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One of the days Ilya had free was a delicacy nowadays. He wasn’t exactly pressed for the details of his downtime. Reporters often found him too inflammatory, yet acting properly made him too boring to interview. Whatever; this gave him time to exist alone. It was exactly what he needed.
He laid on his couch, turning on his television to immediately see one of the advertisements Shane Hollander was featured in as of late.
Perfection. All that could be seen through the blinding light of his presence was just that—perfect. Beautiful, straight teeth. Built, strong body. Lovely voice. Perfectly sociable, yet intriguing enough to keep him on Ilya’s screen. Horrible life he must live; boring.
Shane was just what everyone he ever knew well enough to care wanted this. Or they didn’t want anything. Seeing Hollander was always a trigger of doubt in Ilya’s stomach. One that pooled and sat for hours afterwards. It wasn’t fair to anyone on the planet Earth. Especially not Ilya, sitting on his own couch in sweatpants alone eating trash reheated dishes, seeing his worst problem and greatest accomplishment flaunting his perfection.
Ilya hadn’t answered Shane in a few months now, they kept missing each other over and over again. He knew when it came down to it and Ilya snapped out of this he would easily find himself buried deep inside the one thing he wanted most, getting to appreciate his non boring body, then go back to despising his boring life.
Never had there ever been a more sad looking time in his life. He hadn’t even toyed with the idea of a girl in weeks, maybe even a month now. That was certainly not normal for him. All he’d done is wait around for the next season to start and skip half of his training that he was supposed to be wrapped up in.
As soon as he saw the calendar his hope was restored. The 15th. Only a week away.
See you soon? He had expected Shane to give up about a month into this, but he seemed to refuse to budge. Maybe Rozanov was the asshole.
Ilya stared at his screen with a flat expression. God, he felt pathetic. He was staring at a message Shane sent him 15 minutes ago and he still was worrying himself over it, the television was set to a coverage of Shane’s team, and he knew if he opened his camera roll there would be the only picture Ilya had ever received from his long term secret–he had stared at and tried is very hardest not to turn into a thing, but he knew when he closed his eyes and stuck one hand under the waist of his sweats the image in his mind wasn’t the a girl or a guy, it was just Shane. Stupid fucking Shane.
Opening his eyes anymore felt like torture. One summer to one season when he would see Shane once again, all blended out into a single blink and inhalation of a Camel cigarette.
Ilya didn’t feel like a loser often, his father made him feel bad at times, but not like a bum who sat on his couch hung up on a guy he approached when he was a rookie player and happened to have the worst luck with. He stared at the message on his phone screen waiting for the perfect, not desperate, playful, witty reply. It didn’t come to him.
It hadn’t come to him in months.
That was the hard part of English. If Svetlana had texted him these things he would have replied instantly, because he and Svetlana love each other. But Ilya had to admit to her that his “Jane” was not the same love.
Svetlana was the only person he ever opened up to about it. She was comfortable in a way Ilya hadn’t yet found in Shane, even if it was growing into one of his greatest desires. He could basically see Hollander’s face. Soft, sensitive, waiting for Ilya to let him be sweet. But of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Never in a million years would that happen, and it wasn’t Hollander’s fault.
Ilya hadn’t been specific, but through his vagueness, Svetlana figured it out on her own. She was smart like that. “So, are you going to meet with your Jane soon? Or will you keep forcing me to listen to you go on and on about him?” she asked as they laid in Ilya’s apartment.
Ilya waited, pretending it was no big deal that she acknowledged Jane wasn’t a girl at all. God, he was being too obvious. “I want to. So bad.”
Svetlana nodded. “You know I hate putting myself in your life more than you need me, but I missed something, so catch me up.”
Ilya sighed. “It’s very embarrassing. I jerked off to him in the shower and then we sucked each other's cocks, and it got regular. He became Jane, I became Lily. We argued and fought, mostly my fault, sometimes his. We couldn’t see each other publicly. You know why. Last time we did this I offered for him to stay. I make him tuna melt, gave him non-alcoholic beverage—just what he likes— and he walked away with my heart in his wonderful hands.”
“So what now?” she asked.
“I wait until next season. It’s been ten years, this is how it happens.”
“Ten years?!” she asked in shock. “You’ve been fucking for ten years and even I didn’t know?”
“Yes. Understand, it’s worse than just being gay! He’s very much in my professional circle. Nobody wants to see us buddy up as friends, we’re not publicly anything and if I were to get involved his reputation would plummet! I’m a mess, and he’s perfect. I fuck him every six months or so and we fight sometimes; Svetlana, I miss him.”
“Ilya, you’re being ridiculous. Please, one more hint,” she begged, taking a sip of her vodka.
“Not even opposing, we are opposite ends of the rivalry,” Ilya told her.
“Fuck, Ilya. Have you been up Shane Hollander’s ass?” she asked.
Ilya stopped talking and raised his eyebrows. “He’s immaculate, if you’re wondering.”
Svetlana laughed, “You two are unbelievable. I need to know more!”
Ilya sighed, sinking into the bed he and his best friend laid in. “What about it?”
“When?”
“Every time we play, I started just telling him my room number under the lie of teasing, but we exchanged phone numbers before a home game. That’s when he became Jane.”
“You said something about showers?”
“After filming an advertisement. Got carried away in the weird tension between us and couldn’t take it. He’s a beautiful boy,” Ilya explained, giggling and taking another drag of the cigarette he and Svetlana had been sharing.
“So, what more? Clearly you can’t continue like this.”
Ilya could feel her concern, but he genuinely had no clue. Obviously, in some ideal world, he and Shane would come out as a couple with no fear, no effect on their career. Everybody would continue to enjoy their professional rivalry, even when they go home together and have romantic dinners without worry for their audience. He would be able to take Shane home, introduce him to Svetlana, spend time with Ilya where he had grown up and be able to kiss where Ilya always practiced as a young boy, carefree. They would be able to marry in the United States and in Russia and live like nobody could see them.
“It can’t happen,” Ilya told her sternly. “I don’t think of it because it’s impossible. Me and Shane Hollander have more to worry about than me and Sasha did. Sasha was nobody and I was nobody, Shane is a huge name and I can’t escape the association.”
“If you could, magically, what would it be like?”
“I would be on a flight to Montreal already. I’d make sure everybody on planet Earth knew how we’d spend a straight week having amazing sex. Then a dinner date here at home. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a dinner date, but I could sit him down, order a private chef to make us the best food; and by the time that ended I would be so domesticated I’d die or explode out of happiness.”
Svetlana smiled. “Goodness, you need to speak to him. If anyone needs to hear that it’s Jane.”
“Shut up,” he scoffed.