“Moscow?Did something happen? Oh, shit. Your father?”
“Yes. Dead.”
“Ilya, I—”
“What are people saying about me?”
“Nothing! The media has been very secretive about it. The Bears must have—”
“Good. I will be back by end of week,” he said stiffly.
“You should take more time.”
Ilya snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Stop. I’m being serious.”
More silence.
“I’m so sorry, Ilya.” He didn’t know what else to say.
Ilya didn’t reply, but Shane could hear a sharp sniff, and then a tight, throaty noise.
“Ilya—”
“I will be back in a few days. I should go.”
“All right.”
“Goodbye, Hollander.”
“Wait,” Shane said, way too loudly.
Ilya waited.
“Just...call me, all right? If you need to talk. Or text me. Whatever. But... I’ll listen. I want to help, if I can.”
Ilya was silent for a moment. “You did. Thank you.”
He ended the call.
Shane leaned back against the wall and blew out a breath.
Two days later—Buffalo
Shane hadn’t really been expecting to hear from Ilya again. He was surprised when, after his game in Buffalo, he received a text.
Lily: Are you alone?
Shane stood up, mumbled a hasty reason for leaving to Hayden, and went out to the stairwell.
Shane: Yes.
Lily: Can I call you?
Shane: Yes.
His phone rang and Shane answered it immediately. The stairwell was silent and empty. He leaned against the wall of the landing below his floor.
