Chapter Text
Angry. Ilya was so angry.
He'd gone upstairs and crawled into bed, thinking maybe if he just lay still long enough he would cry. Or sleep. Or feel something that wasn't this sharp, choking heat inside his chest. But the anger kept coming, wave after wave, pulling him under before he could catch his breath.
He was angry at himself for saying anything at all.He'd known asking Shane to go to that party was a mistake. Shane would say no. It was too risky. It was always too risky. And Ilya knew that. He had known it before the words even left his mouth.
But he was so tired.
So tired of loving his boyfriend in stolen moments. So tired of pretending he didn't have someone. So tired of watching his teammates talk about their partners like it was the easiest thing in the world.He was lonely. God, he was so lonely.
And then there was the shame. Because Shane had already given him more than Ilya had ever believed he would have. Love. A family. A home where he could breathe and be himself and feel safe. Parents.
So why wasn't that enough?
The thought curled ugly and sharp in his mind.
Just like Mother
The fear hit him harder than the anger ever could. What if this was the beginning? The sadness. The hunger. The need that was never filled. The loneliness.
Too many feelings. Too many thoughts.
He couldn't stay here.
The house felt wrong suddenly. Too clean. Too empty. Nothing on the walls that proved Shane had ever been in his kitchen, had ever slept in this bed. No photographs. No evidence. No proof that someone loved him. He had even taken the photograph of the two of them on their first ad campaign together that Ilya had lovingly tracked down as a Christmas present. Always to be a hidden thing, a hidden love.
If Ilya disappeared tomorrow, there would be nothing here that said he had ever been chosen.
He couldn't let himself think about that.Not when he had already ruined everything by asking Shane to go to that stupid party.
He didn't remember grabbing his keys.
Didn't remember walking out the door.
He only knew he needed to move. To go somewhere. Anywhere. The walls were closing in, and if he stayed, he might do something worse. Something unforgivable.
He should call Shane. He should tell him to come back. That he was sorry, hadn't thought it through. to lie, tell him he was fine, everything was fine. Please don’t leave.
Maybe he should just disappear and save everyone the trouble
No.
He would never do that to Shane.
He was already on the road anyway. He could just drive to Montreal. Two hours. He'd done it a hundred times. He'd show up at Shane's house and explain. Tell him about Galina. About his mother. About how terrified he was of becoming her. About how tired he was of fighting himself. That he wanted to marry Shane and have children together, that he’d give up hockey all together if that’s what Shane needed.
He reached for his phone.
It was still off.
Without thinking, he glanced down to turn it on.
He never saw the SUV fishtail across the median.
Never heard the scream of brakes.
Only the impact. The violent crush of metal. The airbag exploding in his face.
And then, nothing.
— 🏒 —
Shane was losing his mind. Ilya wasn't answering.
He must’ve called a hundred times. Maybe more. The voicemails blurred together from apology after apology, promises, begging, to quiet desperation.
"I'm sorry."
"I'll fix it."
"I love you."
"Ilya, please."
He would choose him. He would choose Ilya over everything. Every time. He just needed Ilya to pick up so he could say it out loud.
But Ilya didn't call.
Shane spent the night staring at his phone like it might ring if he just looked at it hard enough. He packed between calls, folding shirts he didn't even remember owning. The season was starting tomorrow. He wouldn't see Ilya for weeks. He turned on the TV just to fill the silence.Maybe he could drive there. Two hours. Two hours there, two hours back. He could make it before practice. He was already calculating the timing when the TV cut through his thoughts.
There had been an accident.
A truck lost control. Head on collision with a Mercedes SUV. Shane felt cold. His stomach dropped. It was nothing. Ottawa was a big city. Accidents happened all the time. Ilya was at home. Sleeping. Ignoring him on purpose. He would video call any minute.
“The captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, Ilya Rozanov, has been identified as the driver of one of the SUVs involved in a head on collision. There are no reports of passengers present. Rozanov has been transported to The Ottawa Hospital trauma center for treatment. His condition remains unknown”
The world tilted. There was a high ringing in his ears.
No.
This wasn't right. It was someone else. It had to be someone else. They would have called him if something had happened.
…Right?
Except you insisted no one could know
You said we couldn't take any chances
You made him write someone else down as emergency contact
For the first time, Shane Hollander realized that there were consequences to loving someone in secret.