Archive of Our Own

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Ilya smiled, leaning further back into the interconnected airline chairs. The sounds of people around him muffled as he pulled the beanie over his ears, Marleau shoving a shoulder against him. “Fuck off Marley.” He growled playfully, earning a laugh.

“Is that your Montreal girl?” Ilya hummed in agreement as Marleau leaned over to snoop. He hooted in excitement. “Oh! Is she meeting up with us in Vegas?” The phone went black as Ilya crossed his arms, looking over at the taller man, a huge grin on Marleau’s face. “Are we going to finally meet the famous Jane?”

“Never in a million years. She is there for work, as we are.” His butt slid further down the chair as he pocketed his phone. “I may see her for a few hours in between jobs. No way I am going to waste precious time to introduce you guys.”

“Come on Captain!” St-Simon piped up from across the aisle, his head planted in his hands. “You get all excited when you answer your phone. We want to meet who makes you so happy.” Ilya smiled softly as he shook his head. There was a collective groan as their captain continued to shake his head.

“No thank you gentlemen. Jane is off limits, per Jane’s rules.”

Ilya looked down at his lap, his smiling fading. He would love to let his team know what Jane was Shane, but unfortunately Shane was still terrified of what others would think. He was terrified of the locker room talk. Boston was different so it wasn’t a thought that Ilya really had to think about. He tried to ease Shane’s anxiety but there wasn’t any openly gay MLH players either.

“Soon.” Shane would always say. “Soon we’ll tell everyone. Just not now.” Never now.

“Time to fly gentlemen! Let’s go!” LeClaire yelled from the front gate, waving his team over. The gate agent opened the door as Ilya pushed himself off of the chair, throwing his carry on over his shoulder.

==

Shane pulled out his keycard, his fingers fumbling with the thin plastic. His face felt warm, his forehead leaning against the wood. He knew his face was flushed from the alcohol, but he didn’t care. Soon Ilya would be in Vegas and he would be snuggled up against him.

Rubbing his leg up against his thigh–his hands roaming over his hard pecs–

He shook his head, readjusting his pants from his hardening cock when his thoughts began to wander.

The door beeped as the red light flashed green, allowing the handle to turn, the door suddenly falling forward causing Shane to stumble. His breath hitched when he drunkenly fell forward, a laugh coming through.

“You good Hollander?” Scott Hunter called from across the hall. Shane held onto the door, the laugh becoming more pronounced from his mouth. He was happy to have a friend nearby, but not next door like a previous encounter. He still wasn’t sure if Hunter had heard him and Ilya that night…when he fell to his knees almost instantly when entering Ilya’s hotel room…

“Yeah, I’m fine Scott. Just a little drunk.” Shane answered, shifting again. He has got to stop thinking about Ilya. “I’m not used to drinking, I’m just going to sleep.”

“You got my number Shane. Call me if you need anything.” Shane gave a little drunken wave as he shut his door, stripping off his jeans.

“Fuck.” He groaned once the strain was off his hardened cock. He walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stripped the rest of his clothes, making sure to fold it neatly on the chair in the corner. His phone buzzed a few times from the other room, still deep in his pants pocket. He didn’t care at the moment. He would get it later. He knew it was either Hayden who stayed behind in Montreal with Jackie, Ilya who was still up in the air, or his Mom checking in.

He stepped into the water, his fist wrapped around his cock. A soft moan escaped his lips as he pumped his hand.

Ilya will be here soon. He could satisfy him later, but he had to take care of this now, even in his drunken state. His mind kept racing back to Ilya. The way Ilya would kiss down his neck, toward his abs. Nip along his inner thighs and leave little marks there.

His other hand reached up to his throat, putting firm pressure as Ilya did. Not enough to cut off air, just enough for control.

His fist pumped faster, pressure building.

“Fuuuck Ilya.” Shane moaned, his back hitting the shower wall, water spraying his chest. His hand tightened around his throat as the fantasy continued.

Ilya’s mouth swallowed him whole, Shane’s head tipping back as another moan escaped, his fist moving even faster.

The pressure climaxed as spurts of cum flooded his hand as his pumps slowed, the pressure from his other hand lightened. His breathing, which he didn’t realize had become ragged, slowed as he lowered his head, the haziness of the orgasm clearing.

