Chapter Nineteen #2
Sure, Ilya could admit that he and Shane were friends now. He had certainly been the only person Ilya could think of when he’d decided he needed to talk to someone today.
He walked out of the shop with his cappuccino and reluctantly headed in the direction of his father’s house. The funeral was the next morning. After that, he could leave what was left of his goddamn family behind.
The next day—Montreal
Shane had barely gotten in the door of his apartment before he texted Ilya. He had been thinking about him all day.
Shane: How are you doing?
He wasn’t sure if Ilya would reply or not. He might be busy. His father’s funeral had been that morning. It was late in Moscow now, after ten o’clock at night.
Lily: Fantastic.
Shane waited.
Lily: A little bit drunk, actually.
Shane: Can I call you?
Lily: Yes.
When Shane heard Ilya’s voice, he sounded more exhausted than drunk. “Hollander.”
“How are you holding up, Ilya?”
“Great. Wonderful.” Shane heard him sigh. “Is quiet here.”
“Are you alone? Where are you?”
“My condo. I have one here. In Moscow. For the summers, you know.”
“Right.” Shane didn’t like the idea of Ilya being alone right now.
“If you are wondering if I will be back in time for our game in Montreal—”
“I don’t give a shit about that, Ilya. You know that’s not why I’m calling.”
Another sigh.
“Should you really be alone right now?” Shane asked.
“I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?”
Shane’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating; he could have sworn it had just melted into a gooey puddle.
He wished he could warp to Moscow. Just instantly appear in Ilya’s apartment and hold him and tell him it was all right to be conflicted about his father’s death.
That he didn’t owe his family anything. That he should leave them all behind because they made him miserable and he doesn’t need them anyway.
Instead he said, “Yeah. I’m here.”
“And where else are you?” Ilya asked.
“I’m home now. Montreal.”
Shane heard mattress springs squeak as Ilya presumably settled himself on his bed. “Tell me about your home, Hollander,” he said in a tired voice. “What does it look like? I try to imagine it...”
“You do?”
“You will not let me see it.”
“That’s not...” Shane grimaced. “It’s not because I don’t want you here. You know that.”
“I know nothing. What does it look like?”
“It’s, I don’t know...it has big windows.”
“What can you see out of them?”
“Buildings, mostly. A bit of the water.”
“Fancy kitchen?”
Shane laughed. “Yeah. Too fancy, probably. I barely use it. I could probably get by with a toaster and a blender.”
“What is your favorite thing about your home?”
“I dunno. It’s close to the practice rink?”
Ilya snorted. “Figures.”
“It’s private. Good security. Hey, I made a donation to the Alzheimer’s Society of Canada. For your father.”
Ilya was quiet a moment. “That is nice of you. Might be good for me. Can be...what is the word...passed on?”
“Hereditary?”
“Yes. Hereditary.”
Neither man said anything for a moment.
“Listen, Ilya—”
“What about your bedroom? What is it like?”
Shane didn’t want to talk about his stupid bedroom, but he understood what Ilya was doing. He left his living room and headed for the bedroom.
“It’s nice. Pretty basic. I mean, it’s enormous. Big windows. But not much in it.”
“What color is your bed? The blanket?”
“Blue. Like, navy blue.”
“I knew it.”
Shane smiled and sat on the bed.
“Do you have books? In your room?”
“A few.”
“What are you reading? What one is beside your bed?”
“A book about the 1972 Canada/Russia series, actually.”
Ilya laughed. “Do you read books that are not about hockey?”
“Sometimes,” Shane said. “I mean, no. Not very often.”
“You are obsessed.”
“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe. In a different way.”
Shane picked up the book and flicked the end of the bookmark with his finger. It had been nestled between pages forty-one and forty-two for over a month. “Hockey has always been everything to me. For as long as I can remember.”
“It has been for me as well. But...more as like...an escape. Is that right to say? My brain is not good right now.”
“Yes,” Shane said quietly. “An escape. That’s right. It was never an escape for me. It was just what I loved to do.”
“I love it also,” Ilya said. “Hockey is...fun. And I am very good at it.”
Shane laughed. And Ilya laughed.
“Is wild how much money they pay me to play this game,” Ilya said.
“Tell me about it,” Shane agreed.
“I don’t want to come back here.”
Shane was confused by the sudden topic change. “To Russia, you mean?”
“Da. I want to become American. Or Canadian. But I am in America, so...”
In that moment, Shane wished like hell that Ilya played for a Canadian team.
“You should,” Shane said. “Have you looked into—?”
“We should get married,” Ilya said.
“What?” Shane flushed right down to his toes.
“Not to each other,” Ilya said. Then he started laughing and couldn’t stop.
“I knew you didn’t mean to each other,” Shane lied.
When Ilya finally stopped laughing, he said, “I can marry an American girl. You should get married, Hollander. You want children, yes?”
“I’ve already told you... I don’t want to marry...anyone.”
“There is a nice Russian girl in Boston. American, I mean. But from Russia. Svetlana. I like her. I could marry her, I think.”
“Oh.”
“She is...what is word?...sensible. Marriage would be like business deal, yes? Just until I am citizen.”
“You don’t love her, then?”
“No,” Ilya said quietly. He sounded like he was falling asleep. “Not her. No.”
Shane knew he should end the call, let Ilya get some sleep. But instead he blurted out, “You should come to the cottage this summer.”
“Cottage? What are you talking about, Hollander?”
“My cottage. In Ontario. You’re not going back to Russia, so...come to my cottage with me. It’s quiet, and beautiful and...private.”
For a moment, Ilya didn’t say anything, and Shane thought he really had fallen asleep.
“I will think about it,” Ilya said finally.
“Okay.”
“I am tired.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Get some sleep, all right?”
“Yes. Good night, Hollander.”
They ended the call and Shane sat on his bed for a while after, not moving. It occurred to him that they’d just had an entire conversation that hadn’t been about sex at all, and was barely about hockey.
It also occurred to him that his heart was beating like he was in the middle of a run, and his mouth was dry. He had actually just invited Ilya to his cottage! The fact that he had even done that was absurd, but what if Ilya actually accepted?
What if he had Ilya all to himself at Shane’s favorite place in the world? If there was no one to interrupt them, no one to hide from, no one to remind them of all the reasons they shouldn’t want each other...
It would be too much. Shane would never be able to hold back everything he had been trying to pretend he didn’t feel. He would blurt something out that he would never, ever be able to take back.
He’s never going to be your boyfriend, Shane.
Oh god. That was what Shane wanted, wasn’t it?
He didn’t just want to be Ilya’s dirty secret.
He didn’t want their relationship to be nothing but sex.
He wanted to comfort Ilya when he was sad, and talk to him on the phone, and snuggle together on the couch and watch movies.
He would take the short phone call they had just shared over any of their sexual encounters.
Well, almost any of their sexual encounters.
Shane groaned and fell back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. He was super fucked.