Chapter Text
The clouds hung low over the lake and the snow let the world fall silent. The cottage was quiet and warm while outside everything appeared in the same boring shade of greyish white. Shane sat on the leather couch in the living room with the premise of reading the book Hayden had send him for Christmas. It was the perfect afternoon for that, Ilya was out for errands and the fireplace was crackling in the corner. The Christmas tree was lit making the cottage cozy and warm and he was bundled up in his favourite blanket on the couch.
But he kept getting distracted from nothing in particular. Shane caught himself staring outside instead of reading or getting lost in his thoughts. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault, but the book just wasn’t that captivating as Hayden had made it out to be. He yawned and as he contemplated to take a nap on the couch his phone vibrated next to him.
Mom:
Shane, are you at the cottage? If yes, could you please check the office if I left the signed papers for your extended Rolex ambassadorship on the table.
Reluctantly Shane sighed. Usually, he came to the cottage to escape the hockey stress a little but with his parents so nearby that wasn’t all that possible.
Shane:
Sure, I’ll go check.
He and Ilya had carved themselves these few days between Christmas and New Years to spend some time alone and away from the hustle. Which was easier said than done with their contrasting schedules and different sponsorships. Shane emerged from his favourite spot on the couch and wandered through the cottage to the office. The least used room in the whole house but his mother had insisted on it when he had rebuilt it. And now she was the only person who even used it.
Shane didn't have any use for it; he preferred to spend his time doing other things rather than dealing with his contracts and sponsors. Especially these few days of the year he was at the cottage. Thus, he couldn’t even remember when he had last stepped foot into it.
He opened the door and was met with huge windows overlooking the yard towards his parents house in the distance. In front of those windows stood a neatly kept desk with small stacks of paper. Shane sighed and rounded the table to get to work because he knew Yuna Hollander, if he didn’t search for it now, she would panic and come over herself.
He flipped through the stacks but nothing on those pages screamed Rolex sponsorship deal. Shane moved onto the second but was equally unsuccessful. He let his hand run through his hair as he scanned the room for where else his mother might store contracts. Quickly he looked through the drawers on the desk but didn’t find anything other than stationary. And he couldn’t help but question why on earth he or rather his mother needed that much.
He turned around towards the cupboard and opened the doors, where rows of neat categorized and labelled folders greeted him. He had to sneeze from the dust that had collected there. Shane wouldn’t go through all of those, his mother would never leave a new contract in one of those folders not when they looked like they hadn’t been touched in a couple of years. She was always very precise and structured, which Shane particularly appreciated about her.
He crouched down to where a few loose pages on a shoe carton caught his eye. He had never seen this before and it very clearly didn’t belong here. Not with the neat row of folders.
But before he could pick up the pages to investigate further his phone vibrated in the pocket of his sweatpants.
Mom:
No need to worry. I found it.
His mother informed him, and he just reacted with a thumbs up before he pocketed his phone again. Too intrigued by the pages in front of him to formulate a longer response.
The paper was heavy like the pages had been torn out of some good quality notebook. The handwriting was neat and in cursive and Shane’s heart dropped. Because there was only one person who this could belong to, only one person he knew who had both a neat handwriting and access to his office. He sat down on the floor and began reading, going against everything his mind was telling him was right.
---
My father is dead. And the weird thing is I have been kind of hoping for that all my life. Thinking that it would be easier this way. But it isn’t. Not right now at least. Maybe in a few years. Right now, I am plagued by this weird feeling that I should’ve been there. That I should’ve been there with him when he died. That I should’ve been more present. That I could’ve done more to take care of him. That if I had perhaps, he would’ve forgiven me. I should’ve been there, even though I never wanted to see him again most days. Does that make me a bad child? Does that make me a bad son? Because he seemed to think so. He seemed to view everything I did as not good enough, that I was a disgrace for the family. A shame. A bad son and a disgrace for my country.
Nothing I did ever made him proud. And now… now he never will be. I will never get the chance to make him proud. Make him proud that I am his son.
I should’ve been here and I think my brother thinks so too. Well not only him, all of them. All of them think I have become too selfish in America. That I don’t care about them anymore. But then what the fuck have I been doing this whole time? Whose money are they living off. Whose money are they spending on casinos and coke. Who worked hard for said money. I did!
All these years and not a single thank you. It’s always just Ilya we need more and more and more. And Ilya could you send us some and I did. I always did. Because I cared. And now all I have earned from that is their hatred. They all hate me. They hate my face, my swindling accent, my antics. They hate me and still get my money. I take care of them- no not only them but of every single fucking thing, of their clothes, their houses, their food even their drugs and I don’t get a single thing in return.
All I ever did was take care of my family and all they ever did was hate me. Hate me for it. And still I somehow never stopped hoping that if I just kept going, kept trying to love them that someday they will give some back to me. That someday they will have love for me too. And I know that love can’t be bought with money, but I foolishly hoped so because that seemed to be the only fucking thing that interested them. They only saw money in me. They never saw me for me. And I think I knew that before but now it feels like that realization just hit me in the face. Hit me right in between my ribs and is squeezing out all of the air, just slowly so very slowly. Suffocating me.
All of this is suffocating me. My brother and my stupid other extended family with their greed. The stupid ministers and police officials who want to express their condolences even though we both know they don’t mean it. This house that I grew up in which is now haunted by the worst experiences of my life. Not a single corner here is inviting, nothing here lets me relax. Everything is cold and pristine and so impersonal.
The silence is big in here and my memories loud. Louder than anything else and nothing is able to drown them out. Nothing here is distracting enough and nothing here is boring. This house, this country everything is cold and dark. Everything is in ruins and chaos even though everyone always pretends it isn’t. Everyone always pretends. And I am sick of it. I am sick of pretending; I am sick of the cold that is spreading into my bones making it hard to move. I am sick of the dark that has taken over my chest, that has lodged itself in there like an added weight that I can’t get rid of. That spreads its cruel fangs out to my brain and heart, clawing at them ripping away pieces of me begging to be let back in. Begging to once again make itself comfortable and at home.
