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There’s no right or wrong way to experience grief.
He remembers when he walked into the bedroom like he would any other day, expecting to see his mother’s face with her beautiful, sharp features that were so similar to his own. The shine in her eyes was always glossy with sadness yet tinged with the pure love only a mother can know.
She’d grin at Ilya like she was his world and he could only grin back while holding her hand, finding his own world in her.
And that day, the paleness of her skin was not just translucent in the way she sometimes was, but cold in a way that Ilya wishes he doesn’t remember. She was cool to the touch, fiercely in an unnatural way. Her arm hung off the edge of the bed and Ilya sometimes wonders if he’d grieve differently if he didn’t have to see her that way.
She had looked like she was sleeping, or she had when Ilya was naive enough to believe that, but he knows better now. Her lips were in a thin line, all color drained from her cheeks, and she looked utterly broken in a way he had never seen her before.
It was an accident, his father told him.
Being young at the time was both a blessing and a curse. He had a few years of ignorant bliss.
At twelve, of course he thought that taking an entire bottle of pills could have actually been an accident. He was too young to believe that his mother could have been hurting so much that she chose to leave the world behind. She chose to leave Ilya behind.
He wasn’t enough to keep her here.
Ilya misses the time that he didn’t know that.
When she was gone, the funeral and the accident behind them, his brother took on responsibilities and so did he. Ilya took the brunt of his father, yelling that he was never enough and could never do anything right.
Alexei received it too but not nearly to the same extent. Ilya always assumed because he resembled his mother. His eyes were identical to hers, hazel with a darker rim, and a sharp jawline and cleft chin. Alexei had a softer face, round edges but fiercer eyes that matched his father’s.
He spent his teenage years fighting for a love that he now knows is meant to be unconditional. Hockey wasn’t just a hobby or a sport, it was his worth and ticket into his family. Without hockey, he’d have been more of a waste of space than his father had already considered him.
Ilya wonders; if his mother knew how things would have turned out, would she still have chosen the path she did? If she knew that Ilya would become a professional athlete, one of the best hockey players in the NHL, would she have held on a little longer?
She could have come to Boston with him. They could have moved to the States together, escaping the hell his father created in Russia. He only needed six years to prove to her that there was more to life, to be old enough to stand up for her, and wise enough to get her out of that house before she had no other choice.
Her death used to haunt him. It followed Ilya around like a ghost, wedging its way into every moment, and he hated it.
When he got drafted, he thought of how despite his father, she would have been proud. He thinks she would have been standing at his side, congratulating him and kissing both of his cheeks. That would have been the first time she had seen him in a suit, professional and handsome in an adult way that she never got to experience.
Then, he moved to Boston and bought an apartment. His first thought is that he has no idea what decor he’d like and he knows his mother would have taken him shopping for little things that made him happy at the time.
His first game on the Bears, his teammates wave to their friends and family in the stands. Ilya doesn’t even look at the two empty seats that were meant for him. He thinks of her though, knowing that she would have been there in her favorite blue cardigan and small smile on her face.
Ilya loses the idea of love after she dies. He loves hockey and he loves his mother, but he is not loved. He doesn’t feel worthy of it either, knowing his love wasn’t enough for his mother. If his mother did not love him enough to stay, who else would possibly choose to love him?
–
Wrecklessness becomes easier than experiencing grief, feeling the weight of his loss. He sleeps with people, ones that are dangerous and risky and possibly career ruining. He drinks too much, too often, and he starts smoking at way too young of an age.
God, his mother hated the smell. That didn’t stop him.
The first person to ever tell him that he shouldn’t smoke was Shane Hollander. It was annoying at the time, between the slight nagging from a stranger and the perfect freckles adorning his cheeks, but he remembers fighting a smile. He had an image to uphold, serious and tough, but Hollander’s words made him think of his mother at the time.
The memory is blurry all these years later but his mother used to tell his father all the time, kureniye vredno dlya zdorov'ya. Smoking is bad for you. When his father was having good days, though they were far and few between, he’d smile and pull his wife to his side with a kiss to her temple. They were in love, once upon a time, and his mother did care about his father. Too much for her own good, Ilya thinks.
