They sat in companionable silence in the entry to Buckhead Diner, waiting for
the hostess to come lead them to their table. As she approached the two
of them, Ilya’s cell phone chirped, and he reached into the pocket of the
jeans he’d pulled on before they left to retrieve it. “Be right there,”
he murmured to Dany, who nodded.
Heatley followed the woman to the booth and slid in, smiling at her. When the
waitress came by he ordered coffee for himself and Ilya, and was stirring
his when Kovalchuk returned, pulling his coat off and smiling. “Sorry.”
“It’s ok. Who was it?”
“Knyaz – Igor Knyazev,” Ilya said, smile still in place.
“Oh. ‘Canes, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s he doing?”
Ilya sighed, and shrugged. “Lowell is not playing so well, but he is mostly
good. It was good to hear from him. We have not spoken in a while.”
“Oh.” Dany studied Ilya carefully, trying to decide if he should press
further. He had only met Ilya’s former teammate once, but he gathered
that the two were quite close. “Any particular reason?”
Ilya flashed a quick smile. “No.”
That meant yes, Dany was quite sure. “Ok, Ilya…”
“It is not important, Dan.”
“I’m sure,” Dany said, smirking a little, “that it actually is. Because I
know he’s your best friend and I know a lot of last year you talked to
him, oh, every day.”
“I did not know that you were listening.”
“Well, I didn’t know that you were listening about…about Simon.”
“It is not the same.”
Dany leaned forward. “Isn’t it?”
Ilya couldn’t deny it, and Heatley sat back, pleased with himself. But then
he frowned. “But if…then what about Patrik? And last week?”
Ilya shook his head. “We were…but then not anymore. Before I got hurt last
season we fought and did not speak for some time. Then he saw me in the
summer in Moscow and…we fixed things.”
“But you didn’t get back together?”
“It was too late for that. We are good friends again and for that I am happy.”
They were interrupted when the waitress returned to take their food orders,
but Dany, ready to discuss something besides himself, didn’t let the
subject drop when she left. “But how was it too late?”
“It just was. Because of what we fought about. Things could not go back to
how they were.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Ilya…”
“Dany.” The look in his eyes, old pain mixed with guilt, almost made Dany
quit pushing. Almost.
“So now you’re the one who doesn’t trust me?”
“It is not that,” Kovalchuk muttered, staring at the tabletop as if the
gleaming white surface were something fascinating.
“Then what is it?”
“It is just…he said that I was in love with someone else. He knew that I
loved him too, but he did not want to compete. We fought…I said that it
did not matter, that even if it was true it did not have anything to do
with how I felt for him.” Ilya was still staring at the table, so he
couldn’t see Dany’s shock, couldn’t see the realization that this story
was very closely mirroring his own. “But it did not matter. He
apologized in the summer. But things could not be the same.”
“Was it true?” Dany asked quietly. Ilya’s hands tightened around his coffee
cup.
“Was what true?”
“Were you in love with someone else?”
“Yes,” was the faint response.
Dany thought for a long time about the next thing he said. He could let this
drop now, so easily. He could just change the subject, ask if Ilya was
ready for Boston on Thursday. Ilya obviously didn’t want to talk about
it, and he only was doing so because he felt he owed Dany information.
The question really was whether or not Ilya felt he owed Dany that last
piece of information. He made his decision. He cleared his
throat. “Who?”
Ilya didn’t make a move, his hands clutching the coffee cup still. Slowly, he
raised his eyes to Dany’s, his lips quirked in a sort of half
smile. “Dany,” he said softly, so softly. “Dan…is that really a question
that you have to ask me? Because I think.” The fiery glint deep in his
brown eyes bore straight to Dany’s heart. “Because I think that you know
the answer.”
And Dany was floored.
Continued in part 8