Chapter Text
It was 2024. Shane and Ilya had been married for five years. They were thirty when they got married, and their life together had been a rollercoaster. They were both out now, playing on the same team the Ottawa Centaurs. For a while, it felt like they had everything they’d ever wanted… until they didn’t.
Ilya’s depression had gotten worse, and he began pushing Shane away. Shane fought tooth and nail to keep that from happening, but it wasn’t working. Eventually, it all came to an end.
They had a massive fight, and Ilya stormed out of the house, heading for a hotel without telling Shane where he was going. Shane yelled after him, begging him to come back, but Ilya had already shut the door behind him.
Shane didn’t even know what the argument had been about. Lately, it felt like Ilya was just looking for reasons to fight. Still, Shane decided to let him leave and cool off. They didn’t have practice or games for two days, he figured Ilya would be back by then.
That night, Shane went to bed after sending a text: Please come home tomorrow so we can talk. He read it over a few times before hitting send, hoping for a response. He waited for a while, but when none came, he finally fell asleep.
When he woke up, the first thing he did was grab his phone. No messages. He called Ilya, only to be greeted by his voicemail loud and obnoxious as ever.
Shane went through his morning routine before heading downstairs to make breakfast: overnight oats with berries and a protein shake. Sitting at the kitchen island, he called Ilya again. And again.
Still nothing.
At that point, Shane decided he would go out and look for him. There were only a few places Ilya could be, so it didn’t feel impossible. He went upstairs, got dressed, then came back down, slipped on his shoes, and grabbed his keys.
He walked into the garage and got into his car. Just as he opened the garage door and was about to back out, Ilya’s Range Rover pulled up beside him.
Shane froze, staring at him through the rearview mirror before quickly turning off the engine and jumping out. He rushed to the driver’s side and knocked on the window.
“Where have you been?” Shane asked, his voice tight with worry.
Ilya got out of the car without answering and walked straight past him.
Shane followed him inside, pressing him for answers. “Where have you been? Are you okay?”
Up close, Shane could smell cigarette smoke on him. He wanted to say something about it, but this wasn’t the moment.
Ilya ignored him and headed upstairs to their bedroom. He grabbed a suitcase and started packing. Shane hovered behind him.
“Ilya, what’s going on? Where have you been? Are you okay?”
No response.
Frustration bubbled up. Shane stepped forward, pulled the suitcase away, and stood in front of him. He wasn’t afraid Ilya would never hurt him. He just needed answers.
Finally, Ilya spoke.
“Shane… please.”
“Please what?” Shane snapped. “Talk to me. Please.”
Ilya sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping. “I am not well. We need space.”
“Space?” Shane echoed. “What do you mean, space? I can sleep in the guest room if you need space. Ilya, don’t leave.”
Ilya’s eyes filled with tears. “No, Shane. Space for good. I want a divorce.”
His English wasn’t as clear as usual, but Shane understood perfectly.
Shane shook his head, disbelief flooding in. “No. We’re not getting divorced. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but no. Let’s go to therapy. We can work through this.”
Ilya stood and tried to grab the suitcase, but Shane pulled it farther away.
“Ilya, no.”
Ilya let out a long breath. “Shane… please.”
“Stop saying please!” Shane’s voice hardened. “No. This isn’t happening. You’re going through something, and I need you to talk to me about it.”
Ilya walked past him, leaving the suitcase behind, and headed downstairs. Shane followed.
“So you’re just leaving with no clothes?” Shane called after him. “We play on the same team, Ilya. How is that supposed to work? Us going through something like a divorce?”
Ilya picked up his keys from the table. “I get more clothes. And at work… I hope you can be…” He struggled for the word, then continued, “…be responsible. Keep this separate.”
He walked to the door, then turned back.
“I file tomorrow. My lawyer will contact you.”
And then he was gone.
Shane stood there as he heard the car door slam, the garage door open, then close again. Silence followed.
Slowly, he slid down the wall and broke.
He didn’t understand. Why did Ilya want a divorce? He knew Ilya struggled with his mental health he’d been seeing a therapist but lately, it felt like he either wanted to be alone or pick fights over everything.
Shane dragged himself up and grabbed his phone, calling his mom. His voice broke as he tried to explain what had happened.
“I’m on my way,” Yuna said immediately.
No hesitation.
Ilya drove without thinking.
He knew he needed clothes, but his mind wouldn’t settle long enough to form a plan. He wasn’t well and he couldn’t put Shane through that. It had gotten worse lately, worse than usual. He loved Shane too much to let him carry that weight.
Better to let him go.
He didn’t know where to go. They shared a bank account any hotel he checked into, Shane could find him.
Last night, he’d gotten lucky.
Today, he wouldn’t.
And now he’d told Shane he wanted a divorce. He knew Shane wouldn’t just let that go.
After a while, he made a decision.
Troy and Harris.
He drove to their place, parked, and knocked on the door. From inside, he heard Chiron barking good, they were home.
A moment later, the door opened.
“Ilya!” Harris said, smiling until he got a good look at him. “What’s going on? Is Shane okay?”
“Oh, yes. Shane’s fine,” Ilya said quickly. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
Ilya stepped inside. Troy was in the kitchen, cooking.
“Ilya, what’s up?” Troy called.
Harris followed Ilya into the kitchen. Ilya sat down at the counter and said flatly, “I need vodka. Got vodka?”
Harris and Troy exchanged a look.
“Yeah… I’ll get it,” Harris said.
He returned with Ilya’s favorite Russian vodka and sat it down with three glasses.
Ilya didn’t wait. He poured one, downed it, then poured another and drank that just as fast.
“Ilya… what’s going on?” Harris asked again.
Ilya poured a third and glanced up at them. “You’re not going to drink?”
Troy let out an awkward laugh. “I mean… we can. But, hey-are you okay?”
Ilya lifted his glass.
“Me and Shane are getting divorced.”
He downed it.
Harris and Troy looked at each other, then back at him.
“Yeah,” Troy said slowly. “We’re gonna need that drink now.”