain of not being in the same room as Ilya felt physical.
He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend. It could be because I’m depressed. No. He was fine. Normal. It’s not like he ever stayed in bed all day crying. Neither did Mom.
He missed waking up with Shane. He missed breakfast together, even though Shane only ate extremely healthy food now. He missed making Shane coffee and serving it to him in an Ottawa Centaurs mug. He missed showering together, and tumbling back into bed together after, warm and damp and unable to stop touching each other.
I would rather have the sandwich that is made with pancakes as bread.
Mood tbh
“Do what makes you happy. Live how you want, love who you want.
Hayden said I look at you with heart eyes.” Shane squirmed against his bedsheets. “When did he say that?” “At camp. I was staring at you and he said—” “Oh god.” Shane palmed his face. “He did not say that.” “Yes. Was probably true. I look at you and I am just...” Ilya opened and closed his fist several times in front of his chest. “My heart goes crazy, you know?”
“When you watch it, this is what you will see. Me saying nothing. I wanted to say you are fucking everything to me. Everything. Okay?”
Shane, feeling brave, admitted, “There were moments today where I felt like I was looking into our future.” Ilya pulled back to meet Shane’s gaze. “And it was okay?” “It was amazing.”
He believed in their relationship, and was confident that they would have everything they wanted when the time was right. But sometimes he wished the right time was now.
“I feel like, maybe, you’re not okay. Sometimes.”
Ilya found, after several minutes, that he was no longer paying attention, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be alone. He stood and said, “I am going to...” as he waved a hand in the general direction of the house. He left without waiting for their reaction.
“I just really needed to see you,” Shane said seriously. Ilya nodded, then wrapped him in a tight hug. His eyes were burning with tears again, which was embarrassing and inappropriate after amazing sex. “Thank you,” he said into Shane’s hair. It was so unlike Shane to be impulsive like this. To drive to Ottawa in the middle of the night for some quick sex. But it was also unlike Ilya to cry after sex, so everyone was experiencing new things tonight.
Shane kissed him quickly, then turned and headed for the stairs. Ilya watched him go, giving himself a moment to take some deep breaths and try to settle whatever was happening inside him.
Was he supposed to feel this way? Was therapy useful at all? He didn’t think he could keep it up if he was going to be this badly shaken after each appointment.
He’d see Shane tomorrow afternoon. They would have a night together. Ilya was excited about it, but now he felt weird about it too. He didn’t think he could tell Shane about therapy. Not yet. But he was worried Shane would notice how raw Ilya was. He didn’t want to tell Shane the truth: that he’d felt off for a while now, and that it was getting worse. That the things that used to help weren’t helping anymore. That he was worried this was how it had started for his mother. That some days he missed Shane so much it felt like claws were digging into his heart.
There was a bench facing the water with no one around, so Ilya sat. He pulled out his phone and opened his saved photos. He didn’t keep his photos very organized, but he had one album he’d named “Boring.” He opened it now, and scrolled through the six photos it contained. They were all more or less the same, taken years ago during the NHL Awards. Ilya and Shane had been presenting an award together, and the scripted banter had involved Ilya asking Shane for a selfie. Ilya had used his real phone, and he’d taken real photos. Six of them.
He also loved the photos because they reminded him of how he’d felt back then. The overwhelming, inconvenient longing he’d secretly carried for Shane. The way he’d tried so hard to convince himself he didn’t feel anything extraordinary for Shane. That he’d only wanted to fool around with him because it was forbidden and sexy. Ilya looked in the eyes of his younger self in the photos and laughed. “Who were you kidding?” he said quietly, in Russian. He’d been an idiot then. He still was, really, when it came to Shane Hollander.
They both laughed, and Shane’s heart flipped happily in his chest. He loved quiet, domestic moments like this with Ilya. He loved joking about sex and laughing together. He loved that Ilya had looked up a recipe and bought fussy ingredients for it. That he’d given them this moment.
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. Shane squeezed his hand, now. Because Shane wasn’t the one reliving a traumatic moment by watching this. “How could they not know?” Shane said. “How could anyone have seen this—seen you—and not known about us?” Ilya had displayed his heart so openly, smashed against the ice as unmistakably as Shane’s broken body. “I don’t know,” Ilya said.
