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Ilya hadn’t had a cigarette in too long. He had quit. He was quitting. Shane only ever teased him about tasting like smoke, but he knew it really bothered the man. It was a bad habit. He didn’t think he’d need to rely on it anymore. Not if he got to have Shane now.
The sun painted the sky orange above him. It hadn’t been too long since he had let those three words slip from his lips, and Shane had somehow said them back.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Ilya would play that moment on repeat in his head for as long as he was alive. It wasn’t the first time he had told Shane he loved him, but it would always be the moment when he found out Shane felt the same.
It didn’t feel real. How could it? Shane Hollander loved him. Him. Ilya came off as cocky. Annoying. Obnoxious. Asshole. Douchebag. He had heard it all. Some of it from Shane’s own mouth. And while it was true, he wasn’t really like that. Not inside. But no one had seen that part of him before. No one but Shane. But still, even if he was all those things too, Shane loved him. Despite all of that. Maybe because of it too, a little. It didn’t feel real.
Being here felt even less real. Alone. At Shane’s cottage. In love. He thought back to the first time they met, all those years ago now. Ilya had just been desperate to smoke. Stupid lighter fighting against the wind. And then Shane Hollander, beautiful, anxious, awkward little Shane Hollander, walked up and introduced himself. Extended his hand. And maybe part of Ilya fell in love right then and there. He was just too naive to admit it then.
He could admit it now. He’s loved Shane from the moment their palms first met standing outside in cold Saskatchewan. He’s loved Shane every time their skin met after that. He’s loved Shane from every kiss to every curse word, and he’ll love Shane for the rest of his life. However long that life is.
The trees swayed with the slow breeze that blew over his back. Ilya’s eyes followed the water as its soft waves wrinkled. He wanted to be thinking of Shane. And he was. He was always thinking of Shane. But right now he thought of someone else too.
His mother.
She was so beautiful. And so young. Too young for all she had gone through. That was a hard thing to think about. His mother had never gotten the chance to feel this kind of love. To see someone, to think of someone, and feel your chest burn with want and desire and happiness. Maybe if she had the chance to love someone like this she wouldn’t have…
He felt an unwanted tear slip down his cheek. There was no use in thinking that now. She was gone. But maybe not always. He wore her crucifix around his neck every second of every day. Maybe she was with him. And maybe… as silly as it was… maybe she had sent him this. Sent him Shane.
If his mother had lived, he wouldn’t be here now. Not just here, as in the cottage, with Shane. In Canada. Or Boston. Maybe he would have never played hockey. Or maybe he would have never felt the same pressure to be so good at it. Maybe he would have never felt the need to escape Russia. Not if she had still been there.
But she wasn’t. And Russia no longer felt like home. Had it ever really?
He supposed none of that mattered now. Now that he was here. Now that he had Shane. And got to keep him. Forever.
Maybe forever was far too hopeful. But Ilya couldn’t help but imagine this for the rest of his life. Summers here, at the cottage. With Shane and his sunkissed skin, freckles dark and lighting up his face. Maybe in a few years there would be circles on their ring fingers from wedding ring tans. And then in a few more there would be tiny feet padding against the dock as they pushed off into the water. Ilya wanted it all. Whatever he had to do to get it.
Ilya liked hockey. Did he love it? No, not really. Shane loved hockey. Shane needed hockey. Ilya supposed he could live without it. What he couldn’t live without was Shane, and hockey had given him Shane, so he figured he owed the sport some respect. But switching teams for Shane was nothing. If Shane asked right now, for Ilya to never go back… To become the male equivalent of a WAG. To spend the rest of his life watching Shane from the stands, wearing a jersey with Hollander splayed across the back, to never skate again… Ilya would probably say yes. He wasn’t sure Shane would say the same.
But that didn’t really matter to Ilya. If he was going to believe Shane was a gift he was given, he would make damn sure he treasured it. Even if that meant giving some things up.
Ilya didn’t really believe in much. Maybe God. Maybe. He believed in his mother, though. Wherever she was, maybe she really did this. Gave him this. A chance of his own. A reason to not sink as far down as she had. A reason to stay. A person as wonderful and perfect as Shane. Maybe all those years ago Shane Hollander didn’t just find Ilya smoking by accident. Something, some force in the universe had led his feet to the back of that rink and gave him the courage to walk up and extend his hand. His mother could have given the universe that push that pulled them together. Or maybe it just happened on its own.
Ilya preferred to think she had a hand in it.
She would have loved Shane. She would have found all of his quirks adorable. The same way Ilya did. The little crinkle his nose did when he was upset. The way it scrunched up all his freckles. His freckles. His awkward stances in tense situations. His horrible style. His undying love for hockey. His dedication to the sport. His passion for it. His passion for everything he did. How hard he worked. How hard he had always worked. But most of all, Ilya was sure that she would have loved that Shane loved him.
“Spasibo, mama.”
Thankfully Ilya had mumbled it quiet enough that there was no way Shane had heard it. Because Ilya hadn’t even realized Shane had come beside him until now, holding out a mug to him while he shrugged a blanket off his own shoulders. Ilya took the mug and placed it to his right, quickly tapping out his cigarette. He hoped Shane would forgive him for the quick smoke. He was sure he would. Shane then reached up and gently laid the blanket over Ilya’s shoulders and then settled it over his own again. He found his spot at Ilya’s side, and neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to.
It probably wasn’t actually there. Just his hopeful imagination. But Ilya swore he felt a cold shiver run through him as the wind passed over them. Felt a soft whisper of a voice he had only heard in his head for years now. A voice he was starting to forget, if he was honest. And he felt it so strongly he almost fell forward. If it hadn’t been for Shane beside him, steadying him without even a physical touch, he was sure he would have. But Shane was here. Shane was always going to be here from now on. The wind floated forward, leaving just the two of them alone. Together. Forever.
Spasibo, mama. Spasibo.