Vodka isn’t helping anymore. Not after all those bottles I already drowned. It just makes everything worse. My temper, my emotions. And especially the darkness. It makes it so much worse. Smoking isn’t helping anymore either, the cigarettes just make me feel like my father. Everything makes me feel like my father ever since we lost my mother. And that’s probably the worst. Because if there is one thing, I never wanted to become it was like him. And in some cruel irony it would be his death now that turned me into him. The death I promised myself I wouldn’t mourn.
---
Shane was staring at the words in front of him, he could feel tears burn in the corners of his eyes. His heart was heavy and pounding against his chest. And he felt like a crushing weight was pressing down on his chest making it hard to breathe.
Very carefully with the pages in hand he shifted his position, and leaned back against the cupboard. And just for a moment he rested his head against the cool surface, to let Ilya’s feelings linger in his chest. Shane pulled his knees up against his chest and slung his arms around them in an attempt to hold himself together. In an attempt to alleviate the pressure that was building in his throat and the burning behind his eyes.
Shane took another look at the pages in his hand and choked up at the thought of Ilya writing this back then in Russia. At the thought of Ilya being all alone in his childhood home after he had lost his father. Shane could see the traces of dried tears on the pages, and he let his hand wander across the page. Where the ink had run, and Ilya’s handwriting wasn’t as clean anymore.
The first tear slipped from his own lashes and rolled down his face until it met his hoodie. And as if with that the dam was broken more tears began to spill. At first silently, as Shane simply stared ahead letting his vison grow blurry and letting himself just feel what Ilya had brought to paper. Letting himself feel the anger, the confusion, the pain and the suffocating loneliness.
And Shane felt it all, felt the heaviness in his chest, the closing of his throat as a sob wanted to escape. Shane felt it all so deeply and he felt sorry for Ilya for having to go through all this alone. For having to carry so much.
Tears fell and Shane did nothing against them. He just let them fall and let himself feel. Feel for Ilya. Because all Shane ever wanted was to understand him, was to understand the man he loved so much.
Guilt tightened his stomach because as much as he wanted to understand Ilya, this wasn’t right. He had no right to read these private thoughts, which were never meant for his eyes. Shane had already seen too much, had already read too much. But he couldn’t undo it anymore. Couldn’t erase the words from his mind or the feelings they provoked. He should’ve never picked these pages up, but he had and now it was too late.
Shane felt awful, he felt awful for deceiving Ilya like this and at the same time still having the urge to read on to learn more about Ilya’s pain and fears about all the things he had locked up inside of him. Another sob escaped him, and he dropped his head down to his knees burying his face between them. Tears were wetting his sweatpants as the sobs began to shake his body. Questions filled his head as he was sniffling and gasping for air through the tears. Shane’s heart was breaking for all the things Ilya had to endure and never told him about. His chest tight with a wide range of emotion Shane would never be able to decipher on his own.
He forced himself to take a few shaky breaths feeling heavy and hollow, and he wanted nothing more than for Ilya to return and be able to hug him. It felt like his own heart had been torn to pieces while reading Ilya’s thoughts and he hadn’t even been the one to go through all of this. Shane felt stuck and frozen there on the floor of the office. His mind a mess mulling over everything he had read while trying to remember the time back then. Shane felt tense as shame settled in his stomach and he just hoped that Ilya would return soon.
---
Ilya stepped into the cottage and was immediately welcomed by the warmth of the house dispelling the cold of the Canadian winter air. He took off his snow boots and hung his winter jacket over the rack. He walked into the kitchen as silently as possible, while carrying a heavy bag of groceries and some flowers, to surprise Shane. Ilya tried to sneak a glimpse of his boyfriend with the intention to sneak up on him and scare him. But Shane wasn’t in the kitchen. He placed the bag of groceries on the counter and walked around the corner to see into the living room. Expecting to spot Shane curled up and asleep on the couch.
But he wasn’t there either. The fire was burning, and the Christmas tree was lit. Shane’s favourite blanket was bundled up in his corner of the couch indicating that he had been there. All traces of him but he was still nowhere to be found. No bright smile and freckled face coming up to greet him. No crushing hug or lips that would slot over his perfectly.
The house was big he was surely just in the gym or had in fact gone to the bedroom for his afternoon nap. There was no need to worry, Ilya told himself unable to shake the gnawing feeling of anxiety. He wouldn’t just disappear like that. Shane wouldn’t. And still worry settled in his stomach and he made his way over towards the staircase. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he started to climb the stairs to reach the first level.
Ilya decided to check out the bedroom first, but the room was empty and cold. The bed was made and untouched. So, he closed the door behind him and stilled for a second contemplating where to search next. Just as he wanted to go back the way he came from he noticed a light coming from the other side of the corridor. There the door towards the office was cracked open, a door that was usually closed. Because when Shane was here at the cottage he wanted to relax and not think about any bureaucratic stuff.
Ilya turned that way and slowly walked down the corridor towards the office. As he was drawing closer Ilya heard subdued sobs coming from the inside. His heart clenched with worry. He sped up his steps as a realization dawned up on him. His stomach tightened with fear that Shane had found them.
He pushed the door open, and his gaze was searching for Shane. The sobs were now loud and clear, and Ilya wanted nothing more than to wrap Shane in his arms and hold him until everything was alright again. Ilya rounded the desk, and his heart didn’t stutter but simply stopped. For an endless second everything stilled around him, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. Shane had found them, his letters and his journals. And the world turned sideways slowly slipping away from Ilya’s grasp. Like someone had taken away the solid ground underneath his feet, leaving him falling indefinitely. His heart dropped and his entire focus narrowed on the pages Shane was clasping in his hands and the shoe carton next to him.
Ilya closed his eyes for a second and forced himself to take a deep breath. He had always promised himself that one day he would show Shane, he would tell him about all of it. Ilya had foolishly hoped he would have time to prepare, to prepare Shane. But he had never wanted it to happen like this. For Shane to just stumble across the pages that carried his darkest thoughts and simple truths of his life. Never wanted him to read those alone or ever. Because Ilya wasn’t sure he was strong enough to revisit all the open wounds he had spilled on those pages. Wasn’t sure if he wanted Shane to see him in that light. But still he had promised himself he would tell Shane because he deserved it. But not like this, never like this.
He bit down on the inside of his cheek and crossed the last distance between them with shaky steps. Because Shane had found them, and Ilya needed to make sure he was alright. Had to hold him while he cried, because when they would be done with this Ilya wasn’t certain Shane would want to stay. Would want to stay with someone as broken as him. It wouldn’t be fair to make him carry that burden too.
