Ilya reached for the phone as its shrill rings startled him to full
wakefulness. Caller ID read “Heatley, D.” and he sighed. It was too
early for Dany to be calling – he usually slept later than Ilya did.
“Hello?” he spoke, glad he remembered to use English despite the fact that his
recently ended dream had been in his native language.
“This is Ilya?”
The voice was unfamiliar. But it was a French accent. And calling from
Dany’s apartment. The Russian had no trouble determining who it might
be. Sighing and leaning back against the pillows, he answered, “Da.”
“I...I am not really sure why I called you.”
“Well I certainly do not know.” This was not shaping up to be a good day. He
could the pressure of a headache building behind his eyes.
“I...he’s in love with you.”
“No, Gagne, he loves you. I do not know what he told you, but it was just a
mistake and I am very sorry and can I go back to sleep now?”
“No...you do not understand.”
“I understand that you do not know what you are talking about. So go make him
happy so we will have a good practice and leave me alone.”
“You would make him happier than me.”
Ilya snorted. “Did you miss the part where I reassured you that he loved you?”
“I did not miss it really, just kind of ignored it.”
Ilya sighed. “Why the fuck are you telling me this, Gagne? I already made my
decision.”
“I do not think you did.”
Ilya sighed. “Please go away now.”
“I am just telling you...that he is supposed to be with you. So you do not
try to hurt me later.”
“What the fuck-“ But Simon had hung up.
Ilya slammed the phone down. “It is too early to think about this shit,” he
mumbled, pulling the covers back over his head.
*
*
*
The next thing to wake him up, about an hour later, was the doorbell.
Glancing at the clock, he figured he might as well get up for good.
Pulling a t-shirt over his head, he flipped on the lights through his
darkened apartment on the way to the door and pulled it open, running a
hand over his hair in an attempt to make it lay flat.
It was Dany. He was wearing faded jeans and sandals with a Dave Matthews Band
t-shirt, shivering, with good reason since it was a 30-degree morning in
Atlanta. His eyes met Ilya’s as he stepped through the doorway and with a
flash of rage the Russian realized what Gagne had been getting at earlier
that morning.
He almost-slammed the door behind Dany, and almost-stormed back to the bedroom
for a sweatshirt, which he flung at Dany. “Moron,” he muttered at him,
collapsing in a chair and waiting for the Canadian to do the same.
Dany pulled the USA Hockey sweater over his head and sat more stiffly in a
chair across the room. “He left,” he said softly.
Ilya sighed. He tried to give Dany a sympathetic look that wasn’t simmering
with anger and maybe a little guilt. He didn’t think it worked. “Mnye
zhal, Dany.”
“It isn’t your fault. I...I guess I did something. I thought things were
good.”
Ilya almost said something then, but he didn’t. He didn’t want Dany to know
the reason for this. He didn’t want Dany to blame him. It was obviously
hurting him to lose Simon, and Ilya didn’t want him to feel his best
friend’s betrayal too. “Dan...I do not think you did anything wrong...if
he does not like you that is his problem.”
“You don’t know. You don’t know me that well.”
Ilya slid off the couch and knelt in front of him, forcing Dany to look at
him. “No. I /do/ know you that well.”
Dany smiled a little. “Yeah.”
“You need some food, come on, we’re going to eat.”
“Buckhead Diner?”
“Of course,” Ilya said scornfully. “Where else?”
There was that little smile again as Dany stood up with a tug from
Ilya. “Ilya?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you. Spa...spaciba?”
“Pajoulsta. You’re welcome. But I did nothing.”
Dany shook his head but didn’t reply. He could really put into words what
Ilya had done in those few minutes. Mostly because he couldn’t explain it
himself. He’d been miserable when he’d gotten to Ilya’s door. And he
wasn’t in the best of moods now, but seeing the anger in Kovy’s eyes on
his behalf somehow made him feel better. And Ilya’s concern too, and his
understanding. He didn’t have to try to understand.
So Dany couldn’t explain it, but his step was a little lighter, and the air
wasn’t quite so cold in his lungs on the way out.
Continued in part 7