“Fuck.” He groaned, smiling softly. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

He wanted his boyfriend.

Boyfriend

If that is what they even were.

He scrubbed his body clean, knowing that Ilya would soon be landing. He knew Ilya wouldn’t mind, but he would rather be clean when he arrived.

He would sit on the chair in the corner where Ilya liked him, or in the bed, and wait. Wait for his boyfriend to come through the door

But he waited and waited, and there was silence coming from the door.

Soon the sun fell behind the horizon and Shane sat in the room, his fingers gripping the arm rest, his eyes staring out the window. Ilya was never late. Never quiet.

Was Ilya tired of Shane? Sick of his neediness? Sick of the hiding?

He knew that Ilya wanted to come out to their teams, his family, but Shane wanted to keep it secret still. For another few years.

Ilya was going to leave Boston next season for Ottawa, and then they would be closer. He would surprise Ilya with the news of coming out to close friends and family. They would have allies. But was he tired of waiting and ghosted him?

His phone sat lifeless somewhere in the room, forgotten in his drunken stupor.

A knock shook Shane out from his thoughts, forcing him to move from his position. His excitement suddenly bubbling. He was here, he was finally in Las Vegas and in the hotel.

“Finally, I thought you would never show up!” He threw open the door, ignoring the peep hole, his heart dropping when he wasn’t greeted with hazel eyes and blonde curls. Instead stood his coach, whose sullen face was matched with Scott Hunter, who stood behind him. “Coach, Hunter. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hollander, we need to hold a meeting.” Coach Theriault looked back at Scott as Shane gestured the two into his room. “I’m assuming you haven’t seen the news yet?”

“News? Did something happen?” Shane was confused, and anxiety began to creep up his throat. Scott stood against the wall, his face looking more grim with every passing moment. He couldn’t look Shane in the eye.

“Hollander. The plane carrying the Boston Bears…” Coach’s voice faltered as he looked Shane in the face. “The event has been postponed because their plane didn’t make it.”

Shane’s mind went blank. Did not make it. What does that mean? “What does that mean?” He asked his own question out loud. His brain was not comprehending what was happening.

“Shane…” Scott’s voice was gentle from the wall. “It went down. They are still searching for survivors.”

The room went silent. The only sound Shane could hear was the small buzzing of electricity that was coming from the lightbulbs. His skin suddenly felt ice cold and clammy. He was no longer in his body.

Survivors. Searching.

“There will be a press conference held in an hour to talk about the event.” Theriault continued. “We need you to speak at the conference.”

Shane’s eyes glossed over. He couldn’t move. Ilya didn’t show up because he was tired of hiding, tired of Shane. He didn’t show up because his plane went down. Because he was dead.

His hands started to shake as his mind started to comprehend what was happening.

“I–uh–sure Coach.” Shane muttered. “I will speak at the conference.”

“Good. I will come get you when it is time. Talk to your agent, I already messaged her about it.” Theriault stood from his spot, slapping a hand down on Shane’s shoulder. “I know you and Rozanov were rivals, but you knew him your entire career. Thought we’d let you know if you hadn’t known from your phone.”

He barely registered the hand on his shoulder as he nodded. “Thanks Coach.”

“Shane.” Scott’s voice sounded distant as Theriault exited the room, leaving the two in the room. “Hey man, are you sure you’re good?” Shane looked over, his body feeling distant again, hollow.

Ilya was gone. Not just for a month or two. But forever.

“Yeah…it’s just a shock, you know?” Shane laughed softly. “Someone I’ve known since I was seventeen is just–” His face suddenly felt wet. “...gone.” His throat tightened. The room felt too small as his chest tightened.

Scott crossed the room in an instant as Shane fell to his knees. The wet he felt on his cheeks, he suddenly realized was tears. He was crying in front of Scott fucking Hunter. The same man who he was drinking with just a few hours earlier. Who probably saw him have a hard on in the hallway as they were entering their hotel rooms.

Now he was on the floor, in his hotel room, having a melt down because–

Ilya was gone forever.

Shane clawed at his throat, his chest. Anywhere as he tried to catch his breath. He was gasping, the tears flowing freely. Scott knelt down in front of him, trying to pry his hands away from his throat.