Shane looked up at the sound, his eyes pained and red from what he had already read.
“Ilya-,” Shane whispered his voice shaking and broken as Ilya crouched down next to him. Carefully he removed the bristle pages from Shane’s trembling hands before he wrapped his arms around Shane.
Ilya pulled him close against his chest and his pounding heart. Shane unfolded himself and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s waist beckoning him to come impossibly closer. He carded his fingers through Shane’s hair and pressed a breathless kiss on top of his crown.
“I am so sorry Ilya.” Shane apologized in between sobs against his chest. “So sorry. I know I didn’t have the right to- to…”
“It’s okay.” Ilya said as he gritted his teeth fighting his own tears. Because no it wasn’t okay. But what was done was done and they both knew that. “Shhh Shane it’s okay.” He buried his face in Shane’s soft black hair and inhaled his musky scent.
They stayed like this for some time. Crouching and hugging on the office floor while they both tried to calm down. Shane sniffled in his arms, but Ilya could slowly feel him calm down, the sobs lessening. Every now and then he pressed a soft kiss on the top of Shane’s head.
Physically he was there in the office hugging Shane, but his mind was already far ahead. Trying to remember what he had written down in all those journals and letters. Ilya was already worrying about how Shane would react, what would change between them, if Shane would leave. He feared revisiting those parts of himself, scared of what Shane would do with it.
His mind was brimming with thoughts and possibilities. And this hadn’t even been the complicated part. This was just Shane discovering his secret stash of journals. This was just him scraping the surface of what Ilya had written down these past years. No this was the easy part; and Ilya's stomach tightened at the thought that the complicated part was still to come.
Shane slowly pulled away from Ilya, taking shaky deep breaths as he wiped away the last remainders of his tears. He raised one hand to touch Ilya’s face and softly caressed his cheek.
“I am so sorry Ilya. I didn’t mean to.” Shane apologized and he could see the regret in his eyes. Ilya could see the guilt and pain this discovery had caused him.
“I just… my mother asked me to search for some- some contract and that’s how I stumbled across these pages.” Shane hectically explained how he had found them.
Ilya nodded in understanding he should’ve anticipated Shane finding these sooner or later. He removed one of his hands from where he had been holding Shane’s waist and ran it through his tousled curls. “It’s okay I know your sorry and that you didn’t mean anything with it. I- I just wish this would’ve gone different.”
Shane bit down on his bottom lip. “Yeah, me too.” He agreed quietly before he arched up and brought their foreheads together. “Still, I had no right to read any of this. As soon as I realised that they were from you I should’ve stopped reading. I am sorry I didn’t.”
Ilya made their noses brush and took another deep breath. He placed a soft kiss on Shane’s lips and pulled away. “How much did you read?” His voice was tired but gentle.
“Only- the first page of this.” Shane admitted and turned around slightly to point towards the loose pages.
“You haven’t looked inside the carton?” Ilya asked genuinely surprised. He had thought that Shane had already seen and read far more than just one page.
Vehemently Shane shook his head. “No, I would never, I only picked up the page because it laid on top. And I am sorry.”
“You can stop apologising now, sweetheart. It happened and we can’t take it back and that’s okay.” Ilya tried to reassure him as he carded his hands through Shane’s soft black hair. Whose eyes fluttered shut and unconsciously leaned further into the soft touch. “I wanted to show you; I wanted to tell you about all of this at some point I promise. I just never felt ready to do so. And I still don’t.” Ilya said because he needed Shane to know that he hadn’t wanted to hide this from him for ever.
“You don’t have to, Ilya. You don’t have to show me more. I have already seen too much."
“No, I think I have already waited too long.” Ilya swallowed against the lump in his throat. Fear made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to carry that further. He didn’t want to walk through the cottage with the knowledge of what he had hidden in the office. “In the carton are journals of mine in which I wrote down my thoughts over the years.”
Shane stared at him from his position on the floor his eyes, so kind and patient. It made Ilya’s heart tighten, as it did every time Shane regarded him with this look. Shane’s eyes were so soft and warm, and they were looking at him. And Ilya didn’t know what to do with himself. Because no one has ever looked at him like that. No one but Shane and he still wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve it.
He leaned down and kissed Shane, gently, tenderly. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Their lips moved softly against each other. A reassuring touch nothing more and it nearly made Ilya choke up again from how much he loved Shane.
They pulled apart again just so much that their lips weren’t touching anymore.
“Why and when did you hide them in my office?” Shane whispered into the space between them.
“I don’t know. I- a couple years back I just brought them with me. Because I think I had the impulse to show you but caved because I was too afraid. I hid them here, because the cottage is safe, the cottage is warm and filled with you. So, the darkness doesn’t get to me here. Not like it can at home at least.” Ilya sighed searching for the right words to explain why he had had the urge to leave them here. “These entries, these letters some of them are not light. Most of them aren’t as you already saw. And I wanted to not be reminded of them every time I walk past the carton at home. I think I wanted to know them safe in a place which carries so much light that I didn’t have to feel the weight as much.”
Shane nodded and his eyes seemed to soften further and crack. There was so much overwhelming understanding and compassion in Shane’s gaze. And Ilya didn’t think he deserved it.
“How about we take this conversation downstairs onto the couch?” Ilya suggested his knees slightly aching from his crouch.
“Okay.” Shane agreed readily. But before Ilya could move his lips were captured in another soft kiss. Short and sweet, catching him off guard. And before he could kiss back Shane had separated them again and made amends to get off the floor.
---
Shane had settled to his left on the couch, legs tangling in the middle as he leaned back their shoulders were brushing. They had formed a pile in the corner of the couch, touching while still being able to talk face to face. Ilya had placed the shoe carton next to him on the couch. It felt like a suffocating weight on his chest, after so many years of being closed and hidden in the dark it was now waiting to be opened. Waiting for all of his secrets to be revealed.
He opened the lid and decided the first journal to show Shane would be the one of their rookie season. A red leatherbound journal that had seen better days. Ilya pulled it out and showed it to Shane, carefully he traced the binding.
