Chapter Text
April 2017
“I don’t want to keep seeing each other.” Ilya says.
He’s only been at Shane’s apartment for five minutes, still has his shoes on.
Maybe he never intended to take them off at all.
Ilya looks at Shane from where he’s standing in the kitchen, face void of emotion, as he waits for an answer. Shane thinks about the dinner he was going to make for them, and how excited he had been knowing they’d finally see each other tonight.
All Shane has wanted to do since he knew Ilya’s father died was hold the other man; give him comfort and reassurance and…love. Now that he’s back from Russia, he’s been looking forward to actually being there for Ilya through his grief.
He thought they were more on the same page now, too. He apologized for running out back in the fall. He told Ilya that he likes him.
And Ilya had said the same thing, hadn’t he? Did Shane completely misread this?
“But you…you said that we -”
“I didn’t say anything, Shane.”
Shane swallows down the nausea he can feel crawling up his throat. This isn’t right. Ilya’s lying right now. He has to be. He’s lying to Shane’s face and he doesn’t know why.
“We talked about this, Ilya. About feeling more for each other.” Shane tries again, reaching for Ilya’s hand. He feels like he might cry when Ilya pulls it away, out of reach. He takes a few steps back, too.
“No, Shane.”
Shane tries to take a deep breath through the onslaught of hurt he feels. His chest is so tight it’s hard to breathe. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I need this to be over, Hollander. It’s gone on long enough.” Ilya snaps, his face still unreadable. Shane wants to think that Ilya looks hurt by what he’s saying, hurt by the idea of them being over.
But he’s not sure of anything anymore.
Shane doesn’t know what to say. He wants to fix this. He wants to beg Ilya not to do this, not to be afraid of how good they are together. He thinks about Ilya saying ‘you don’t like me’ when they were in Florida together - like Ilya doesn’t even like himself, so how could he believe Shane likes him, too.
You’re wrong, he wants to say. You’re so fucking wrong if you’re doing this because you think you’re unlikeable. I don’t just like you, I love you.
But Ilya clearly doesn’t want to hear it anyway.
Shane goes quiet when he’s overwhelmed, when he doesn’t know what to say. He breaks eye contact with Ilya and stares at the floor instead, biting his bottom lip. He tries not to cry, but there’s no point fighting it.
The idea of Ilya basically breaking up with him is too much to bear.
He lets the tears fall to the floor, wishing he could just be angry instead of unbearably devastated. He wishes he could yell something at Ilya, convince him to change his mind about this. But that wouldn’t do any good.
If Ilya doesn’t want him why would Shane scream at him to feel differently? He’s already made up his mind. Ilya wants out of this. Has he felt this way for a long time? Has being with Shane been such a hardship for him - even before Rose?
“I’m gonna go.” Ilya says after a moment, still standing in the same spot.
Shane doesn’t say anything. He just keeps crying, wishing he hadn’t let himself believe that what he thought was between them was real and worth something. He wishes he had just continued to not expect anything from Ilya except sex.
“Hollander, come on. You don’t need to cry like this.” Ilya doesn’t say the words with any sort of mocking tone. He’s not making fun of Shane for crying, but simply stating a fact. Like it could be easy for Shane to be alright with this if he just decided not to be upset.
“Sorry that I’m not as calm about this as you clearly are.” He says, wiping his face. He tries to breathe. “Maybe this has always been easy for you. Nothing special or important. But it’s always meant something to me.”
“Shane -” Ilya takes a step towards him, but it’s Shane who takes a step back this time; no longer wanting closeness.
“No.” He says, shaking his head and Ilya freezes again. “This is what you really want?” He’s surprised by how calm his voice is. He’s still crying, but he’s not sobbing the words out like he thought he would be.
He looks at Ilya again, their eyes meeting, and Ilya swallows thickly.
“It’s easier.”
Shane scoffs. “That’s not what I asked.”