“Shane, buddy, you have to breathe. In…out. That’s good. Repeat. In…out…In…out…” Shane’s eyes were wide as he followed Scott’s instructions to the best of his abilities. In out in out. “It will be alright.”

“It won’t Scott.” Shane whispered once he found his voice, the tears still falling. Scott squeezed his hands a few times. “I don’t know what I will do without… him.”

“Shane…” His voice was low. “I know we aren’t close. But you can trust me.” Shane began to gasp as the panic started up again and Scott squeezed his hands again. “I have a boyfriend Shane. I’m gay.”

This seemed to snap Shane out of the panic spiral he was in. His breathing evened out as he looked up at Scott. The tears were still flowing from his dark eyes but he was no longer gasping for breath, his hands weren’t trying to escape. “W–what?”

“I haven’t told anyone this before. But I am gay. And I’m dating a wonderful man who sneaks into my home games. He’s back home in New York right now. I’m sure he would have loved to be here with me, but I didn’t want to come out yet. I’m scared. But I feel terrible for putting him back in the closet.” Scott sighed. “His name is Kip. And I love him.”

“I’m happy for you Scott.” Shane said genuinely. His fingers squeezed Scott’s hands.

He contemplated whether he should tell Scott that he had a relationship with Ilya. He knew that Scott had made a comment years ago that made it seem like he knew they were together. But he never confirmed it. But now that it was a possibility that Ilya was gone, what was the harm?

“Ilya and I have been seeing each other since before our rookie year.” Shane choked out. “We became official this past summer. He–he was going to play one last season in Boston before moving to Ottawa.” His voice was just as shaky as his hands, his head hung low. Scott didn’t say a word, just another small squeeze of their hands. “I–I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. We were going to build a life together. I was going to marry him Scott. Fuck.”

“Shane, he’s not gone yet.” Scott kept his voice firm, confident. “There isn’t any news yet, but I highly suggest you don’t do this conference. Theriault doesn’t know that you’re in a relationship with Rozanov. He just thinks it would be good publicity because you are both rivals.” Shane shook his head. “But I don’t think it would be good for you mentally to go on camera and talk about the Bears. Not today.”

“I have to. I am the captain, and if coach needs me to make a statement on the…Bears.” He couldn’t say it. “Then I will. I–I should be fine.”

“Shane.”

“No, I’m fine Scott. Like you just said. He isn’t gone, right? Not until they confirm anything.”

Scott smiled softly. “Right, for all we know, he is sitting in an ambulance, yelling at someone in Russian about what idiots everyone is.” Another squeeze. “Thank you, for telling me, for trusting me. I promise I won’t say anything.”

“I won’t say anything as well. Until we’re ready, right?”

==

Denial. That is all Shane had to do to get through this conference. Deny anything was happening. He would get all the facts before freaking out again. Yup, that he would. Because he was Shane Fucking Hollander and he can’t have another panic attack on camera, in front of reporters.

His knees shook under the table, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees. He was already seated at the table, Theriault somewhere in the room, along with his agent, Farrah, who happened to be in town. She knew of him and Ilya earlier in the summer, due to Yuna’s intervention. He hadn’t even looked at his phone since earlier in the evening, but Farrah had arrived at his room shortly after his confession with Scott.

The room suddenly grew quiet as a woman stood front and center, directing the reporters.

“Hollander!” A hand rose in the air as Shane looked in the direction of a younger woman, her pen lifted in the air. “As we all know, the Boston Bears were set to arrive here earlier in the evening, but reports have been told that their plane has gone down. Have you heard anything about it?” His body felt lifeless, cold. Robotic.

“No, I'm just as much in the dark as anyone else. The league was informed that there was a malfunction with the engine.” His voice was monotone. He could only feel his nails digging into the skin of his hands as he held tight fists under the table.

“Hollander! To your right!” Another voice rang out as he turned his head. “Has there been any news to survivors?” His chest tightened. The league didn’t tell him anything.

“There has been no updates yet.”

“We have seen bodies under white sheets being posted online. Do you have any comments on that?” His throat tightened, his eyes stung with more tears.

