Inhale

March

Ilya is distracted, and everyone in the arena knows why.

Shane was knocked out of the game on what should have been a routine hit, two days before Ilya left for the road trip. The media has been unusually quiet about the injury. Shane has not said a word on social media. He is not a heavy poster to begin with, but as time goes by, the silence starts to feel loud.

It is the fourth and the last game of the road trip. Ilya can fly back to Ottawa as soon as he gets out of this arena. But right now, midway through the third period, he has no choice but to stay on the ice and line up for the face-off. The arena was packed, the audience cheering the opponent team’s name all around, though it all felt distant to Ilya. Inhale for 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4. He tries his best to regulate his nervous system.

“Hey,” the other center says. “Hope Hollander’s okay.”

Ilya blinks. He forgets his count. He loses the face-off.

It is not the longest period he has ever played, but it feels endless. He intercepts a pass and pushes toward the neutral zone, only to catch his edge and trip. He goes down hard. When he gets up, his nose is not bleeding. He returns to the bench. When coach Wiebe looks at him with concern, Ilya shakes his head and says “I’m fine.” He doesn’t look the coach back in the eye.

There is still too much time left on the clock.

He wants to check his phone. Shane is still recovering. No screens. No messages. And even if there were, Ilya is not supposed to check during a game. None of that stops the urge. Shift after shift. He does what is asked of him.

When the final horn finally blows, they win by one. It is a messy, exhausting victory. Ilya heads straight for the locker room. He pulls out his phone before he has even finished untying his skates.

There is a message waiting.

“Come home safe.” It’s from Yuna.

Shane feels like hell.

It wasn’t his hardest hit, so logically it shouldn’t be his worst concussion. Still, this is the one making him suffer. Over ten days have passed, and he remains extremely sensitive to light and sound. Even a thread of light through the curtain gap or the sound of opening his door can instantly overwhelm him, as if his head is being cut through. He can’t even talk or walk like a normal person. This is worse than the concussion he had last year, and he doesn’t know how much worse it’s going to get, or how many more days he’ll be trapped in the dark.

The only thing in his mind is that Ilya is coming back tonight. To be honest, he has no idea what time it is, or how far away “tonight” actually is. The room had become a timeless box of darkness where all hours felt identical. Ever since Yuna walked in with a few steps that almost destroyed his head and told him that Ilya will be back soon, the thought has occupied his mind so completely that he falls asleep without the usual strange dreams.

When he wakes up, he finds Ilya’s head resting on his stomach. One of Shane’s hands is held tightly in Ilya’s. It is larger and warmer, as if he is never going to let go. Ilya doesn’t smell like the shampoo in their house or his parents’ house. He must have come straight to the bed from the arena, even though the arena is a five-hour flight away.

“Hi,” Shane says when Ilya’s head moves slightly. He attempts to force a real smile onto his face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Ilya mumbles, not quite awake. “I’m back.”

A long silence settles between them. After five years of marriage and being teammates, they’ve spent enough time together that they aren’t in a hurry to talk or to have sex. Shane feels more comfortable than he used to just letting the silence embrace him. There’s nothing he needs to say right now. He just enjoys the weight of Ilya’s hand.

Ilya inhales sharply, seemingly collecting his words, but he just says, “I missed you.”

“It’s been like a zillion years for me in this room,” Shane says. “I missed you so much. Did you win tonight?”

Ilya grins. “Bad news for you. We won without you. Perhaps you’re not necessary for the team anymore.”

“Fuck off, Ilya. I’m the first-line center.”

“Not right now, man.”

Shane rolls his eyes until it hurts. “You’re such an asshole.”

Ilya gets a bad feeling when the team physician pats Shane’s hand gently and tells him it’s just a matter of waiting and observing for a few more days. He tells a small lie about his back hurting from the air mattress. It is not entirely a lie; his lower back actually aches, but not enough to need help. He follows the physician into the living room, and Yuna follows almost immediately. Ilya knows Yuna. He feels worse now.

“He is not going back to the ice soon, right?” Yuna’s frankness is sometimes scary.

“I would say we need more time, but… probably, yes.”

“Not in a short time, or…” Yuna stops, the unspoken question hanging in the air. A cold certainty settles in Ilya’s mind. He was terrified of the answer.

“If he were still 25, I would be more positive,” the physician shrugs. “He’s 35 now. He can recover from this one.” He shakes his head slightly. “But he might not stand the next one. You need to think about the future.”

Ilya is not the one who usually thinks about the future. That was never his responsibility in this relationship. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Yuna thinks enough for both of them; she responds with an assertive nod. “I get what you’re saying. Thank you for letting us know.” She sounds official. Ilya looks at her rigid back and hears the unnatural steadiness in her voice. It is too official.

He isn’t sure how he feels yet. His mind just goes … empty. He feels as though he’s been thrown into a vacuum with no sound, no scent and nothing to react to. He doesn’t remember saying goodbye to the physician or how long he stood frozen.

“Dinner is ready!”

David’s voice breaks through the void. He inhales heavily, realizing he has been holding it, and then air comes into his body. Yuna is gently patting his back and pulls him into a warm hug. Senses return to his body, as if he had forgotten he was alive until this very moment.

“Let’s have this dinner together first,” she says.

Ilya nods to her, then nods to himself. But he senses a heavy weight settling into his future.