Chapter Text
Montreal lost their game in Washington, which was frustrating. Shane saw that Ilya’s team had won decisively against Carolina that afternoon, and he was sure Ilya would tease him about it. He didn’t check his phone until he was on the bus heading back to the team hotel. He had several Instagram messages. Shane hardly ever checked his Instagram messages, but sometimes Ilya took advantage of that when he was on a plane and couldn’t text. Shane looked at them now. The messages were… intense. Romantic, for sure, but unusual.
“Whoa!” J.J. exclaimed suddenly. “Have you seen the news about the Centaurs yet?”
Shane turned to J.J., who was sitting across the aisle from him. Other eyes were on him, too.
“About 20 minutes ago, contact was lost with the Centaurs’ plane.” The cell phone in Shane’s hand buzzed. He looked at Ilya’s messages, his eyes fixing on the timestamp. 23 minutes. His vision blurred, the letters bleeding into a grey smear.
‘Please don’t let those be Ilya’s last words.’
“Is there anything else?” Shane managed to squeeze out through the lump that had formed in his throat.
“Nope. That’s all the information we have so far,” J.J.’s voice was uncertain.
Silence fell over the bus like a heavy curtain. Everyone sank into their own thoughts—and yet they were all with the team that had disappeared.
Two hands on his knees gently pulled Shane out of his reverie. Hayden was kneeling before him in the narrow aisle, squeezed between Shane and the front seat.
“You need to breathe calmly.”
Only then did Shane realize that his breathing had long since fallen into frantic, shallow gasps. Hayden’s hands remained firmly on his knees.
“Breathe in. Four seconds,” Hayden said calmly. “Hold it. Now breathe out. Slowly.” Shane forced himself to follow the rhythm even though his chest worked painfully against the tight space with every breath.
“Keep going. Slowly. You know how the media is—they like to exaggerate.”
Shane knew all too well from personal experience how much the media could stretch a point. But it didn’t help calm him down.
Why, of all times, had Ilya sent him those messages then?
The memory of their Christmas argument flashed through his mind.
The promise to make things right the next time they met.
Cold sweat trickled down Shane’s neck, and the bitter taste of bile pooled in his mouth. He felt like throwing up. Hayden’s hands on his knees squeezed gently again, trying to anchor him.
The phone vibrated in Shane’s trembling hand, and he looked at it, hoping Ilya’s name would light up. It was Yuna—she must have seen the news.
“Do you want me to…?” Hayden offered, but Shane shook his head.
His heart was pounding violently against his ribs, as if it could reach Ilya if it beat hard enough.
The bus stopped right before the hotel—no one moved. Hayden remained crouched in front of Shane, his hands resting reassuringly on his knees.
For a few seconds, there was silence. Only the hum of the engine could be heard.
Clearing his throat, Coach Theriault stood up from his seat and stepped into the aisle.
“Listen,” he said, his voice controlled.
Several heads turned.
“We don’t know exactly what happened to the plane at this point. The NHL is doing everything it can to gather information.”
Some nodded in agreement, trusting that the league would take charge. Others were engrossed in their cell phones, as if they hadn’t heard him.
Theriault let his gaze wander over the rows.
“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he continued. “Anyone who wants to can wait for updates together in my room.”
The offer hung heavily in the air, an attempt to manage the situation within the group, but it made everything more real. An entire team—gone.
Although most of them had only had contact with the Centaurs on the ice, the reality felt brutally honest.
A few of the Voyageurs had families, partners, and children, like some of the players from Ottawa.
What must they be going through?
Rows ahead, one person stood up, followed by another. Moments later, the whole place started moving.
The rustling of jackets being put on filled the bus. Zippers closing with a whirring sound, accompanied by the clatter of the overhead compartments and the first steps toward the door.
The noise was muffled as it reached Shane, the blood rushing in his ears. The display in his hand lit up again. Rising to his feet, Hayden exhaled audibly as the bus gradually emptied.
“Come on,” he said, gently pulling Shane up. “Let’s take him up on the offer. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Shane nodded, and though everything in him resisted, he slowly stood up. His legs felt as if they didn’t belong to him.
Ilya’s words echoed in his head:
“Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.”