Next time his mother pops up into his thoughts with Shane around, it’s not Shane’s fault. It’s not worth jumping over, Shane had said, and Ilya hated the words as soon as they left his mouth. It quite literally may be the first time he heard such a direct discussion of suicide since his mother’s death. It wasn’t talked about in Russia in serious or casual manners, and definitely not within his family. The words hit him like a check to the chest and he lost his breath for a second. It’s not Shane’s fault; the words are used casually and metaphorically here in a way they aren’t in Russia.
Despite knowing it’s not as serious as his brain had made it out to be, Ilya couldn’t shake it, not the way he wanted to. The night had already been hard on him. A lot of things happened that night to make him go to the roof. He hadn’t thought of jumping, it hadn’t even crossed his mind, but it’s said into the chill air on top of the building and it didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.
It scares him.
Ilya was not kind to Hollander that night and he knows it. All it did was make him think of his mother again and wonder if he was becoming his father.
He does not want to be like his father.
–
When his father dies, Ilya doesn’t know how to feel. It’s confusing. He’s not happy, of course he’s not, but there’s some kind of relief in his death.
The tie that’s been holding him to Russia is gone. No more being berated because of a poor play or a crooked bowtie. Ilya won’t have to worry about him any longer, making sure someone is taking care of him and that he’s safe. No more seeing the man that forced his mother with only one way out, worrying that he himself may have been driven to the same thing if things hadn’t ended sooner.
He grieves his father and for the first time, he truly feels like he can grieve his mother, too. Without his negativity and poor words about her, the weight of her death sits heavy on Ilya’s shoulders. He sheds a tear for her and not for him, and there’s a sense of closure to this chapter in his life. Maybe this is a new door opening for him with fresh opportunities.
The ceremony for his father’s death is much more extravagant, like he was the most important person in their lives, and Ilya hates that. He was only a boy at the time but his mother deserved more of a service than she had received.
Her funeral was small; a few members from her side of the family, her two sons, and her husband. There was no dinner or gathering after, no tears from the man that chose to love her. They buried her in a small cemetery and they left. That was it. She deserved better.
Ilya went back and visited her grave on his own. He hadn’t been able to go often, not at his age, but he went once a year on her birthday. He would leave a flower he picked from a field and make sure her name was visible. He didn’t talk to her, he hadn’t been able to get himself to, but he’d think of her. He’d wipe his own tears and stare up at the sky, thinking about how it was once the sky she looked at, too.
–
When Ilya hears Shane over the phone, it’s his first breath of fresh air since he stepped onto his one way flight to Russia.
Shane’s voice is soothing, warm and comforting. The muscles in his neck loosen in relief, shoulders falling as Shane brings him back to earth. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, wondering how Shane could make such a difference just by speaking words Ilya can barely understand right now.
His father’s voice had always made the hair on his neck stand up, fierce and instilling fear within him since he was a boy. Alexei was nothing but a grating and demanding growl, one that never gained respect. The only voice to ever break down his walls was his mother’s. He never had that again, until now.
It’s not that moment Ilya realizes he loves Shane, he already had his thoughts about it, but here, outside against a dingy wall while his father’s funeral continues without him, Ilya finds peace in it.
Love can be terrifying. All love Ilya has ever known has ended in heartbreak. He never thought he’d love again, not in a way that made him want to love, but he does. Of all people, of course he has to fall in love with Shane Hollander, but he loves without an obligation to do so. There’s something so different about it that it sets his insides on fire with fear, but he’s here.
He admits he loves Shane aloud with tears in his eyes and no one understanding on the receiving end. Shane listens as Ilya pours his heart out to him and doesn’t interrupt. Shane just stays with him as long as he needs. Shane says he wishes he were with Ilya and his heart constricts, saying it back.
Being in love with Shane is difficult and it’s messy and he needs to end it. It’s already gone too far, any further and Ilya doesn’t think he’ll be able to walk away. Somehow, that’s the hardest realization of the night.
When he finally hangs up, he wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and lights another cigarette. On the inhale, he looks up and thinks of his mother.
“kak by mne khotelos', chtoby ty byl zdes',” he whispers to her. He wishes she were here.
