“I’m glad you made a new friend.”
Ilya sighed. “I wish I could get a dog.”
Yeah, Shane wasn’t sure how that would work. “Someday,” he offered.
“Everything is someday. I am tired of waiting for someday.”
“I know. But we’re still young. We’ve got lots of time.”
“Are we? I feel a thousand years old sometimes.”
“I imagine Luca Haas isn’t helping. What’s he like?”
“Nice kid,” Ilya said. “Possibly has a crush on me. I will let you know.”
Shane refused to acknowledge his own jealousy. “He’s a good player. Smart, y’know?”
“Very smart. But so young. Too young.”
“We were younger than him when we started,” Shane pointed out. They’d both been nineteen during their rookie seasons.
“I was never as young as Haas. He is, like, seven.”
Shane chuckled, and it turned into a yawn.
“You are tired,” Ilya said. “That game looked tough.”
“Oh, you watched, did you?”
“Of course not.”
Shane smiled. “Talk to me in Russian,” he said. “Just wanna listen to you for a bit.”
“You are going to fall asleep.”
“Probably.” Shane rested the phone on his pillow, and rolled onto his side to face it. It wasn’t a video call, so he closed his eyes and let his boyfriend lull him to sleep with words that Shane mostly didn’t understand, but made his heart flutter all the same.
Chapter Eighteen
Ilya was absolutely not going to buy cigarettes.
He was just going for a walk. After dark. In Vancouver. Alone. With no particular destination in mind. Enjoying the crisp night air—warmer than the nights were now in Ottawa—and letting clean, mountain oxygen fill his lungs.
He stopped into the first convenience store he came across, paid for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with cash, and slunk back into the night.
Using the lights of the cranes at the shipping docks as his guide, Ilya walked toward the harbor. He loved the way city lights reflected off black water at night. It reminded him of the view from his old apartment in Boston.
He found a small park with long wooden docks that stretched out into the harbor, complete with benches. He walked out to the end of one, then pulled the cigarettes and lighter from his pocket.
Shane’s voice nagged him in his head as he took his first drag. He smiled as he exhaled, welcoming the company. Maybe he only ever smoked so he could hear that voice in his head.
Ilya almost never smoked these days, and he felt like a failure whenever he gave into the urge. But for the few minutes between lighting the cigarette and stamping the smoldering butt out, he was incandescently happy.
I will never fucking forgive you if you get lung cancer and die.
Ilya watched another cloud of smoke disappear into the night sky.I know, sweetheart, he replied silently.I know.
He imagined Shane would be similarly unforgiving if Ilya took his own life. Not that Ilya ever would. Unless he couldn’t help it.
