But even knowing all of this, Shane had clearly missed something important.
He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to drive right back to Ottawa and apologize, but Ilya had made it clear that he wanted space, and Shane should respect that. Maybe they could talk tomorrow. Or tonight. Or…
Shit. Shane really wanted to call him right now. Or at least text him. The season resumed tomorrow and they wouldn’t be able to see each other for who knew how long. At least a week or two.
He typed out a message to Ilya. I’m sorry. Call me when you want to talk. Please.
God, was that pushy? Should Shane just leave him alone?
Fuck it. Shane hit send. Ilya could ignore it if he wanted, but Shane really hoped he wouldn’t.
He waited a few minutes, just in case Ilya decided to call him right away. But Ilya didn’t even text, and Shane’s heart sank.
Needing to talk to someone, he called his mom.
“I messed up,” Shane said as soon as her face filled his phone screen.
“What? With your coach? It’s a day off. How could you—”
“No. With Ilya.”
The concern left her face immediately. She even smiled. “There’s nothing you could do to ruin things with him. What happened?”
Shane sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I take him for granted. Everything he’s given up, and everything he’s changed.” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “He’s lonely, y’know? And I’m living my life, happy as can be, assuming that our rare times together are enough for him.”
“He told you this?”
“More or less. I mean, no. But he said enough to help me figure out the rest.” He exhaled. “I’m the worst boyfriend.”
“That’s not true. And Ilya would agree with me, so don’t start.”
Shane pressed his lips together, trying to fight the lump that had formed in his throat. “I don’t deserve him.”
Mom fixed him with an exasperated glare. “Shane.”
“He’s going to break up with me,” Shane said miserably. “This was never going to work. It’s too hard. I’m asking too much of him.”
“He’s an adult,” Mom said. “And he loves you. Against all odds, you boys are making this work. I know it’s not ideal, but I’m proud of how hard you’ve both worked to be together. It’s powerful.” She laughed softly. “I wish I could brag about it to everyone I meet.”
Shane shook his head. “Nothing to brag about now. I’ve been a complete asshole. Shit, I’m so selfish. I thought being closer together would make things better for both of us, but he was happier before.”
“This is a conversation you need to have with him. For what it’s worth, he likes being in Ottawa. He told us that he likes this team better than his old one. He loves his teammates, and his new coach.”
Shane’s heart lifted a bit. “He said he likes Ottawa?”
“More than once. And honestly I think he’d live in the city dump if it meant being closer to you. He’s head over heels.”
“But that’s the problem! If he’s making all of his decisions based on me, he’s going to resent me. He already does.”
“Talk to him,” Mom said patiently.
“He doesn’t want to talk.”
“You’ve tried? He said that?”
“He ignored my text.”
“Uh-huh,” Mom said flatly, clearly not convinced. “When did you send it?”
Shane’s cheeks heated. “Like, twenty minutes ago.”
“Good grief, Shane. He could be in the shower. Or on a treadmill. Or asleep. Or charging his phone. Relax!”
Shane huffed a laugh. “You sound like Ilya.”
“Because we’re very much aligned in our views when it comes to you.”
“You both think I’m an uptight wet blanket.”
“We both love you to death, and want you to be happy. And we both know you can be your own worst enemy.”
“Well. I had another enemy, but then I fell in love with him.”
Mom laughed. “Talk to him. Give him time to respond, and if he doesn’t, then try again. And for god’s sake listen to him.”
“I will. And if he won’t talk to me, I’ll…drive to Ottawa and stand outside his door until—”
“Or you could just be cool for once in your life.”
Shane’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. Ilya is such a bad influence on you!”
“He’ll call. I promise. Be patient.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“And Ilya loves you.”
Shane nodded, hoping those words were still true. “Thanks. Bye.”
He stared at his phone for several minutes after the call ended, trying to will Ilya to text him back. When no messages came, Shane opened Instagram and scrolled through Ilya’s posts. He never paid much attention to them, especially since Ilya mostly posted photos of random things he saw, and rarely posted selfies.
The most recent post was from yesterday—Christmas—and it was of the foosball table Shane had given him. No caption. He scrolled and found a photo of the exercise ball Shane had been balancing on in Ilya’s gym. One of the latest puzzle Ilya had completed with Shane’s dad. One of Ilya’s loon tattoo.
One of the two plastic heart rings, together on Shane’s dresser.
Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand.
And Shane hadn’t even bothered to look at it before. Not really.
He looked now. He scrolled until his eyes were so blurry he had to give up and sob into his hands instead. How could Shane have doubted for a second how fiercely Ilya loved him?
“This isn’t working,” Ilya said as soon as Galina closed her office door behind him.
“Our sessions, you mean?”
“Yes. I feel worse than ever. Everything is fucked.” He knew he wasn’t being cool, but it had been a rough twenty-four hours and he was barely holding himself together. He’d turned his phone off yesterday as soon as Shane had left his house. He’d spent a couple of hours lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to nap. Then he’d gone to the gym in his basement and rode his exercise bike hard. After that he’d punished his heavy bag for a while.
He hadn’t seen Shane’s text until this morning, and he hadn’t replied yet. He didn’t know what to say. He’d already had his appointment with Galina booked for today, so he’d decided to talk to her before reaching out to Shane. He wasn’t above wanting someone to tell him what to do because he was fucking lost.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Galina said calmly.
“No,” Ilya snapped. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You said I would feel better. You’re supposed to fix me.”
Galina didn’t react to the anger in his voice, or the absurd finger-pointing. She only looked at him with quiet interest, and maybe a hint of amusement. “You’ve been coming to see me for less than two months. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”