–
Ilya’s heart is thumping in his chest so loudly he can’t hear the crowd. Shane’s lying on the ground, unmoving, and Ilya wants to literally kill Marlow.
It happened so fast. One second, Shane was skating toward the puck, and in the blink of an eye, he’s completely wiped out on the ice with nothing but limp limbs, even through the blur of his immediate tears.
He wants to look away, he should look away. There’s nothing that haunts him more than finding his mother on that god awful day, but Ilya thinks this might be a close second.
There’s screaming from the crowd and medical personnel, his own teammates fighting Shane’s, coaches, and referees and–fuck, Shane’s still down.
Ilya feels his lips moving, his neck vibrating like he’s screaming, yet he can’t even tell if words are coming out. They’re pushing him away and he knows he should back up but his feet are frozen where they are.
Here on the ice, Shane is anything but delicate. He’s wrapped in his gear, helmet on and mouthpiece in. Shane can handle himself, Ilya fucking knows that, but seeing him on the ground, cold and still, he doesn’t see Shane Hollander, the leagues’ best hockey player.
What Ilya does see right now is the Shane he sees behind closed doors. Shane with perfect freckles and soft hair, anxiety spilling from his pores and begging for reassurance without words. He sees the vulnerable side of Shane that he protects from the world but is willing to show Ilya because one thing they have is each other’s trust.
Shane off the ice is soft and delicate and loves to be taken care of, and Ilya sees his mom in him. She was beautiful and she loved others so deeply that it looked like it hurt. She would cradle Ilya in her arms after his dad would yell at her, comforting him like he was the one on the receiving end. She was stunning in a natural way, her beauty being unmatched by anyone Ilya’s ever seen.
He can’t help but have a stronger memory of her on that day.
Limp, unmoving, cold.
Just like Shane.
Ilya can’t do this again.
He can feel his body become frantic, hands shaking with either rage or fear, but he can’t stop. He gets control of his body and he’s staring at Shane, silently begging to see him twitch or flinch or something.
The refs are pushing him away and Ilya wants to scream. He does, he thinks. He begs them for information. He can’t skate away without knowing if Shane is okay.
They give him nothing. They can’t. He’s not a–a friend, he’s not even an acquaintance. To them, he’s a rival at best, an enemy at worst, and they couldn’t possibly suspect they’re even cordial let alone lovers.
No one knows that Ilya loves Shane.
God, that seems so stupid now. He wants to stand up and scream it from the rooftops because who gives a shit who he loves? The only thing that matters now is that Ilya loves Shane and Shane is lying on the ice and he has no fucking clue.
He should know, shouldn’t he? That despite everything they’ve been through, Ilya loves him. He loves Shane even though the world says he shouldn’t.
Hockey doesn’t really matter, not when he sees the man he loves being lifted onto a spinal board and he still isn’t moving.
Ilya can’t force himself to swallow. He can’t take his eyes off Shane as they drag him off the ice. He’s frantic and can’t focus on the rest of the game. Every time he sees Marlow, his hands shake and when he skates across the back right corner of the arena, he only sees Shane down on the ground. He barely remembers if they won. If they did, it wasn’t because he was on the top of his game, that’s for sure.
He strips and packs his shit quietly, not having the energy to keep up the facquade, and walks out to the bus before the rest of the team.
The cigarettes in his pocket feel heavy but he doesn’t pull one out, no matter how badly he actually wants one.
Shane wouldn’t want that. Neither would his mother.
The second time Ilya is brave enough to speak to her is after the game.
“Pozhaluysta, pust' s nim vse budet khorosho,” he whispers. Please let him be okay.
–
Ilya tells Shane about his mother.
He considers lying about how she died but he doesn’t. He tells Shane how he found her, lying on the bed. How his father told him it was an accident, how she was strong but in a shitty situation. He says her name for the first time aloud in years and it feels weird on his tongue.
His eyes burn with the memory, hitting him like a freight train. It’s been so many years that he feels he’s lived a lifetime without her already, but this is different.
This, talking about her unfiltered and with complete and utter trust, there’s a weight that lifts off his chest. His body relaxes and for the first time since he was a boy, he cries about his mother.
