Ilya put his finger away, but despite feeling foolish, he needed her to understand how urgent the situation was. “I can’t do this if I am going to feel worse. I have to focus on hockey, and I have to be a good boyfriend, and I can’t do either of those things if I’m this fucking sad.”
“Ilya,” she said firmly. “Sit.”
Ilya sat, sighing heavily as he did so. “What’s wrong with me?”
Galina sat in her own chair and crossed her legs. “You are a human being with a lot of responsibilities and pressure. You play a physically taxing, dangerous sport for a living. You are hiding a very big secret while also living your life in a spotlight. You are in love with a man you aren’t allowed to be in love with. You are carrying trauma from your childhood that you’ve never allowed yourself to process properly. And also you feel things very deeply. Deeper than maybe anyone realizes.”
Ilya blinked. He hadn’t actually been expecting an answer. Especially not one that was so…thorough.
“Is that all?” he said dryly.
“I think you are depressed.”
Ilya hugged his own chest protectively. “Like my mother.”
“Not necessarily. Depression is complicated and manifests in many different ways. And there are many ways to treat it.”
“Drugs.” Ilya didn’t want drugs. Other than painkillers that were absolutely necessary, he avoided pills. Pills could be a weapon.
“Again, not necessarily. Antidepressants can be very helpful for some people, but they aren’t the only thing that helps.” She waved a hand in the air, indicating her office. “This helps. Being here. Talking. Some people respond well to things like exercise.”
Ilya snorted. “I can’t exercise more than I already do.”
“No,” she agreed, “but you can do physical activity that is purely for you. Not for hockey. A hike, or a long bike ride. Tennis with a friend. That sort of thing.”
“In Ottawa? In the winter?”
She smiled. “It doesn’t have to be exercise. We haven’t known each other for very long, but I think you need to do more things that are just for you in general. Your priorities seem to be divided between hockey and your boyfriend.”
“I like those things,” Ilya argued.
“Last time we met I suggested you talk to Shane about the things you’ve given up for him. Did you do that?”
“Yes!” Ilya practically shouted. “That’s why everything is fucked!”
“He didn’t take it well?”
“We had a fight. Yesterday. I haven’t spoken to him since because he doesn’t understand anything. He asked if I’d choose him over hockey and I couldn’t believe he even asked, you know?”
“What made him ask that?”
Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, wishing he didn’t have to say the next thing. “I asked him first,” he mumbled.
Galina’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And why did you ask him?”
“Because…” Ugh. This was embarrassing. “He hurt my feelings. I asked him if he wanted to go to a party at my teammate’s house.” He sighed. “It was stupid. Of course he was right to say no. We have never done anything like that before, and it would have been ridiculous to bring him but…I wanted to. I want to introduce him as my boyfriend to my friends.”
“That would be an enormous step,” Galina said. “One that would require some serious discussion beforehand, I would imagine.”
“Yes, well. We didn’t discuss. I asked him, he said no, and I got angry.”
Galina made some notes while Ilya stewed in his own humiliation for a moment. “I take it,” she finally said, “that Shane is not ready to go public.”
“No. I don’t even know if I’m ready. But some days I think I’ll scream or die if I have to keep this secret any longer.”
“Does he know that?”
“No. I…haven’t talked to him much about my feelings still. I still have not told him that I’m seeing you.” Ilya’s eyes began to burn with tears. “I don’t know when I’ll see him again. Not for a week at least. We both have busy schedules, and road trips.” He swallowed. “I’m scared. I think I’ve ruined everything. I shouldn’t have mentioned that party.”
“I think you need to talk to him. Really talk. I’ll bet you’ve been keeping important things from each other because you don’t want to ruin the precious time you have alone together.”
Ilya nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
She smiled. “You might have to suffer through a tough conversation. I suspect you’ll both feel better on the other side of it.”
Ilya knew she was right, but he couldn’t imagine how to start the conversation with Shane. At the same time he felt a strong urge to leave the appointment and call him right away.
“What do you want to say to him?” Galina asked. “If you could say anything.”
Ilya considered her question for a long time, scrolling through the long list in his head of things he should probably discuss with Shane.
His lips curved up on one side. “Are you going to pretend to be Shane?”
She smiled back. “Not exactly.”
“Good. You’d have to be much more annoying.”
“I doubt that’s what you want to tell him.”
“No. I tell him that he’s annoying all the time.”
Galina waited patiently for Ilya to get serious. Finally, Ilya took a slow breath, in and out, closed his eyes, and started talking.
Shane was about to head to the arena for his game against Toronto when Ilya finally called him.
“Oh my god. Hi.” Shane didn’t even pretend to be chill. “Ilya, listen, I—”
“Is okay,” Ilya said. “I should have let you stay. We need to talk, I think.”
Shane sighed with relief. “Definitely. Can we FaceTime? I want to see you.”
“Yes.”
A FaceTime request popped up and Shane clicked on it, realizing only after the video feed opened that he probably looked like shit. He’d barely slept, he was wearing his glasses, and his hair was in a very hastily made bun.
But he stopped caring about any of that once Ilya’s face filled his screen. He looked so tired but so soft at the same time, his lips curved just slightly upwards on one side. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink, like he’d just come in from the cold.
“Ilya,” Shane said, because he couldn’t think of any other words.
“I’m sorry I asked you to go to the party,” Ilya said. “And that I was mad that you said no. It was…not reasonable.”
“No. It’s fine. I mean, yes, I was surprised and confused, but I was such an asshole to you. You’ve given up so much and I don’t appreciate it enough. I get that.”
“I would give up more,” Ilya said simply. “Anything for you.”
“I don’t want you to. God, are you okay? I know you hate talking about your feelings, but I’m worried.”
Ilya’s jaw worked for a moment, as if he was trying to decide what to say. Then he said, “I have been seeing a therapist.”