Page 42 of The Long Game
“Ten days.” The number sounded just as enormous when Ilya said it.
They said goodbye, ended the call, and then Shane was alone again, and wishing like hell that there could be a solution to their problem.
Chapter Nine
Ilya woke from another dream about his mother. The same dream. Always the same dream.
He reached a hand out toward Shane’s side of the bed, but of course it was empty. He hadn’t shared a bed with Shane for two weeks.
He brought his hand to his chest and traced the crucifix around his neck with one fingertip, soothing himself with the familiar bumps and edges of the gold cross.
He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend.
It could be because I’m depressed.
No. He was fine. Normal. It’s not like he ever stayed in bed all day crying.
Neither did Mom.
He hauled himself out of bed despite everything in his body and brain protesting. He’d gotten rocked into the boards last night by a New Jersey defenseman, and he was paying for it this morning. One more thing to deal with.
He missed waking up with Shane. He missed breakfast together, even though Shane only ate extremely healthy food now. He missed making Shane coffee and serving it to him in an Ottawa Centaurs mug. He missed showering together, and tumbling back into bed together after, warm and damp and unable to stop touching each other.
He sent Shane a text.How is St. Louis?
Shane began typing his reply right away.Raining. How’s Ottawa?
Ilya gazed out his kitchen window to the river behind his house. The trees were bright with autumn leaves, and the sun was shining.
Ilya:Fine.
Shane:Did you eat breakfast?
Ilya huffed. Shane worried about the weirdest things.
Ilya:Might go to McDonald’s for a McGriddle.
He’d mostly written it to annoy Shane, but now he really did want a McGriddle.
Shane:You shouldn’t be eating that shit.
Ilya:Should I be eating hay for breakfast like you?
Shane:It’s not hay. And yes, probably.
Ilya:I would rather have the sandwich that is made with pancakes as bread.
Shane:Gross.
Ilya smiled as he imagined Shane’s nose wrinkling, bunching up his freckles.
Ilya:Send me a pic.
He had time to pour himself a coffee, fix it with cream and sugar, and take a couple of sips before Shane finally sent a selfie. Ilya wondered how many he’d taken before deciding this one was good enough to send.
It wasn’t intentionally sexy. It was just Shane, standing near a window, probably in his hotel room, wearing a light blue Montreal Voyageurs T-shirt, and smiling. His hair was tucked adorably behind his ear on one side.
Ilya:I miss you.It was the only thought in his head, at that moment.