“I remember I bought this back then at the airport, when we first landed in Regina in 2008.” He told Shane without looking up from the red book in his hands.
“I don’t even know why I felt the need to buy it. But I did and so I started writing.” Ilya mused and looked up at Shane who met his gaze, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Back then I still wrote in Russian, everything else was too hard, too unfamiliar.”
Shane nodded listening attentively to whatever he was ready to reveal. Ilya handed Shane his first ever journal who accepted it carefully as if it was something worth treating with the utmost care.
“Can- can I?” He nodded towards the journal in his hands, asking if he could open it. Ilya just nodded weakly, and Shane flipped it open running his fingers along Ilya’s writing. For a moment they just stayed like this. Shane looking through the pages where his 17-year-old self had immortalized himself. And Ilya watching Shane treat his 17-year-old self with care and love. Ilya swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Shane looked up after a while. “Would you- would you read some to me?” He asked uncertainty written across his face and the fear to overstep.
“In Russian or…” Ilya trailed off and bit down on his lip without finishing his question. Dread lodged itself in between his ribs. Ilya was frightened of both what he would find if he started reading and what Shane would do once he heard the words written on those pages.
“You don’t have to Ilya; you can also just read it to me in Russian or not at all. I have already seen too much. I don’t want to pressure you into something you aren’t ready for yet.”
“I know.” Ilya nodded without meeting Shane’s gaze. “I know you didn’t. But maybe the point has come now where I am supposed to tell you, because I don’t know if I have the strength to do any of this again.”
Shane’s hand came up to his cheek and tenderly caressed it, before he let his hand run through Ilya’s curls. Just for a short moment Ilya let himself close his eyes and sigh into the careful touch.
“You could also just tell me about these things. You don’t have to open any more of these journals.” Shane offered him another option. But Ilya didn’t think he could do that, he couldn’t just talk about his emotions like that.
Ilya shook his head. “No, I don’t think I can do this without these texts.” He admitted and gently took the journal out of Shane’s hands.
He flipped it open for the first time in over god knows how many years. And traced the words of his first letter.
“Back then I used to write letters, because it felt strange enough to write about current events in my life like this. I think I needed this structure. Later I started just letting my thoughts go, no structure just spiral after spiral.” Ilya explained his voice sombre and thick with feelings he had long buried.
Shane placed his hand on his thigh, warm and reassuring. Like an anchor, reminding him where home was. And so, Ilya began reading, his voice faltering as he tried to translate simultaneously, searching for words that would convey his younger selves worries.
---
2008, Regina
Mother,
I am far away from you. Far away from home but I am here to search for a better future for our family. Or perhaps just myself. I don’t leave the ice rink all that much these days, the training is more important than ever. And there wouldn’t be much else to do here anyways. Everything seems boring and fashionably orderly. Not like back home. There are no strict routines, there are no hierarchies that they expect you to internalize and respect. I am allowed to speak whenever I want.
The other kids seem pretty standard. They all hate me so there is nothing new here. Not much competition besides this one guy who apparently is my equal. As if anyone could ever be that. I haven’t met or seen him play yet, but I am sure they are just hyping him up way beyond his actual talents.
I don’t even know why I am writing this. It feels stupid, I feel stupid sitting here and write all of this. But I think I just felt the need to tell someone. To talk to someone to get some of my thoughts of my mind so I can focus on the game. Because there is no one here to talk to, not like that would be different back home but something feels different here. I will always carry your cross with me, so the emptiness won’t feel that big.
But don’t worry about me mother. I am going to show them what we are made of. I will prove it to father. I will make our family proud.
---
Ilya finished reading his first letter and looked up at Shane taking a shaky breath. He blinked away the tears that made his vision grow blurry to be able look at Shane. To look at Shane and make sure that he was still there.
Shane was already looking at him, with so much love and compassion that Ilya’s insides tightened. He wasn’t used to this, used to being this vulnerable and being met with understanding instead of anger and ignorance. Ilya ran his hands through his slightly tangled curls and tried to collect himself to read the next letter to Shane. To read the next letter to Shane without being overcome with the feelings of his 17year old self.
Because he wasn’t 17 anymore hadn’t been for quite some time. The world wasn’t as dark and lonely anymore, he wasn’t as lost anymore. And still those parts continued to exist inside of him because he never really lost them, he just outgrew them and stopped looking back. However right now Ilya was looking back, looking back at his younger self and couldn’t stop noticing all those fears and hopes he had carried within himself. He wished he could tell his younger self that things were going to be okay. That things would change and that would be okay.
Shane squeezed his thigh and pulled him out of his thoughts back to the couch in the cottage. He smiled weakly at Shane as he flipped the pages in the journal and began reading again.
---
I met someone. I met the guy who is supposed to be my equal. He is good but not better than me. He is kind and handsome in all the ways I am not. He is talented and eloquent and kind of an asshole. Or maybe that was just me and he reacted to that. His name is Shane Hollander. And if things are going according to plan we will contend for the first place in the draft. So, I guess he does have some talent.
It’s amusing to talk to him for one because he doesn’t seem to mind my accent. And for the other because it’s enjoyably easy to tease him. He turns red like a tomato. It’s something different; he doesn’t shy away from me like the rest. He doesn’t hate me, not yet at least. He too sees me as the only real competitor, I guess.
He told me not to smoke or well not in the area I was standing in. It reminded me of you and what you would say if you’d saw me smoke, mother. But I can’t help it from time to time and it’s better than the vodka they have here.
It’s just as cold as back home but it feels less dark. Less suppressing here. Less like the cold will never leave again.
He shook my hand you know, his hand was warm and soft. Welcoming in a sense. Introducing himself like a proper guy trying to make conversation with me. The first person that day or week. I don’t know anymore. It made me want to get better at English. Just so I could insult him better and understand what he would reply.
And then he did it again. Shaking my hand before headed back inside again and just maybe - just maybe the cold started to leave my bones.
I think I can do better here than in Russia.
---
This letter was lighter, and he chuckled while reading it out loud to Shane. Whose lips were turned up into a fond smile, eyes so soft, radiating that lovely warmth that made Ilya’s heart melt.
“I don’t turn red like a tomato.” Shane complained and playfully slapped Ilya’s bicep.