Ilya’s the one to break eye contact this time. He looks down at his feet, tapping the floor with his toes on his right foot. He rubs his nose. Then he chews on his fingernail, a nervous habit.
The silence stretches on between them for so long that Shane thinks he isn’t going to get an answer at all.
But then Ilya says, “Yes, it’s what I want. I’m sorry if you are upset, but I think it’s for the best.”
Why? Shane wants to ask. He doesn’t understand. But maybe that’s because they’re different people who want different things. Shane wants Ilya - whatever kind of life they could have together. He doesn’t want to date other people, or sleep with other people.
For a long, long time all he’s wanted and thought about is the man in front of him. Since he was still basically a teenager, when he thinks about sex and love and feelings for someone else, he thinks of Ilya.
He can’t imagine not having him in his life.
But clearly Ilya doesn’t feel the same. Which is his right.
But it fucking hurts like nothing Shane’s experienced before. Worst of all, there’s nothing he can do about it.
“Okay.” He makes himself say, nodding. “Okay. Can you - um, lock the door on your way out?” He asks, not waiting for an answer. He turns on his heel and walks calmly towards the stairs.
He’s halfway up, back turned to the kitchen, when Ilya says, “Bye, Shane.” And his voice definitely falters, cracks a little bit on Shane’s name.
Like it does actually hurt him to do this.
When Shane turns around to say something back, he hears the front door slam.
**
“He did what?”
“Rose -”
“No, I’m gonna kick his ass Shane. What the hell?” She yells through the phone, huffing the way she does when she’s actually angry. It takes a lot to upset her, Shane’s learned. She doesn’t yell easily.
Shane’s sitting on the floor with his back against his bed, the way he’s been for the last hour. His tears dried up a while ago, but he still felt such a sense of emptiness that he needed to call someone. Rose is the only one who knows that he’s gay, or that he had ‘someone’ he needed to figure things out with.
He didn’t think he’d be giving her an update like this though.
“He doesn’t want to be with me. He wasn’t rude about it. I just…didn’t expect him not to feel the same way.” Shane sniffs, trying not to start crying again. His eyes are puffy and sore. He knows he needs to drink some water. His mouth is dry, lips peeling.
“Oh, Shane.” Rose sighs. “I’m so sorry.”
He closes his eyes, taking more deep breaths. He hasn’t told her that he’s talking about Ilya. He wouldn't do that, especially now that they’re not…together. He wishes he could talk about Ilya though, tell her everything he loves about the other man.
His laugh.
His sarcasm and dry wit. The way he kisses Shane, steadies him.
How does Shane even begin to let go of him?
“I know it feels like you’ll never get over this, Shane, but I promise you will. It’s going to take time and probably a lot more tears, but you’ll get there.” Rose says, but Shane doesn’t believe her.
He knows how much he loves Ilya. And how much hope he’d had about tonight. He was going to invite Ilya to his cottage in the summer. He had thought they’d maybe make their relationship official, at least to themselves. Be together properly. Exclusive.
Losing that, knowing Ilya was thinking about their breakup rather than making things official, feels like he’s been flung off a building.
He feels so fucking broken he can barely move.
“Shane?”
“I have to go. Thanks for talking to me, Rose.” His voice is flat and monotone.
“I think someone should come and be with you, Shane. You don’t sound alright.” She insists, but he’s already hanging up the phone.
**
“You good, cap?” Hayden asks him a few days later.
“Yeah.”
“Shane.”
“I’m good, Hayd. Don’t fuss.”
He’s not good.
He knows he isn’t. He hasn’t been sleeping very much. He’s barely making it through practice, barely answering all his texts and emails. He isn't a good captain or hockey player or son or friend right now.
He feels so empty and detached. When he opens his eyes in the morning he cries. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to do anything except lie there because everything feels so hard.
