The pilot made an announcement. Ilya’s brain was too panicked to translate all the words, but he heard “engine” and “emergency landing.” He focused on the word landing. Pilots were trained to deal with this, right? He’d know if Shane hadn’t been such a pill about Ilya wanting to get his pilot’s license.
Shane.
What if Ilya died? What would Shane do? How would he mourn?
Several rows behind him, Ilya heard Nick Chouinard yelling about a fire. He didn’t want to look.
Fuck. This was really happening. They were going to die, and Ilya would never get to have the big conversation with Shane. Would never get to tell him everything that Ilya had been hiding in his heart.
If only Shane wasn’t playing a game right now. Ilya could—well, not call him, but talk to him somehow. He wished he could text, but all he had access to was Wi-Fi.
Fuck it. Ilya opened Instagram and started typing a new private message to ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer.
Shane, he wrote, then stopped. He had no idea what to say. There was no possible way to put everything he needed to tell Shane into words.
But the plane was on fire, and Ilya didn’t have time to think. He wrote what was in his terrified heart: You are the best thing in my life.
His eyes were blurry, making it hard to type. He quickly swiped at his eyes and kept writing.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.
He let his mind take him away from the nightmare happening around him and back to a rink parking lot in Saskatchewan. Ilya couldn’t remember what Shane had said, exactly, that first time they’d met. He only remembered freckles splashed over rosy red cheeks. He remembered Shane’s hand being unfairly warm when he shook it. He remembered being studied by dark, earnest eyes.
It was entirely possible that Ilya had lost his heart in that moment. It took his brain a long time to catch up, but his heart had known right away.
He wished Shane could respond. He hated thinking about Shane seeing these messages...after.
He’d keep them forever. Ilya knew he would. Fuck. He had to say something really good.
I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
He did. Ilya only had vague ideas of the afterlife and any gods who may be waiting there, but he believed his soul would stay with Shane, however it could. He believed the people you loved stayed with you until it was your time to go. He often felt his mother with him, and he knew he’d do the same for Shane.
And maybe he’d see his mother again soon. That was a nice thought. Ilya pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the crucifix pendant through the fabric of his shirt. He prayed, quietly and with no real structure. He murmured requests for whoever was listening to keep Shane safe, to let him live a long, happy life.
To please not let this plane crash, because Ilya had wasted so much fucking time hiding how much he loved Shane—from the world, from Shane, from himself. He needed more time. He needed to love Shane properly.
The plane tilted to one side, then the other, and a moment later came the glorious thud of wheels touching down on solid ground.
The jubilant roar from his teammates was earsplitting. Probably because Ilya was cheering louder than anyone. He looked out the window and saw flashing lights from various emergency vehicles but holy shit, the pilots had managed to land on the actual runway, safe and sound.
“Thank you,” Ilya said, gazing at the ceiling of the plane. “I won’t waste it.”
* * *
Montreal lost their game in Washington, which was annoying. Shane saw that Ilya’s team had won big against Carolina that afternoon, and he fully expected Ilya to give him shit about it.
He didn’t check his phone until he was on the bus, heading back to the team’s hotel. He had one text and one missed call from Ilya. The text said: Sorry about the Instagram messages. Call me.
Shane hardly ever checked his Instagram messages, but sometimes Ilya used that when he was on a plane and couldn’t text.
Shane checked them now.
The messages were...intense. Romantic, certainly, but weird.
“Whoa,” J.J. said. “The Centaurs’ plane had to make an emergency landing.”
Shane turned to where J.J. was sitting across the aisle. “What? Is everyone okay?”
J.J. thumbed at his phone screen. “Sounds like it. Must have been scary, though.”
Shane read the messages from Ilya again. Holy shit. Those were meant as, like, his last words.
“But they’re okay?” Shane asked again, panic rising even though he knew Ilya was okay. He had the evidence right there in his hand.
J.J. looked at him with amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I said they’re fine. Landed safely.”
But dread had already clawed its way into Shane’s heart, filling his head with horrific alternate outcomes. What if those messages had been Ilya’s last words? What if they’d been all Shane had left?
He texted Ilya. I heard about the plane. Are you ok?
Ilya replied right away. Yes. Can I call you?
Shane glanced around the bus at his teammates. A lot of them were wearing headphones, but there was no way Shane was going to be able to sound calm about this.
Shane: I’m almost at the hotel. I’ll call when I’m there. Sorry. I can’t do this with my teammates around.
Ilya texted back a heart emoji.
Shane read his Instagram messages a third time.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
But he wouldn’t have been. He would have been fucking gone. Who was Ilya’s next of kin, even? The brother he never spoke to? Would Shane have been allowed to spread his ashes somewhere that Ilya would have liked? Maybe at the cottage, or maybe he’d prefer to be buried in Moscow with his parents. God, they’d never talked about this sort of thing.
Anger flared through Shane’s body, hot and sudden. They had lots of reasons to keep their relationship a secret, but those reasons seemed extremely unimportant now. What if Ilya had died? What if he had fucking died?
Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly, and for the rest of his life.
He clutched his phone to his chest, and turned his head to face the window so his teammates didn’t see the way his lip was trembling.
* * *
Ilya knew, as team captain, that he should be at one of the tables in the hotel bar with his teammates. He should be making the rounds, checking in with everyone. Especially the rookies.
But he just...couldn’t.