Shane rolled his eyes, then moved like he was going to leave the bed. Ilya laughed and pinned him down, hands wrapped around Shane’s wrists. As he gazed down at Shane, his expression shifted from teasing to something softer. “I am so glad I met you,” Ilya said quietly. Shane’s heart clenched. It was such a simple statement, but it was so open and honest, and it instantly made Shane think of the flip side of those words. What if they’d never met? But they had, and they were perfect for each other in a way that probably only they would ever understand. Their relationship wasn’t easy, but it
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“Oh come on,” he cried, about thirty seconds later when Ilya started adding a layer of Nutella to the mountain of cream cheese.
“He was talking about how great diversity is, and about the league’s LGBTQ initiatives, but also that he hates distractions from the game. The whole meeting felt like an indirect threat. Like, he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to surprise anyone by coming out on social media or something.” “Or kissing your boyfriend on TV.” “Right. I mean, obviously I’m not going to do either of those things.” “Obviously.” Ilya said it bitterly, but Shane didn’t seem to notice. “But also it was like he was daring me to accuse the league of not being, like, queer-friendly or something. By listing all the
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“Does anyone know?” “A few people. His parents know. Maybe five other people besides. Mostly Sh—” He pressed his lips together just in time. “Mostly his friends.” “None of your friends?” “Not yet. No.” “That doesn’t sound even. He has more support than you do in this.” Ilya knew that. Of course it had occurred to him. Sometimes he was even angry about it. “I know.” “Who would you tell, if you could?” Everyone. Ilya would tell the whole world if he could.
“Do you think that’s likely?” Ilya sighed. “I don’t know.”
Sometimes I feel like I might scream, it’s so hard keeping this secret. I love hockey, and I deserve to have the career I want for as long as I want it. I’ve earned that. But if I had to choose...I’d choose him.”
“What’s a realistic best-case scenario?” Ilya considered it, and smiled. “We keep going, same as we are now, except everyone knows we’re together and it’s fine. No big deal.” “Is that what you both want?” Well, that was the big question. Ilya thought that was what Shane wanted, but he was also pretty sure Shane was happy to hide until they were both retired. “I hope so.”
“Everything is someday. I am tired of waiting for someday.” “I know. But we’re still young. We’ve got lots of time.” “Are we? I feel a thousand years old sometimes.”
“I love you so fucking much,” Shane said. He smoothed a thumb over one of Ilya’s thick eyebrows. “I was counting the minutes all week. Couldn’t wait to see you again.” “I could tell. By how you drove here in the middle of the night.” “Don’t try to make me feel weird about that. You love it when I’m eager.” Ilya rubbed his thumb lightly over the head of Shane’s cock. “I sleep better with you,” he admitted. Shane was struggling to focus on the conversation, but he forced himself to. It was important. “I wish we could sleep together every night.”
“Why do you have sexy mood lighting in your gym?” “You have it in yours.” “Yeah. For yoga and meditation. Two things you don’t do.” “But you do them. So I have lights that dim. For you.” Shane’s heart wobbled. “Oh.”
been so intense that Ilya had nearly sunk to his knees in his living room. “We’re happy together,” Ilya said now, to his therapist. “But when you’re apart?” “I’m miserable,” Ilya admitted. “More than he is, I think.”
“Have you made many changes based on how Shane felt about things?” Ilya didn’t like where this was going. “He isn’t demanding. He didn’t ask me to sell the cars, or to stop going out. He wants me to be happy.” “Does he know you’re not?” Ilya thought back to the one time Shane had expressed concern for Ilya’s mental health, and how quickly Ilya had shot him down. “I don’t know.” “Is it something you could talk to him about?” “Isn’t that why I’m here?” Ilya asked with a hint of irritation. “So I don’t have to burden him with this? I thought I could talk to you and fix myself so I can be good
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He’s on one side with his friends and family, while you’re on the other side, alone.
“You didn’t tell him about us, did you?” “Of course I didn’t fucking tell him about us!” Then Ilya mumbled something in angry Russian. Shane only caught about half of the words. “What was that?” “Only you can tell your friends about us, right? This is how it works?”
In the photo they were nose-to-nose in full hockey gear, cropped close from the shoulders up, simulating a face-off. Unlike the intense, serious photo that ran in the campaign, however, in this one they were both laughing. Shane’s nose was scrunched up, and Ilya’s eyes were crinkled, but they still held each other’s gaze.