A week after Ilya breaks up with him, Shane is in Toronto. He’s sitting in JJ’s hotel room after their game - they lost 3-1 - watching everyone eat pizza. Nobody is celebrating or particularly happy about their loss, but everyone keeps commenting about how good the pizza is.
Shane grabs a slice and takes a bite. Fuck, it tastes really good. He doesn’t even remember the last time he had pizza.
“Woah, capitaine, you are actually having some this time, eh?” JJ whistles, grinning as Shane polishes off the slice. He reaches for another as he nods.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
He catches Hayden frowning at him as Shane eats a third slice and then a fourth, but he doesn’t comment.
Shane throws the pizza up an hour later, grateful Hayden isn’t back yet to their shared room.
His stomach is empty, but he feels better somehow.
**
He’s trying to tell himself it was one time.
A few pieces of pizza made him feel ill, so he helped himself puke it back up. He’d been sad about Ilya, sad about their team’s loss, and it was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.
But he can’t stop thinking about how good the pizza tasted.
The melted cheese. The pepperoni. The bacon. He hasn’t let himself think about pizza in a long time, the same way he doesn’t think about ice cream or cake, donuts or greasy hamburgers. There’s no point thinking about those kinds of foods because he doesn’t eat those kinds of foods. He hasn’t for years.
But it feels like a dam has broken inside of him.
All he wants is pizza. A donut. A milkshake.
If he can’t have Ilya, if Ilya doesn’t want him, maybe he can have pizza instead.
It’s a stupid thought. A dangerous thought.
But it won’t leave.
**
May 2017
Lily
Hi
Jane
Hey
Lily
Happy birthday
Jane
Thanks
Lily
You are celebrating?
Jane
Not really
Parents are taking me out for dinner
Lily
Ok
Have fun
Shane buys himself a birthday cake that’s meant for probably ten people that night and eats the entire thing. With his hands.
**
Montreal keeps losing games.
Shane can’t help but feel like it’s his fault, even though he’s been trying his best to throw himself into hockey and training to distract from how badly he’s hurting. He’s been working out more, running harder drills for his team, but it wasn’t enough.
The Metros are out of the playoffs only two games after Shane’s birthday and the disappointment is crushing. He makes himself tell his team what a good job they’ve done, how he’s proud of all of them for trying their best, and it’s the truth.
But he’s insanely disappointed in himself. If he hadn’t been so distracted, so devastatingly sad about Ilya, he could have done better. He could have led them to another victory.
If he’d been able to stop himself from eating such bad foods, having night after night of binges, maybe -
“We’ll get ‘em next year.” Hayden tells him as they’re leaving the arena after their last game of the season, bumping shoulders with Shane.
“Yeah.” He swallows down the nausea that’s been constant since their loss.
“Shane, seriously. Don’t beat yourself up, man.”
He sighs. “It’s hard not to.”
Hayden walks with him outside. Everyone agreed to meet up at a bar to have drinks and let loose tonight, but Shane is planning to leave as early as he can.
Just as they’re about to get into Hayden’s rental car - he’d offered to drive them - he puts a hand on Shane’s back and stops him.
“Buddy, I’ve been worried about you.” He says seriously, which makes Shane pause. Hayden is always joking around and teasing, a perpetual goofball because that’s just his personality. But he sounds genuinely concerned, and it throws Shane off.
“Hayden -”
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but you’ve been different the last few weeks.” His eye contact is direct and overwhelming. Shane looks at the ground. “Did something happen?”
Shane bites his bottom lip, wondering what to say.
Part of him wants to tell Hayden that he went through a breakup and he’s been struggling. He would be vague about it, obviously, but tell him enough to talk about it.
Maybe he could also tell him about how food has taken up so much space in his head that he feels like he’s going crazy.
Keeping it a secret can’t be a good thing.
But he also doesn’t want to burden his friend, either. Hayden has a whole summer ahead of him with Jackie and their kids. He wants Hayden to enjoy it without being worried about him.
He decides to just tell him about the first thing.