The tears fall and Shane doesn’t shame him or shy away. He pulls Ilya tight into his arms and Ilya accepts it, squeezing him tight. He never wants to let go, he never wants to lose this thing with Shane.
There’s a warmth between them that can only be described as love and he doesn’t think he’s been hugged like this since he was a child. He wishes his mother were here.
–
He wakes up just before dawn with dried tears on his cheeks, making his skin feel tight and sticky. He tucks himself closer into Shane, listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat and accepting his warmth.
Without waking him, Ilya lets his hands gently explore Shane before getting up. They know each other by now but there are parts of him Ilya never gets to see.
He swipes a finger across his cheeks, studying the perfect freckles he fell in love with the first time they met, and then grazes his bottom lip. They’re soft, even now, and Ilya smiles a little at the little hairs that don’t really grow any longer into a mustache.
Shane’s rarely like this, unworried and completely relaxed. There’s no fear or frustration on his features and Ilya makes it his goal to see that more when he’s awake. He deserves to relax and let go every once in a while.
As the sun starts to peek through the blinds, Ilya kisses Shane’s cheek light as a feather and quietly wiggles his way out of the bed. Ilya makes coffee, leaving Shane’s in the pot, but adding milk and sugar to his mug. He grabs a blanket to pull around himself before heading out to the back, sitting and facing the sun overlooking the water.
His thumb fiddles with the edge as his mind settles, smiling when he thinks of Shane’s suggestion for the charity.
“On by tebe ochen' ponravilsya,” he whispers to the water. You would have loved him. He told Shane the same thing.
“He makes me happy.” Before continuing in Russian, Ilya closes his eyes. “It has been so long since I could say that and really mean it, but it’s true. I am happy.”
With a second to collect his thoughts, Ilya smiles and leans back to stare at the beautiful shades in the sky. The sky is starting to blossom with different colors through the clouds. And for the first time, he just talks to her. Not a word or two but really, truly talks to her.
“He’s boring,” Ilya says and laughs to himself. “Boring but… I love it. I love him. I wish things weren’t so hard but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.”
Ilya rants about Shane. He speaks into the world how his freckles are so fucking adorable that he can’t stand it and his hair is soft and as much as he wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone else, he’ll admit to her that Shane’s even better at hockey than he is.
Shane is stubborn and frustrating sometimes but loves Ilya with all of his heart. He’s a strong player but not as fast as Ilya, they bounce off each other well both on and off the ice, and Shane just fucking loves him.
“He is kind to me and patient with me, even when I don’t deserve it,” he says, “he’s nothing like my father. He loves me, he actually loves me.” There are tears in his eyes but there’s still a sad grin on his face. “He’s the only person to ever love me like you loved me.” He breathes. “I never thought I’d find this kind of love. He’s it for me, I know he is.” It’s an admission, even to himself, but he feels lighter once it’s said. “I used to be afraid, mom, but he makes it easier.”
In this moment, he wishes he could reach over and hold her hand. If only he could touch her one more time. He misses her warmth and the smell of her perfume and her voice in his ear, whispering to him that he will be okay.
Behind him, Ilya hears the sliding door open and shut quietly. He sits up. “I wish you could have met him,” Ilya says quietly, finishing up his conversation with her. “I love you.”
The tears streak down his face and he knows that Irina would have wrapped Ilya up in her arms by now. She wouldn’t have wanted him to be this upset because of her death. She would have wanted him to live his life and fall in love with someone who loves him as much as Shane does.
She’d be happy for them. She’d have walked him down the aisle. She would have stayed for him if she could.
Shane doesn’t have to see his face to know that Ilya needs comfort. He sits beside him silently and pulls him to his chest. His fingers run through Ilya’s curls and he presses gentle pecks everywhere he can reach.
He misses her more than he can put into words and he holds onto Shane as tightly as he can manage.
Her touch and love cannot be replaced, not by anyone, but Shane can take a place in his heart to teach him how to love and be loved.
Ilya presses a warm kiss to Shane’s shoulder and a loon screeches from far away. He chuckles through his tears.
He can feel her with him.
“Ya tozhe po tebe skuchayu,” he says. I miss you too.