Release

August

Shane has been avoiding their house for almost a month. He went to the cottage the day after their conversation on the ice. He stayed there. He practiced on the ice every day. He did his yoga. He watched endless television. Admittedly, it is the saddest stay he has had in ten years.

It is not that he and Ilya aren’t talking. They send morning and night greetings. They share calendar items or errands. But Ilya never asks Shane to come back. Shane never proposes it. It doesn’t feel like a war. It feels like a heavy silence neither of them knows how to break. The elephant in the room has grown too large to ignore.

Today is especially hard for him because it’s the first day of the training camp. He was examined by the team physician at the arena a few days ago and determined that he is not recovered to the state that he can participate in the camp, and unfortunately, he is very sure that judgement is fair to his conditions. Ilya texted him to say he will be joining the camp yesterday, so Shane replied that he could not join. Ilya was typing a bit and stopped, then Shane saw he sent over “I am sorry.” Shane didn’t know what he was sorry for, and he felt too heavy to respond, so he let the words sit there.

The weight carried over into the next morning, and he decided to just rest a bit today. He has been on this top trending TV show for over four hours before he finds out there are text messages from Troy on his phone, telling him that Ilya sprained his ankle in the training session and headed back earlier than expected.

“It’s mild. Nothing too bad. I guess he’ll be fine in a week or so. ” It’s supposed not to be a big deal. It happens all the time in training or in the game, possibly the most common problem a player can have in ice hockey. Maybe Ilya just forgot how to warm up or had tripped on ice, and the team physician must have examined carefully and given him the right treatment. There should be nothing to worry about, but Shane’s brain is suddenly occupied by the single fact that Ilya’s ankle is hurt, he just cannot stop it.

20 minutes. Shane orders himself to calm down temporarily. If Ilya does not send any message in 20 minutes, Shane would leave this cottage and go back home.

Ilya is lying on the couch with an ice pack on his ankle, surprised by the noise of the front door. He doesn’t have to ask who it is because there is only one rude person who would open their front door without knocking.

“How is your ankle?” That person moves with some urgency and stops a few feet away from the couch, sounding concerned.

“Not bad.” Ilya stays in his lying position comfortably, not even turning towards the source of the voice,“You should text.”

Shane moves closer. “I mean, this is also my house.” He walks around the couch and sits at the end. He takes Ilya’s foot in his hands and strokes it gently. Ilya tries to pull away, but Shane holds on.

“So what brought you here?”

“Your ankle.”

“Bullshit.”

“You know I can worry too much under the circumstances, like I am worrying about you right now.” Shane says anxiously. “It is probably irrational and I am not going to lie.”

“Mm. You can see. No big deal. Are you ready to head back?” Ilya sits up and stares at Shane.

“Why are you always such an asshole to me?”

Ilya leans forward, “Because I tried to be good and it didn’t work out.” Shane can tell from his eyes that he is not angry right now, nor sad. It’s just a part of his strategy to be an asshole, and Shane can definitely work with it. Ilya continues, “Also, I am a bit pissed off that you could actually stay away for a month. I guess we are no longer young.”

“Not like I enjoyed it.” Shane shrugs. He starts to regret it now, as he should have come back a little bit earlier, which could have made things a little bit easier. “I am sorry that I was so self-absorbed. You have every right to feel worried about my condition and my future. Like I am worrying about your ankle right now.”

“Your concussion is much worse than this stupid ankle.” Ilya reminds him.

“I know. I know it has been almost half a year and I am not recovering the way I expected.” Shane lowers his head. “I just need a little more time.”

Ilya puts his arms around Shane, “You know I can wait.”

Shane stays in the hug until it shifts into a kiss. He remembers the taste of Ilya and feels the tension finally draining away his body.

Shane is not in the living room when Ilya comes back from the arena. His ankle is fine; the team physician told him he can be back on the ice for practice in a few days, and he will be ready for the opener for sure. The problem now is whether he wants to go back or not. Ilya forced himself through the first day of training camp, but now he has someone to talk to, about his future and about their future.

Ilya searches the house. Not in the bedroom. Not in the fitness room. Not in the trophy room either. He checks his phone again to make sure he didn’t miss any messages Shane might have left, then realizes there’s one more place he should check.

Their mini-rink for practice was remodeled last year. Shane is sitting on the bench, taping his stick carefully. Ilya walks over and sits by his side. “Are you going on the ice today?”

Shane shakes his head. “No.”

“Then why?”

Shane stays silent for a minute, continuing to finish taping the stick in his hand. Ilya looks at him patiently, not moving. Shane is taping slowly, overlapping the tape in perfect layers. Ilya waits until the last bit of the stick butt is covered, until Shane cuts the tape, and until Shane takes the stick and flexes it to test the grip. Shane hands him the stick. Ilya looks back at him in confusion.

Shane inhales. “I am retiring.”

“Wait. Then I—”

“You should continue to play.” Shane pushes the stick towards Ilya, “Take this with you.”

“Why?” Ilya blurts out, “How? How can I play without you? Do you finally somehow find out a way to torture me?”

“I know you can. You know you can. The hockey world deserves you.”

“You also need me!”

Shane smiles widely, but Ilya feels like he can see tiny tears in his eyes. “You can definitely play five more years, even though you eat like a teenager. Don’t make me jealous.”

Ilya knows that Shane is right about it. He sighs and takes the stick. “What about this?”

Shane blinks. “You can take me to the rink.”

Oh, that’s it. Ilya thought Shane would refuse to retire and keep himself on the injury list for two more years before committing to it then. Ilya would have totally accepted that. He didn’t imagine Shane would come up with such a brilliant and creative way to stay on the ice. Ilya has to admit, he likes this idea. He nods, a genuine, easy smile returning to his face.

“I promise to.”

Shane feels like he has a lot of words he wants to say right now, but none of them come to him easily. He is grateful that Ilya waited for him, not only this time but every time. He loves that Ilya is always by his side and is going to carry his legacy in the future. He could say those words out loud, but it would never match the degree of what he feels in his heart.

Ilya changes into his skates quickly and takes off onto the ice, carrying the stick Shane just taped. “I wanted to say last time, I believe your stick is the reason why you have a weak backhand.”

“Fuck off. Be careful with your ankle before you talk shit.”

“I am not that fragile. Team physician greenlights me to skate casually.”

“Okay then. Good luck perfecting my techniques.”

Ilya snorts. “Wow. Sounds hard.”

Shane’s eyes follow him instinctively. He thinks no one in the hockey world skates better than Ilya, maybe except himself. But that is over now. When Ilya turns back to face Shane, a cocky smile expands on his face. “You see? I can handle this very well.”

Shane remembers the summer before his rookie season, and even before that, the first time he saw this smile on Ilya’s face.

There are things that have never changed since then.

End Notes

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