“I, um. You know the girl I used to see in Boston?” He asks eventually, and Hayden nods. “We kind of - well, she ended things between us. Said we can’t see each other anymore. It hurt more than I thought it would. I’ve been trying to get past it, but -”
“Oh, dude. I’m sorry. That really sucks.” Hayden pats him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Shane shrugs, willing away the tears in his eyes. “I was trying to just focus on hockey.”
Hayden pulls him into a proper hug. It’s really fucking nice, actually, so Shane hugs him back. He hasn’t been hugged in awhile. A few tears escape his eyes and he wipes them away when Hayden pulls back.
“You really liked her, huh?”
God, if you only knew, he thinks. “Yeah, I did.”
“There’s no chance you two could work things out?”
Shane shakes his head. Ilya’s made it clear that they’re over for good. “She doesn’t want to be with me. I gotta respect that.”
They head to the bar, making conversation about other things. Once they get there, he has some drinks with his team. And after an hour or so, he eats chicken wings and other greasy food that some of the guys order. He ends up ordering more, too, because they taste so fucking good. He genuinely forgot how delicious fried food tastes.
“Shots!” JJ shouts. “We have gotta do some shots, boys!”
Shane accepts a shot, and then another. After a while they stop burning his throat.
A few hours into their celebration, Shane is drunk. He didn’t think he’d had that much tonight, but he hasn’t had any alcohol in months so it’s going straight to his head. He’s able to stand up, but only barely. He should probably go back to their hotel.
Hayden is DD’ing tonight, and told Shane earlier not to go home without him, but Shane sneaks out anyway while his friend is talking to someone else. He wants to be alone, wants time to throw up all the food he just ate before he falls asleep.
As he pulls out his phone to order a ride, he realizes he has messages from Ilya waiting for him.
Lily
Sorry you are out of the playoffs
You are okay?
He tries to type out a reply as he waits for his car near the side of the bar, trying to keep himself upright. He wishes he could call Ilya, and hear his voice. He misses him so much. He hates how much he still wants him.
Jane
Yepp fnie
Notp a big dela
Lily
You are drunk?
Jane
Ya
Gioing home ngow
Lily
Thats good
Have water
Jane
I know
Lily
You have not been playing well
Is my fault?
Anger surges through Shane - hot and sudden - making him feel overheated and sweaty. He looks up from his phone and sees that his car has arrived. He gets in and tries to calm down, but the alcohol is making it hard to breathe through the onslaught of emotions.
Of course it’s Ilya’s fault. But fuck him for asking like he doesn’t already know the answer.
Before he can even reply with a very angry ‘fuck you,’ Ilya texts him again.
Lily
I am not insulting you
Just worried
I know you are out of playoffs now, but I am still worried
You lost weight
Shane scoffs and shakes his head. Ilya doesn’t have the right to worry about him anymore.
Jane
Fkc u
Why do uevn care ?
Lily
Of course I care
I will always care about you
Jane
Well stop
Lily
No
You are home now?
Safe?
Shane staggers out of the car and into the lobby, trying to keep it together at least a little longer. He manages to get to his hotel room without incident, grateful not many people are walking around.
He’s drunk and this is a bad idea, but as soon as he’s alone in the hotel room with the door locked, he calls Ilya.
“Shane? You okay?” Ilya asks instead of saying hello.
“No! Fuck you. How dare you ask me that?” He yells back, sitting down on the bed that’s meant to be Hayden’s.
He hears Ilya sigh deeply. “Hollander, I just want to know -”
“I’m back at the hotel.” Shane snaps, trying to take a deep breath. He’s already in tears over how nice it is to hear the other man’s voice again. He tries to stop, tries to get himself together, but it’s impossible.
He lets out a small sob against his hand, wishing he could just stay mad. But all he wants is for Ilya to be here and hold him, take back what he said and just let them be happy.