“Yes, you do. You just never see it when you do.” Ilya corrected him and could feel some of that pressing weight leave his chest for just a moment.
Shane shook his head exasperated, as if he couldn’t believe what Ilya had just revealed to him. His eyes were crinkled and bright and nothing like those nervous uncertain eyes he had carried back then in Saskatchewan.
“You liked me from day one, admit it.”
“No, I did not. I liked teasing you and that you were actually making an effort to talk to me. Even though I was the best player there.” Ilya said suddenly unsure if he had ever admitted this before how much this small interaction meant to him.
Shane smiled at him softly causing Ilya’s heart to clench with how much he loved the man in front of him. “Didn’t seem like that back then, that you were enjoying my effort.” Shane shrugged. “And what reason would I have had to shy away from you. You weren’t that great, baby.”
“Oh, I wasn’t that great?” Ilya looked at Shane ridiculed. “And who came first in the draft, Sweetheart? Do I have to remind you again that that name started with an R and ended on ozanov?”
Shane rolled his eyes at him like he always did when Ilya brought this topic up. There was no bad blood between them there never had. But it was fun to tease Shane, like it always had been.
“The draft… Do you- did you write something about that?” Shane asked carefully fidgeting with the edge of the blanket that covered their legs.
“Yeah-,” Ilya swallowed audibly, there it was again the pressing feeling on his chest.
He flipped through the journal, nearly all the way towards the end until he found the entry he had made after the draft. Six months after Shane had introduced himself in Regina.
---
2009, Los Angeles
The draft was yesterday. The day I have been waiting for, for as long as I can remember. I got first place in the draft, but I wasn’t as happy as I should’ve been. It strangely felt more like something I had to achieve, more like something that was expected of me than a real accomplishment. But everyone was shaking my hand and congratulating me on my outstanding performance. So, I shook everyone’s hands and smiled for photos. I didn’t talk much at all only when someone was directly speaking to me. The way I would do in Russia. And then I told them how happy I was to place first and that I was excited to start my career with the Bears. But it didn’t move me. Not really. Even though it meant I had found a way out from home.
It also meant that I had beaten Shane Hollander, that was the only thing that had excited me that day. The only real thing that had excited me. But that only lasted until I saw him with his family. The definition of a perfect family. Successful son and kind parents who supported him. They were happy. Even though he only came second, they celebrated him like he had come first. I don’t know why but I couldn’t stop watching them over the evening. My gaze automatically looking out for them. Just to catch a glimpse of their happiness.
It made me think of you mother, it made the space you left even more evident. And I couldn’t help myself but imagine what it would’ve been like if you were here too. I mean I carried you around my neck for the whole evening just like I always do, just to feel you close. But that doesn’t compare, it never will. Father was there but my other side was empty. That’s where you should’ve been, where you should’ve celebrated me for coming first because father didn’t. It was still not enough for him. Not enough for him to be pleased.
And he made that known. Not in a way that would ruin my career but in casual statements that hurt just as much. That proved over and over again how little he saw me or how little he cared to pay attention to me. Father told the coach that I was lazy and that I needed discipline. Because that’s how he sees me. Never once has he recognised my efforts, he has only ever seen my faults, my failures and how to even those out with disciplinary measures. And maybe he is right maybe I am lazy. But isn’t all of this about pretending to be the best, to make the best impression so the team is glad they chose you.
Everything is always about pretending and I am sure that Hollander never had to do that. Never had to pretend to be kind to be liked, never had to pretend he was the best just to be seen, because everyone carries him on their hands. I bet that his parents don’t shit talk him, not in front of him and not behind his back. I bet that Hollander never had to get to know disciplinary measures or the wrath of his father.
I watched them, I watched him and weirdly enough I caught him staring at me first. He always looked embarrassed to be caught, his red ears exposing him. And I questioned what he saw in me? What did he see when he looked over at me like that? Was he thinking similar stuff about me?
The event stretched on, and I remained silent, occupied with thoughts about Hollander. Way more than I should’ve been. But I couldn’t help it there was something about him that fascinated me. There was something pulsating under my skin that wanted to see just how much trouble I could get in.
I returned to the hotel late at night, but I couldn’t sleep. So, I tried to alleviate some of the frustration of the evening in the hotel gym. Just as I wanted to leave and go to bed Hollander walked towards the gym. I don’t think he noticed me. Suddenly I didn’t want to leave anymore. I was far more interested in finding out what reason Hollander would have to go to the gym in the middle of the night.
I joined him on the treadmill next to his. And we just ran, we just ran next to each other away from whatever had kept us up in the first place. Whenever I increased my tempo so did he, it was fun, it was competitive and so different in comparison to the draft event. At some point he stumbled from the fast tempo, and I grabbed his wrist to stabilize him. The first time we touched since last year. And it felt different, like touching a live wire. It felt electric, it let me feel more alive than I had in quite some time.
We sat down panting on the dirty gym floor. He wore tight gym shorts and a tight sitting muscle t-shirt. We were panting and our feet were touching ever so slightly. And something felt different, there was a tension that hadn’t been there before. We were sweat drenched and breathing heavily and for the first time I had the time to study his features without it seeming weird. Hollander has deep dark eyes, soft rosy lips and pretty freckles. His hair is kept short and of course he is well built. And I wanted him, I wanted to trace his freckles and his abs, I wanted to see him fall apart, preferably underneath me.
And by the way he studied me, he didn’t seem all that averse to that idea. But maybe I was reading too much into it. I took a sip of water from my bottle, and I could’ve sworn Hollander traced my throat with his gaze. I offered him my bottle which he only reluctantly accepted. Our finger’s brushed and the air between us grew even thicker. Tension spiking higher. He drank and I couldn’t help but watch his mouth work and want it somewhere else. When Hollander gave me my bottle back, I made sure our fingers would brush again. And it nearly felt like sparks flying.
He got up shortly after, leaving me behind in the gym. But I think we both could tell something had changed. I desperately needed to get laid again. And that someone shouldn’t be Hollander. It really shouldn’t, but he made me curious. And he was the biggest trouble around.
---
Ilya grew silent after reading those lines and just stared down at his own words. At the proof that it had always been Shane. And it always would be Shane. But having proof for that right in front of him felt different. Because he had been 18 back then and so had Shane. And after all those years it was still the same.
