Chapter Seventeen
In the middle of November, without warning, Ilya got a new, unwanted teammate. Troy Barrett was definitely a talented forward, and a potential upgrade to Ilya’s current linemate, Tanner Dillon, but he’d also always seemed like a total prick to Ilya.
“I hate this,” Ilya complained on the phone to Shane. “My team was perfect. Now we have this asshole.”
“Your team is terrible,” Shane reminded him.
“Yes, but, you know. The vibes are good. Barrett has bad vibes.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Harris was bringing the new team puppy to practice today! Now Barrett is there too. Ruins everything.”
“I still can’t believe he called Kent out,” Shane said. “Maybe he isn’t so bad?”
The reason Toronto had quickly traded Barrett to Ottawa for a few draft picks—far less than the all-star player was worth—was because Troy had gotten in a fight with his even shittier teammate, Dallas Kent. Kent, a homophobic bully and one of the most repulsive people Ilya had ever met, had recently been accused of rape and assault by numerous anonymous women online. Apparently that had been a bridge too far for his former best friend, Troy Barrett.
“Yes, well. What is the saying about a broken clock? Wyatt says it.”
“It’s right twice a day.”
“Yes. He is right about one thing. Probably still mostly bad.”
“Maybe he’ll be a good linemate. I’ve been listening to you complain about Tanner Dillon for as long as you’ve played for Ottawa.”
“I still don’t want him.”
“I know. I’m just trying to cheer you up.” Shane sighed heavily. “I have to go. Team meeting.”
“Okay. How is Buffalo?”
“Amazing,” Shane said flatly.
Ilya laughed. “Good luck tonight.”
“Good luck with Troy Barrett. I can’t wait to hear all about him.”
“So nosy.”
“I love you. I’ll call you after the game tonight.”
“I will be waiting. I love you too.”
They ended the call, and Ilya immediately texted Harris.
Ilya: You are bringing the puppy today yes?
Harris: Yup!
Ilya exhaled slowly. At least this day wouldn’t be total garbage.
* * *
“So how was he?” Shane asked. He was sprawled out on his hotel bed, completely exhausted after the game.
“So cute, Shane. You should see him!”
“What?” Troy Barrett was an attractive man, sure, but that was an unexpected reaction from Ilya.
“He licked my face with his little tongue!”
“Uh.”
“His ears are so floppy, and he is so soft. I wanted to carry him around all practice.”
Oh. “I meant Troy, idiot. Not the puppy.”
Ilya huffed. “Who cares? Puppy was great. His name is Chiron. He is black and small and—”
“Okay. Puppies are cute. Agreed. But what was Troy like?”
“Was fine. Quiet. Whatever.”
Shane grinned at the ceiling. “Do you have a photo of the dog?”
“Of course. Did you not see my Instagram?”
“No.” Shane was not particularly invested in social media, though he knew that Ilya was posting random things all the time. Shane mostly reposted official team posts, and info about the Irina Foundation.
“There are photos, videos. So many things. Chiron is great.”
“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, Rocky 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.