“Shane, please don’t cry. Is someone with you?” Ilya’s voice sounds a bit wrecked. Like maybe he’s actually upset, too.
“You’re not allowed to ask me if me playing like shit is because of you.” Shane says, feeling like he needs to get to the point of why he called. “Not when you already know the answer.”
“Fuck.” Ilya says under his breath. “I just wanted - you have been playing badly. And is not like you. I know I brag about being number one, but we both know it has always been you who is number one, Hollander.”
Shane nearly chokes on spit. He can’t believe Ilya said that. He can’t actually think that’s true, right?
“What? Ilya, you’re fucking insane. You’re the best.”
“No, Shane. Not anywhere close. In hockey and in everything else, too.” Rozanov says emphatically. “You are champion. Which is why I am worried.”
Shane keeps crying, helpless to stop it now. “What do you want me to say, Ilya? ‘Yes, it’s because of you?’ Fine. Yes, it’s because of you. You -” he inhales sharply. “-broke my heart. I’m a fucking shell of myself!”
Ilya doesn't say anything for a few moments and then Shane hears him swear again.
He’s being too honest. This is so fucking bad.
He needs to end this phone call before he tells Ilya he loves him.
“I’m sorry, Shane.” Ilya says, his voice breaking.
And fuck.
Ilya’s voice never breaks. Not even when they were eighteen. The sound punches Shane right in the ribs.
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me the truth.”
“The…truth?” Ilya croaks.
“Did you really mean it? That you don’t want us to be together?” Shane asks, blurting the words out even though he’ll probably regret it. “Because I don’t believe you mean it. Not really. You’re being a martyr or something.”
Another long sigh and then Ilya clears his throat. “Shane, you are so drunk -”
“As if I don’t already want to say all of this to you.” He interrupts. “Do you think I’ve thought of anything other than this?” He cry-laughs, spluttering. “And I think - you don’t mean it. You want to be with me. You want this as much as I fucking do, but you’re being a coward.”
“Enough!”
It’s a gasping plea. The words feel like a dam about to burst, a river about to overflow into devastation.
Mercy. Ilya is asking for mercy.
“No.” Shane whispers. “Admit it.”
Silence.
It goes on for so long that Shane almost backs down. But then Ilya suddenly inhales and says, “Take Advil and drink water. Goodnight, Shane.”
His phone beeps twice, indicating that the call has ended, and then he slams his phone into the nightstand corner. It smashes.
**
Shane wakes up with an awful, pounding migraine and a horrible taste in his mouth. He’s lying on top of the covers of his bed, still in his clothes from the night before, and feels Hayden nudge his shoulder.
“Buddy, you look rough.” His friend says, whistling.
“Fuck.” Shane mumbles into the pillow, the whole night coming back to him. The drinks. Telling Hayden about ‘Lily.’ The phone call. Everything he said to Ilya.
His stomach revolts. “Oh God -”
He rushes to the bathroom, making it just in time and is sweaty by the time he’s done. He hates throwing up, even more so when he’s not intentionally doing it. Hayden’s knocking on the door, telling him something about the airport and flights and how they need to leave soon. Shane doesn’t know if he can move.
He’s frozen. He feels like absolute hell.
“Your phone is broken.” Hayden announces. “Shane? Dude, please don’t make me break the door down. You alive in there?”
Get it together, he tells himself. He tries to take a few deep breaths.
“Yeah, I’m alive.” He says eventually, closing his eyes.
Barely.
**
Once he’s back in Montreal, after a day of airports and flying and layovers and delays and buying a new phone, he lies down in bed and checks his messages. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ilya messaged him again, probably telling him off for saying what he did.
There’s a message waiting for him. But it’s not what he expects.
Lily
How are you feeling this morning?
Shane hadn’t answered, obviously. Because his phone was broken. Ilya followed up a few hours later when Shane was still flying.
Lily
I do not know how much you remember
You said a lot of things
Fuck.