Pictures were being posted online? His eyes looked around the room for Farrah. Anyone who could help him.

“I–uh.” He choked, his fingers digging into his thighs as he spotted Farrah in the corner, shaking her head. “No comment. Next question.” He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to push away the tears that were threatening to spill.

“Shane. There are rumors that there are no survivors. The plane was completely destroyed. They are saying that the black box on the plane was also unrecoverable.” The reporter kept going despite Shane frozen in place.

Why had no one updated him on the news? No survivors. Completely destroyed.

His body began to shake as his vision blurred. He tried to look for Farrah again but he couldn’t see. The chair suddenly disappeared from beneath him as he stood from his place, his breathing ragged.

“I can’t do this.”

Suddenly a hand was on his bicep, grounding him. “That is it for this conference.” Farrah’s voice sounded muffled in his ears as he was pulled off the stage, his legs felt like jello. “Shane. Everything will be alright.”

No no no. Nothing will ever just be alright! His mind screamed. No survivors! No survivors no survivors.

The hand tightened their grip, the voice muffled as the lights blinded him, the sound of a door slamming behind them before he was forced to face Farrah face to face. Her face was full of concern as she stared up at him.

“Shane, can you hear me? Breathe for me.” He nodded his head. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, the air stung as it smelled like musty water. “Now out through your mouth. Come on.” He pursed his lips as he exhaled. “Good good. Are you back?” Another nod. “Alright good. Fuck.” She straightened her stance, leaning against a counter.

Shane finally took in their surroundings, his sight finally returning to see they were in a bathroom.

“That was a shit show. They weren’t supposed to bring up anything about survivors or casualties. Nothing is concrete at the moment.” Farrah ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry that you had that thrown at you. I told Theriault that it wasn’t appropriate to have you at the conference. But you agreed and my hands were tied.”

“I felt like I couldn’t say no…since I am the captain.”

“Just because you are the Captain of Montreal Voyegeurs, does not mean that you have to talk at a conference about a major incident. That is the league's issue.” She huffed, ignoring the buzz coming from her pocket. “Shit, that is probably your Mother. She has been trying to get a hold of you all night Shane.”

“I–I don’t even know where my phone is. Somewhere in my hotel room…”

“That is fine. I told her that you were fine. She probably saw the shitshow by now which is why she is trying to call. Do you want to talk to her?”

“No. I don’t want to listen to her ask a million questions that I don’t have answers to.”

“I’m sorry to ask this, but when was the last time you heard from him?”

His heart tightened. “It was when he was boarding his flight. I had just landed.” She nodded in response. “I started drinking with the rest of the group and lost track of my phone waiting for him to land. I didn’t even know the crash happened until Coach and Scott came to my room.” His vision blurred again, his voice sounding choked. “Farrah, what if he really is gone?”

“Shane, everything will be alright. Until we get confirmation, then Ilya is alive and well.” He tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. “I will call you if anything else is released. Try to stay calm. Nothing has been confirmed despite what those reporters were trying to say. I mean it.” She urged. “Nothing has been confirmed.”

Soon he was being guided back to his room, everything becoming a blur. He suddenly felt numb, nothing real. One minute he was in that bathroom, being brought back down from a panic attack and next he was being sat down on his hotel bed, Farah saying her goodbyes. Everything was muffled, the edges of his vision had a darkness.

He felt…exhausted. An exhaustion that he never felt before. Not even when his games go into double overtime and he spends extra time on the ice. His eyes scanned his room, looking for the long lost cell phone that was discarded late last night. His brain couldn’t comprehend that it was past midnight. What time was the press conference? When did Theriault and Hunter come to his room?

His eyes caught his discarded jeans on the floor, tucked away in the corner. His brain lit up as he quickly scrambled to the floor, his fingers digging into the pocket as he found his phone deep in the pocket. The screen flashed the battery symbol, causing him to let out an anguished cry.

“Fuck!” He cried out, the tears that were once being held to pour from his eyes. The phone gripped tightly in his hand, the battery dead.

=

The games were canceled pending the search for the Boston team. Farah stood beside Shane in the airport, waiting by the boarding gate, her shoulder gently bumping into his shoulder to keep him grounded.