“So, you felt them too?” Shane asked surprised breaking the silence that had settled around them. Ilya raised his brow unsure what Shane was referring too. “The sparks. That something had changed.”
Ilya just nodded, of course he had felt them. He was sure had any other person been around them in that moment they would’ve felt that too.
“And by the way you- you weren’t reading too much into it. I- this was the first time I couldn’t ignore that I was desperately attracted to a man.”
“I am surprised you got this far. Regarding the number of naked men, you have seen daily in the locker rooms since you were young.”
“Well, none of them were incredibly hot Russians with curly hair, who were getting on my nerves so…” Shane replied and shrugged totally unaware that Ilya’s heart always jumped when Shane admitted that he found him hot.
The black-haired man leaned over, shifting on the couch to press a soft kiss against Ilya’s lips. Shane lingered there for a second longer, keeping their lips pressed together while they shared the same air. The kiss wasn’t hot nor heated but more reassuring, like Shane too was seeking closeness and comfort.
After another beat Shane pulled away and their gazes met. He brought his hands up to cup Ilya’s face, caressing his cheeks while he looked at him intently. “It will always be you Ilya. Please don’t ever doubt that.” Shane said into the space in between their bodies. His gorgeous dark brown eyes seemed to shine with that gentle warm light, that always guided Ilya home.
Ilya blinked against the tears that dared to slip from his eyes and swallowed around the knot in his throat. His chest was tight making breathing hard. Harder than it should be. Ilya brought his arms up to Shane’s waist, having the urge to touch and hold. His throat was tight with emotions not a word was leaving his mouth, so he just leaned in again and kissed Shane once again.
Tenderly their lips moved against each other. Ilya was kissing him to show that he was the most important person in his life. He was kissing Shane with care and love who reciprocate it and kissed Ilya back the same way. It made Ilya’s stomach flutter and was enough to make his tears fall. Wetting their cheeks.
Their breathing was uneven as they pulled apart, Shane quickly wiping away the tears which were still falling.
“I love you.” Ilya croaked out. “I love you so much, Shane.”
Shane brought their foreheads together resting his against Ilya, their noses pressing against each other.
“I love you too, Ilya.” Ilya’s breath stuttered at that admittance and his heart stopped for a short second taking it all in.
They stayed liked this with their foreheads pressed together relishing in the others presence. They let time pass until Ilya’s tears had dried up and their breathing had returned to normal.
Slowly they separated again, and Ilya put the old red journal away. He searched the shoe carton for the next one while Shane settled back against the couch. This next journal was navy blue with white polka dots. Another airport purchase.
---
2010, Toronto
The photo shoot was my idea. Well, at least the part where they added Shane Hollander as my shooting partner. Life has been rather boring since January and the World Junior Championships. The last time Hollander and I had crossed paths. And I think I am just not used to this little chaos, this little trouble I am getting in. So, I decided to create it myself. Since I already have the reputation of an asshole.
CCM loved my idea, loved the idea to let us face off for the advertisement. Loved the idea to shoot us as rivals. Like everyone else does. It was easy to market us as that and the fans go crazy over it.
The shooting with Hollander was surprisingly pleasant a lot of skating around the rink, just following a normal warm up routine while the cameras captured us. Some solo shoots and then they had us face off on the centre ice. It was fun, we probably laughed too much because it felt laughable in that second. Because we weren’t really playing against each other, there weren’t raised temperaments nor cheers or the urge to win. I think they were annoyed by us for not falling into our rival spiel.
I enjoyed it, more than any other shooting I had done in the past years. It was light and filled with laughter and enjoyable company. Hollander looked pretty on the ice, something I normally try to ignore as to not get distracted during games. But here at the shooting nobody cared, there was nothing on the line.
We showered together and there it was again, that tension that skyrocketed as soon as we were alone. That tingling under my skin and the urge to touch to see if it still felt electric. This was the first time we showered together; the first time I got to see all of Hollander’s body. And got to see how he reacted to me and my teasing. I decided to push my luck and sure enough he got hard.
---
“Okay I am going to stop here.” Ilya announced and Shane looked up surprised from where he was kneading the blanket listening attentively.
“Why?”
“Because it gets really embarrassing from here on out.” Ilya clarified and demonstratively closed the journal.
“Really? Wait did you-,” Shane asked eyes wide in surprise and his cheeks flushing in that lovely shade of pink.
“Yeah, I did, as it seems.” And Ilya could feel his cheeks flush too. “I wrote down how you gave me your room number without hesitation and how I met your mother on the way up. And-,”
“You met my mother on the way to hook up with me?” Shane interrupted him loudly. Embarrassed he pulled the blanket up and over his head, hiding underneath and Ilya chuckled. “And you never said anything all these years? Oh god everything could’ve gone so wrong…” Shane mumbled underneath the blanket, having a small melt down.
“Well, I knew that I would get this reaction, and it was never relevant soo…”
“I can’t believe it.” Shane said exasperated as he dramatically dropped the blanket again. His hair now a tousled mess.
“Really? This is what gets to you? And not the fact I wrote down how much I enjoyed having sex with you and how electric our kisses felt.” Ilya tried to shift the topic back to where they had left off.
“You wrote down how we had sex?” Shane looked at him stunned.
“Yeah, apparently.” Ilya scratched the back of his head and hoped that Shane would let it go. But when Ilya had learned one thing over the years than it was that Shane Hollander never let something go. Especially not when that something had to do with Ilya or them.
“Why?” Shane asked and Ilya sighed.
“Because that was the only way I could have you back then. And- and I wanted to remember it.” Shane stared at him and Ilya could still see the question marks behind his eyes.
“It seemed important back then. Rare. Like something we could only have in secret. Something that I needed to treasure and remember.” Ilya started to fidget with the edges of the paper of his journal. “This was around the time where my father was first diagnosed with dementia. And I was afraid that it was genetic or hereditary or whatever you call it. I am still afraid that one day I too will forget everything that was important to me. And I think that’s why I started writing so much more. For times where I can’t remember anything anymore. And I want to remember you, Shane. I want to remember everything.”
The air between them was heavy, with grief, worry and something else. Ilya looked up from the journal in his lap to meet Shane’s gaze and was met with so much compassion that he had to look away instantly.