Again, Shane hadn’t answered because his phone was still broken.
Lily
I’m sorry you have been so upset
And playing badly because of us
I was hoping it wasn’t because of that
Shane’s eyes go wide as he reads the next text, sent only an hour ago.
Lily
I think you are hoping I will change my mind. But I won’t, Shane. The reason does not matter, but we can’t keep seeing each other. Try to forget me, okay? Find someone else. Don’t let me be the reason you are bad at hockey. Not when you are the best.
Fuck!
Shane presses the call button again. He’s sober now. Maybe they can talk properly. Maybe Ilya can actually hear him out this time when he’s getting the words from a sober man rather than a sloppily drunk one.
“Hello?” Ilya says, voice gravelly. There’s a lot of background noise like he’s out somewhere.
“Hi, sorry. I might have broken my phone last night.” Shane says, stomach bunching up with nerves. “I wanted to talk to you.”
A long pause. And then, “Hollander, did you see my messages?”
Hollander.
God, he hates hearing that. Ilya said it last night too, and the day he broke them up, but for some reason hearing it right now hurts worse.
“Yes, but I wanted -”
“Then we don’t need to talk, okay? I made it clear, I think, yes?” Ilya interrupts, sighing. He sounds annoyed, which makes Shane bristle.
“This is easy for you, isn’t it? Just discarding people like they mean nothing?” He snaps, tears rushing to his eyes again. He wishes he could stop crying when he’s angry.
“Hollander - that’s not what I mean.” Ilya says, sounding tired. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to Shane right now, but he still asks, “What did you want to talk about?”
Shane takes a deep breath.
“I remember everything I said last night.” He starts, blushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry I was yelling at you, but I was angry. I’ve been angry about this, Ilya, because it feels like you lied to me. In Florida, after we talked, and then when you were in Russia - I really thought we were on the same page. About…being together.”
Another long suffering sigh before the other man says, “Hollander -”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Is your name! I have called you this for years!” Ilya yells, the volume making Shane jump in surprise but not enough to cool the hot fury raging within him.
“That was before!”
“Fine! But if I call you Hollander or I call you Shane, my answer is still not changing. We are not together. I do not want to be together. We had a good time, yes? These past few years. It was fun and sexy and thrilling. But Shane, there is no future here.”
He says the words firmly, but Ilya’s voice still cracks. It cracks so intensely that Shane whimpers.
He takes another breath. He’s clearly not going to get Ilya to understand what he means. Or maybe, Ilya does understand, but he’s being stubborn. He’s not going to budge on this, Shane can tell. And it’s devastating all over again. It makes him feel hollow.
But it also makes him want to be honest. More honest than he’s ever been before, because why the hell not? If this is all he’s going to get, what does he have to lose?
“This wasn’t just fun for me, Ilya.” Shane says, voice thick with tears. “It was at first, sure, but I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”
“Fuck, you need to stop this. Please.”
“Why? I might as well tell you everything. You’re not going to change your mind. I heard you. There’s no future for us, apparently, but I’m going to say this anyway. You owe me that.”
“Shane - please, I -”
“I think I’ve been in love with you for years, Ilya. Since I was practically a teenager, still. You’ve always been kind and gentle with me. And you’re really funny, even though your humour is so fucking dumb.”
Fuck, fuck.
He’s really doing this. He’s telling Ilya the truth. But he might as well because if it’s really over between them - if Ilya really isn’t going to let them even try - then he has to say this. If he doesn’t, it’s just going to stay in his chest; in his heart forever. Mouldering and wilting and dragging him down. He’ll never be able to move on.
“I’ve always wanted to know you. The real things, not just boring hockey stats and how many people you’ve slept with. But your interests. Your thoughts. How you sleep and what you dream about and what you want from life. I think I’ve gotten glimpses over the years, but never - it’s never been anything tangible because you try not to let anyone know you, I think. You stay hidden. Maybe it’s self preservation or whatever, but I’ve always wanted to know more.”