His mind still raced as his phone was attached to a battery block, trying to revive it.

There was no word on whether any of the team had been recovered from the flight. Shane was trying to ignore any news about the crash, but unfortunately half the flight was MLH players returning somewhere in the East. So they all had a layover in Chicago where they would eventually break away. Which meant everyone was gossiping about the crash.

“I heard there was an engine malfunction.” A defenseman spoke loudly to a few people behind Shane. “There was a video from someone on their flight. Not sure if it was someone on the team, or a flight member. But the engine was on fire.”

Shane swallowed the lump in his throat, his nails digging crescents into his palm. Another small bump from Farah caused him to huff. “Ignore them. There is no news on the plane. Everything is just internet garbage.”

“Yet social media is blowing up.” Shane barked back, his emotions bubbling up. They handed off their boarding pass before they walked onto their plane.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he sat on his seat, the world silent around him as he placed a pair of headphones on his head. It may not be connected, but the noise cancellation was a relief from the buzz of the plane. Farah pulled out her laptop, immediately clicking away.

His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket, the small power bank charging it enough for it to power on. His heart raced as the lock screen lit up, notifications coming through.

A few from his Mom, one from Dad, and the one he hoped would come through, but also dreaded.

His heart dropped, his chest heavy as he read the messages over and over again.

Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana

Ilya was gone. His last words were staring back at him. And Shane wasn’t there to comfort him.

Instead he was where? Jerking off in the shower?

He stood quickly, his breathing ragged. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t sit on this plane for one more second. He couldn’t hear anything as he grabbed his carry on and walked toward the front of the plane. All he could hear was the pounding of his blood in his ears, the ragged breathing.

A flight attendant stared at him as he tried to push by, more hands grabbing his arms to calm him. He didn’t realize he was thrashing, trying to throw them off. “I need off this plane!” He was crying on, his voice didn’t sound like his own.

More attendants appeared near him, holding him down as he thrashed more. More crying, more sobs.

He couldn’t do this. Not without him.

Ilya was everything. And his messages verified everything.

He was gone. Ilya was dead.

Shane was alone.

=

“I couldn’t get him back onto the plane Yuna.” Farah’s voice sounded far away. “Yes, security had to escort him. He started freaking out.” The world was black, his body heavy. “They sedated him. We’re currently still in Las Vegas. If you want to fly out here, you can.” He couldn’t move his arms, something cold felt tight around his wrist. “Thankfully he didn’t manage to punch the security that hard. I was able to talk them down from pressing charges.”

He tried so hard to open his eyes, but they were so so heavy. His mouth tasted like lead. Why did Farah sound like she was a thousand miles away?

Why? Why? WHY?

His brain began to catch up, his hearing slowly returned as a beep quickened. It got louder and louder as his heart raced, causing a dip from where he was laying.

“I think he’s waking up Yuna. I’ll call you back.” Her voice sounded closer as he felt a hand on his. “Shane, are you awake?”

His cheeks felt wet, his eyes still wouldn’t cooperate and open. His fingers felt tingly as Farah rubbed them.

“Shane, if you can hear me, you’re in the hospital. You attacked airport security and they sedated you.” Her voice was low. “I think your parents are going to fly out here. We’re still in Vegas.” The bed shook a bit. “I don’t know what you saw, but everything is going to be okay Shane. I promise you that.”

But you can’t. Because he’s dead.

Farah left eventually. The cuffs that were on Shane’s wrist were removed once the staff realized he wasn’t a danger to others or himself. His phone laid on the table, buzzing with notifications from his Mom, letting him know that she was flying in.

She would be here within the day.

She would ask questions. Yuna would not take no for an answer.

Nobody knew about Ilya.

Yuna would keep pestering him why he had a melt down and she didn’t even know he was gay.

He fingers ripped the iv from his arm, pulling the cables from his body. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for her to arrive. He didn’t need the interrogation.

He wasn’t ready.

His eyes, red and puffy, searched the room for his clothes, which were neatly folded on the couch, alongside his carry on. He kept the pulse ox on his finger, to not alert the medical staff. The room started to go dark as he slipped on his jeans, his body still heavy as the sedatives began to wear off.