“Ilya-,” Shane’s was voice nothing more than a whisper. It was fragile and broken.
“I mean its not genetic. The dementia. That’s at least what the doctors told me. But still I saw it happen, and I can’t shake the fear.” Ilya explained further before Shane started worrying even more. Before he would call Yuna, and they would immediately start coming up with a prevention plan.
Shane nodded and reached out to wrap his hand around Ilya’s bringing it up to his mouth and press a soft kiss against the back of it.
“I will be here to remind you. If anything should ever happen.” Shane said squeezing Ilya’s hand reassuringly. And it felt like a promise.
“Thank you, baby.” Ilya said his voice thick with emotion as he squeezed Shane’s hand back.
“I am going to get us something to drink, and you can decide what you want to read to me next.” Shane offered and attempted to free himself from Ilya’s limbs to walk over towards the kitchen.
Ilya sighed and closed his navy polka dotted journal again. He heard Shane rummage in the kitchen as he took another look at all the other notebooks in the carton. It was a strange assortment of thick and thin notebooks, colourful and striped ones, and even boring black ones. He picked a thin black notebook and opened it. Ilya skimmed the entries until he found one that he wanted Shane to know about.
---
2011, Las Vegas
Hollander won the rookie of the year award. Of course he had, the people love him. He’s kind, he’s talented and he’s been their favourite prodigy ever since he stepped foot on the ice. And I am only one of those things. I am neither kind nor their favourite I am just the Russian asshole who is Hollander’s only competition.
I am not mad that I lost, not in the sense that I am jealous of Hollander. No, he deserves that and from a sportsmanship standpoint I totally get that. And I am certainly not mad about not having to deal with the press and all the people who would want to congratulate me. No that’s Hollander’s domain with his perfect English and French. I don’t mind losing if it wouldn’t be for my father. If it wasn’t an indirect way that my life tried to prove to me that I wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t the best.
After the announcement everyone crowded Hollander, and I could slowly slip away and escape onto the rooftop. The craving for a smoke suddenly very strong. I took a few drags and took in the night skyline of Las Vegas. It looked so different from where I grew up, all the bright lights and neon signs, the tall hotels and casinos everything seemed awake and bright even in the darkest night. It wasn’t cold it wasn’t even chilly out here.
I stood out there and already knew what kind of messages would await me if I opened my phone. What the press would make out of this and how the fans would react. A constant tornado of opinions and sometimes I just need to escape for a second not to lose my mind.
And the worst part was it wouldn’t stop. Because I am leaving for Russia in three days, well two now. The season was over, and summer is here. I would leave and then would be stuck with my father and my brother for the summer. My father would discipline me, and my brother would only show his face if he needed money. Maybe I would meet Svetlana, she is the only person I still have over there. The only person who I really like to see.
I was nearly done with my cigarette when Hollander appeared. He asked if I was sulking, if it bothered me that much that he won that I couldn’t even show my face down there. It must be easy to live with this narrow of a perspective. It must be easy to only be concerned about himself. Because neither of these things were true. But it almost appeared like these were the only possible explanations he could think of as to why I was up there on the rooftop. It always seems like he thinks the world only revolves around him.
When I snapped at him it almost seemed like he cared about me. But why would he? Why would he out of all people care about me. After some awkward conversation I told him I would go back to Russia, but I don’t think he knows what that means. What that means for me.
Not shortly after he wanted to get back down to the party. He stretched out his hand and I took it and guided him over towards the wall and pressed him into it. There was no one around and I just had to taste this kind of freedom once again before I would be left to pretend, I wasn’t into men. Because that just wasn’t possible not back home. Not in Russia.
It was exhilarating kissing him up there where someone could see us at any moment. It was exhilarating kissing him. That’s it. It was trouble and wasn’t that what made these things exciting. And unfortunately, Hollander is the biggest trouble I have ever found.
He told me we would see each other next season. But would we? Every time we get together, I wonder when the last time will be. Because this can’t go on like this. And at the same time, I know that I won’t be the one to end this. Whatever this is. Regardless of whether we continue hooking up or not, one thing is clear: we would see each other on the ice next season, like we always do. The only constant I can count on.
---
Ilya looked up from his notebook towards Shane who was listening intently warming his fingers around a cup of tea. His own cup stood steaming on the coffee table. He reached forward to pick it up and take a sip.
“Had almost forgotten about that.” Shane remarked and laughed to himself before he brought his own cup back to his mouth.
“Yeah.” Ilya agreed chuckling but it wasn’t light laughter, nor was it loud. It was laced with the pain of memories and time passing. It was pressing and sat tight in Ilya’s chest.
“I am sorry I didn’t know what it meant for you to go back to Russia.” Shane apologized.
“Please don’t. You couldn’t know because I didn’t tell you. Not everyone hates going back to Russia. It’s just my circumstances are different and complicated.”
Shane nodded slowly; sadness hushed across his face. “Still, I am sorry. For a lot of things.”
“Mhm, me too.” Ilya agreed, taking another sip from his tea. And they both fell silent, processing different thoughts and feelings. The atmosphere between them wasn’t tensed, just heavy with old memories and regrets. They let it linger in between them for some time, let it sit in their chests. Occasionally brushing their hands or casting soft smiles at the other. But otherwise, they remained quiet until the light outside was nearly gone and blueish.
Ilya shifted to turn on the lamp behind the couch and placed the black thin notebook back into the carton.
“Ilya-,” Shane was the first to break the silence.
“Yes?”
“About Russia… I know it’s kind of a jump, but did you write about the Olympics? I just feel like we barely talk about your experience in Russia or with your family- and I- I just want to understand. So, I can be there for you when you need me.” Shane stumbled over his words and a slight blush once again crept up in his cheeks. “We don’t have too. You don’t have to tell me or show me the entry. I don’t want to push anything. I was just curious.”
Ilya swallowed around the lump in his throat. He knew Shane only meant well, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying to talk about. Because the previous entries had been fine in comparison. They weren’t that vulnerable yet, they didn’t show him that hurt, that messed up. But that usually changed as soon as he stepped foot into Russia. It was as if the darkness would just wait until Ilya stepped foot into the country to overman him and pull him down under.
He put his cup down onto the table again and ran his hand across his eyes. He turned around to search for the journal he had kept during the 2014 Olympics.