Ilya says something but it’s too quiet. Shane continues anyway.
“I was going to ask you to come to my cottage this summer. The night you ended it. That’s where I feel like I can most be myself, and -” He wipes tears out of his eyes. “-and I’ve always wanted you to know me, too. I’m boring, I know, but - the cottage is my home. And I wanted you to see it. Spend time with me there when we could just be two guys. Shane and Ilya. Hanging out and being ourselves.”
“Shane, I’m -”
“I thought you would say yes to that. I thought you were maybe wanting the same thing, wanting to know each other. But I guess I was just dreaming.”
“No, I was -” Ilya tries, and maybe Shane should let him talk but he doesn’t want to be shut down again. He doesn’t want to hear Ilya give him more excuses.
“I hope you let someone know you, Ilya. Because I think you’re someone worth knowing.” He sobs the words out this time, unable to help it. He’s not able to be calm and collected anymore. The devastation is too much. “Good luck with the playoffs.”
“Wait, Shane -”
“Bye, Ilya.”
He hangs up the phone. Ilya tries to call him back, sends him a few messages but Shane doesn’t read them before he blocks Ilya completely.
It feels a little bit like a death sentence.
**
“Mom, I need you to cancel a few things for me.”
His mom is silent on the other end of the line for a long moment, and then she says, “Honey, are you okay?”
He considers. “No. I’m really not.”
“What happened, sweetie? Are you hurt?” She asks, sounding alarmed.
“No, nothing like that.” He rubs a hand over his stubbly face. “I - I’m feeling really exhausted. I need some time off.”
Normally, he gets roughly two weeks off throughout the year. Even when the season is over for him, like now, he has engagements and sponsorships, interviews and training. He stays busy and has always enjoyed keeping up with it.
But he can’t do it this year. He wants the whole summer to himself.
“Shane, this - did something happen? It isn’t like you to ask for something like this. There’s a lot of things lined up -”
“I know. But I’m not some rookie anymore, Mom. I don’t need to be constantly making a name for myself or taking on more ads. I don’t need more money. I need a fucking break.” He snaps, too emotional to censor his tone like he usually does.
Shane’s always polite. Always agreeable and easy going - no matter who he’s with - and always committed to everything hockey. ‘The Golden Boy of Hockey’ some people call him.
He’s so goddamn tired of it.
Yuna inhales deeply before saying, “Okay, sweetie. If that’s what you need, I’ll make it happen.”
“I need the whole summer. I want to be at the cottage and have - I don’t want responsibilities or engagements or whatever.”
“The whole summer? Sweetheart, I don’t know -”
“Please? At least a month and a half?”
Another long pause. “Shane, I need you to tell me what happened. Is there something wrong?”
He doesn’t want to tell his mom anything. If he hints at something the way he did with Hayden about Boston Lily, he knows she won’t let it go. She’ll bug him and give him advice or make him push through anyway because nothing should come before his commitment to his career. The career that she’s helped him create.
“Can I not just want time off, Mom? Seriously.” He sighs, trying not to groan in frustration. He’s not trying to be ungrateful. She’s done so much for him. She’s an outstanding manager and has always supported him.
He feels bad that he hasn’t just come out to her. She would understand, he’s sure of it.
But it’s too much for right now. He just wants to have a break and not worry about needing to be places at certain times or smile in front of cameras. He doesn’t even want to think about hockey for a few weeks.
“Of course, sweetie. You are always working so hard, but -”
“Thank you. I gotta go, but we’ll talk soon.” He hangs up abruptly, knowing it’s a bit rude. But he can’t talk anymore.
He’s been packing his suitcases all morning, preparing for the drive to the cottage. His plan is to hole up there for the next several weeks. Go on long walks. Go kayaking. Have fires. Maybe invite Rose for a few nights if she can get away. Relax and breathe.
And try to get over Ilya.