He didn’t know where he was going to go. He was trapped in Las Vegas where no one was around. His hockey friends all left, Farah was somewhere. But he didn’t want to see anyone.

He wanted Ilya.

His Ilya.

He took deep breaths as he slipped on his shoes, ignoring the pain in his heart as he pulled off the pulse ox, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He watched as the machine flat lined, his mind racing.

Was this what Ilya felt? Did he feel pain? Or did he feel nothing at all?

Did he suffer?

His hands shook as he held onto the door handle, staring through the window. There was nobody. And nobody would miss him.

=

The news spread like wildfire, his phone was officially on do not disturb. News of Shane Hollander’s disappearance was newsworthy, but wasn’t as newsworthy as the death of the entire team of the Boston Bears.

It had been a week. One whole week since the conference, since he was ambushed by his coach, and the news of the crash happened.

After he left the hospital, he didn’t want to be seen by anyone. No flights, no Yuna, nobody. He went to the nearest car rental facility and drove.

And drove.

And drove.

He’d only been to his house a few times, but as he sat in the car in the driveway, he couldn’t stop the tears. In front of him was Ilya’s Boston home. The place where they were going to pack up in less than a season, were going to downsize and eventually move him out so they could be together in Canada.

But now? Now it sat abandoned for whoever to come scavenged. Fuck, Shane didn’t even know who would come and take Ilya’s belongings. His hands turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, trying to will himself to exit the vehicle. He made it across the country. He wanted to go inside. He needed it.

But the thought of the house being empty…the thought of Ilya not there to open the door saddened him. Ilya would never open the door again and shove him against the wall. Would never call him moy pomidor, or some random Russian word. Make fun of his weak backhand…

The tears fell harder as his head laid on the steering wheel.

“Why…why did this happen?” He cried to himself.

He doesn’t know how long he sat in the car, working up the courage to enter the house, but he does. His fingers pressed the code into the key pad. 1410. A small hiccup echoed through the entry way, toeing off his shoes on the shoe rack Ilya bought specifically for him. He completely ignored the pair of women's shoes that were on the rack.

He made his way to the bedroom, his eyes stopped on the clothes that cluttered the bed, the closet that was already being taken apart. His heart stopped.

Someone was already going through his things. His boyfriend’s things were being taken away. Not even a week later. But what say did he have? Nobody knew they existed other than the rivalry…just the way Shane wanted.

He walked through the bed, falling to his knees as he grabbed a shirt, inhaling the musky cologne that Ilya wore. It felt like home, like comfort.

Shane didn’t hear the small footsteps come into the room behind him as he held onto the shirt close to his body, the small sob escaping his throat.

“Why, why did you leave me?” He sobbed harder into the shirt, burying his face. “You can’t leave me. You said you would never leave…”

“He would never leave you, Jane.” Her voice was smooth as Shane froze. “I knew you would eventually show up. I just didn’t expect it to take an entire week.” He turned around to see the woman from Ilya’s instagrams photos standing in the doorway, matching a sad look on her face. “I didn’t expect Jane to be Shane Hollander, but I suspected it when Ilyusha was so secretive about you.” She walked toward Shane, causing him to try and back away, only to forget that he was against the bed already. “It is alright Mr. Hollander.”

“W-who are you?” He choked out.

“I am Svetlana Vetrova, I am…” She paused, “Was Ilya’s best friend. I was the first to know of his death unfortunately.” She knelt down beside Shane. “He told me just about everything about your relationship, except your true identity. And I’m truly sorry that I was unable to reach out after the accident, but his phone was destroyed in the crash so I could not call you.” He swallowed down a sob.

“He talked about you sometimes. You are the hockey daughter.”

“Yes, friends from Russia.” Her expression saddened. “I am sorry we met under these conditions. I wished Ilyusha could have introduced us.”

“Me too.”

“Come, I was making dinner when you came in. I thought it might have been you, but wasn’t entirely sure.” She nodded her head toward the doorway where he could see the bat leaning against the frame.

“I-I don’t think I can eat.”

“Nonsense. You need to eat. Ilyusha says you eat like a bird. Come eat some of his favorite meals to remember him.”

=

It has been one month since the crash. There has been no known cause to the crash other than engine failure. News outlets slowly stopped talking about the Boston Bears and hockey began their games again.