“I did write about it.” Ilya announced his voice monotone. He picked up the ironically colourful notebook from that year. “It’s just that every time I am in Russia I begin to spiral. And this entry is probably going to hurt.”
“Who me or you?” Shane asked concerned leaning forward to once again place his warm hand onto Ilya’s thigh.
“Both... us both I guess.” Ilya mused as he traced the colourful pattern on the front.
“Okay, then we will be in it together.” Shane simply said and leaned further forward to place a soft warm kiss against Ilya’s cheek. “If you feel comfortable sharing it with me, of course.” He whispered against Ilya’s ear, Shane’s lips gently brushing against his sensitive skin.
“I’ll be right here, Ilya.”
---
2014, Sochi
I have always dreamt about participating in the Olympics. I have always dreamt of playing for Russia with the aim to make my father proud. With the fading hope that at least this would get to him. That at least this would prove that I am capable and enough.
And now I am here playing for Russia in Russia and my world looks different. It’s a big achievement of course but these days it happens that my father wakes up and doesn’t know where he is anymore. These days I have become so used to the way things go in the US and Canada that the cold here is starting to sting differently. It’s like I have unlearned how to deal with it. And it’s affecting me more than I’d like to admit.
I got named captain of our team for the Olympics. Thus, it was my responsibility to guide the Russian team. To guide us to our victory, to make our country proud by winning at home. But the team was a mess, too many talented players, too many egos and too little effort to become a team. Everyone always up in their head thinking they could clear this on their own. But things don’t work like this, especially not in hockey. I thought that pro players would’ve understood that. It seems I guessed wrong.
We lost against Latvia even before we got the chance to win anything. We lost and it’s my fault. My fault as the captain. And when my father does remember that fact, it’s all I ever hear about. That the Americans made me weak, that it was my responsibility to get us to play the best we could as a team, that I failed, that I was lazy. The usual way things went. But normally once he was satisfied with his scolding he stopped, once he thought I had understood the lesson he wanted to give me, he stopped. But not these days. Because he forgets and starts again. He begins his scolding and disciplining again until he’s satisfied and then he forgets. It’s a damned circle and I can’t escape it. It’s like a CD got stuck on loop and I can’t pause it.
Sometimes he even forgets that mother is dead asking me where she went. And I constantly have to remind him, remind him of who he is and what we plan on doing. And the house has never felt emptier. When not even my father was filling out the space and the empty corners with his orders and his anger. The house feels deserted and cold, like nobody is living in it. Suddenly darkness lingers in every nook and creeps up to me when I am not looking. I can’t relax here; I can’t fall asleep in this goddamned house. Where I am always haunted by the lurking shadows carrying memories. It feels like it has turned into a void which is now slowly sucking up everything in it. And not letting a ray of light come through.
Hollander texted me at the worst possible moment. I was stuck with my father and the minister in one of these stupid galas where I was required to attend. I don’t even know how many I have attended these past few weeks. It was like they wanted to show me off in front of foreign dignitaries. Even though our team had lost I was still useful to show face. So, I showed my face followed my father around and tried not to interfere when he once again forgot something. Because there were two things: I wasn’t allowed to speak, and my father was a master at pretending. Thus, most of the evening I drank vodka and stared into space trying not to look too uninterested. While at the same time painfully noticing my father masking his holes in his memory.
That’s when Hollander texted me. At the worst possible fucking time. It almost seemed as if he somehow sensed I needed a distraction. But I couldn’t reply. Not here. Not at the gala, not here in Russia. We can’t connect here in Russia.
I didn’t reply but I should’ve known that Hollander wouldn’t leave it alone. Not with how stubborn he is. He came up to me during the game between Sweden and Finland ready to have a conversation like we would have in any other country. He accused me of not answering his boring text. But I can’t not here. I told him so because this is not any other country. This is RUSSIA.
He didn’t listen, he still wanted to know how I was doing. Stupidly polite and respectful like he always is. I don’t know if he was concerned, wanted to get on my nerves or was treating this like any other tournament we play against each other. But he wanted to know how I was doing, and I was rude. Because this isn’t like any other tournament, because we are in Russia. And that changes everything at least for me, but apparently that hadn’t occurred to him.
He continued to press and wanted to know why I hadn’t answered and if I was okay. And under different circumstances I would’ve been perhaps charmed by his worry but not here. Here I am scared. I am constantly scared, hiding and pretending. I only talk when someone directly speaks to me because that is how I survive. Never show too much of yourself so nobody can attack you.
But Hollander never grew up like that. Never grew up with that cold in his bones that only vodka seemed to drown out. Never with the fear of someone knowing who you truly were. And I don’t even think he realizes how fucking lucky he got. He just accepts everything without having to waste another thought about what his parents would think, what the government would think, what his country would think. But I can’t. I can’t afford that luxury.
And that’s what I told him. That we weren’t anything. Especially not here. We can’t be something not here. Not in Russia. Never in Russia. Here everything is about holding facade about pretending like I never fucked the son of my old coach. Like I don’t think about my rival underneath me moaning my name every time we stand on the ice.
Russia isn’t safe. In more ways than one. And nobody could ever know. Just talking like that was risky enough for the both of us. I had to snap at him to leave, I had to bury my hands deep in my coat pocket as not to reach out and feel some of his warmth.
He left and I felt both better and worse afterwards. I stormed out of the arena after that. Had to get away from whatever I was feeling back out into the familiar cold. Back into something I knew how to deal with.
The days are long especially the past few I have been spending here at “home”. I don’t know since when it feels wrong to describe this place as home. But it does now and all I want is to go home. Home to Boston. Where the darkness is a lot less pressing, and I can breathe again.
I spend the days taking care of father and staring out of the window stuck in whatever memories. I spend the days fighting with my brother and drowning in vodka. I spend one day visiting my mother. I sat at her grave playing with her necklace and thought about what I should tell her. But in the end, I didn’t say anything, I just sat there until the chill had reached my bones and I was freezing. Only then did I get up and walked back to the car. I didn’t feel lighter than before, but I visited and had been closer to her than I had in years. But everywhere I go it’s quiet, it’s dull until someone screams at me and the world returns with full intensity. And I don’t know what to do other than wait until I get to go home.