Unfortunately for the league, Shane Hollander was still ‘missing’.

Fortunately, Svetlana was the only person who knew where he was hiding. And he was still hiding inside Ilya’s Boston home.

He was curled up in Ilya’s bed, hugging the pillow when she walked by the door, knocking gently on the frame.

“Shane? I have to go out and run some errands. I will return tonight. Please remember to eat and drink.” Shane responded with a soft groan causing the other to roll her eyes. “I know you’re still hurting, but Ilya would not want you to be like this. He would want you skating, enjoy life. You know this, right?”

The tears spilled from Shane’s lashes as he grabbed the crucifix around his neck, the one that Svetlana had recovered from Ilya’s body when he found him. He didn’t want to know how they found him.

Shane had spiraled, despite Svetlana’s attempts to get him moving again. She had tried everything, even informing Yuna of his whereabouts, but Shane didn’t care.

All he did was lay in Ilya’s bed, and cry.

She gave one last glance at him before walking out the front door. She needed to move on. It is what Ilya would have wanted.

The crucifix dug into his palm as he listened for the click of the front door, signaling that he was alone. He was done being alone.

Done laying in bed, done dreaming that Ilya was still with him and then waking up and realizing that it was all a dream. He. Was. Done.

He stood up and walked into the bathroom where he dug around under the sink cabinet, where earlier in the month he found a bottle of pain pills. One that Ilya must have tossed aside, deciding that he didn’t need them after a hard hit.

“This is it.” He spoke out loud, his fingers gripping the prescription bottle. He would be with Ilya soon…he wouldn’t hurt anymore. Nothing would be painful.

His socked feet thudded against the wooded floor as he made his way into the kitchen where he knew Svetlana left the vodka, Ilya’s vodka. His hands shook as he yanked open the freezer, grabbing the ‘good Russian vodka’ as Ilya used to call it, pouring himself a large glass.

He could do this. He needed to end the pain.

He poured the pills onto the counter, the voice in his head forcing him to count them.

2-4-6-8-12-14-17

Seventeen pills…of whatever these were. His vision could no longer focus as the tears spilled.

The pain needed to stop. He needed to see Ilya again…and not in his dreams.

He scooped up a handful, staring at the small white pills dotting his hand.

He can do this, he needed to do this.

The world went black as he shut them tightly, throwing his head back as the pills popped into his mouth, quickly followed by the cold bite of the liquor. He gagged instantly as he swallowed the substance, sobbing.

“I did it.” He cried out, trying to force his body to keep it down. “I did it Ilya. I’m sorry.”

=

Svetlana knew something was wrong the instant she stepped through the front door. The air was thick and the house was quiet. Too quiet.

“Shane!” She called out as she shut the door quickly, dropping her bags. “Shane! Are you awake?” Her voice cracked, her nerves on edge as she made her way further into the house. She eyed toward the kitchen, where a piece of paper laid on the countertop. Her heart sank.

She knew as she picked up the paper, seeing Shane’s writing…a note.

Hey,

By the time anyone finds this…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everyone.

I want to start this by saying that Ilya Rozanov was, is, the love of my life. We have been seeing each other for over 7 years…and now he’s gone. We kept it a secret because we were scared. Scared of Russia. Scared of hockey and now Ilya is dead and nobody knows why I am suffering. WHY I AM SO FUCKING SAD.

Nobody knows it’s because my love, my boyfriend, who I was going to ask to marry, died. He died without anyone ever knowing about us, about our love. About how he always takes care of me, despite what an asshole everyone thinks he is.

So I’m sorry that I chose to end this pain, to be with him.

I can’t imagine a life without him. Imagine a world without Ilya Rozanov chirping at everyone on the ice.

Without Ilya Rozanov who used to make sure I was okay after every bad hit, who used to call me if I had a bad game or practice.

Ilya Rozanov, who even though is the biggest asshole in the League, always made sure to be the best player in the game when we played against each other.

Mom, Dad, I love you both.

Svetlana, thank you, for everything.

She didn’t notice that she had made her way to the bedroom as she read his note. Her eyes lifted up to see his body curled up in Ilya’s bed.

“Goodnight solnyshko.”