Note: Clink on the first line of the poem quoted within to read the entire
thing.
He opened his eyes into the nightmare his life had become. He
hadn't been dreaming, the sedative had seen to that, but now that he
was technically awake it felt like a dream. Because it couldn't be
true. Not when for a week they'd been told that it looked good,
that the tests were good. For a week the doctors had been
optimistic.
Dany shifted and his knee protested. He had known something was
wrong with it from the beginning, but now it was official.
Yesterday, that had been devastating news. Today it didn't matter
at all. Today nothing mattered.
His eyes drifted to the side of his bed, where Ilya was. He was
asleep, his large frame squeezed uncomfortably into the chair. He
had been so strong for Dany, all week, always there and always a
comfort. Now he looked like a kid and there were tear tracks on his
cheeks.
Dany had to look away from him, knowing that he'd caused him that
pain. Caused everybody this much pain.
Last week seemed like a lifetime ago now. In that lifetime, nothing
could go wrong. In that lifetime he had been the leader of a young
team itching for Opening Night, hungry to show the hockey world what
they could do. Then, the A on his jersey seemed closer than 2
letters to a C.
In that lifetime, he had been delighted with the changes in his best
friend. It wasn't like he hadn't talked to him since worlds; they
were on the phone almost every day. But to see him after those
months when he returned to Atlanta...stronger, fitter, with hair
long enough for Dany to tangle his fingers in, a gorgeous, quick
grin and eyes that would twinkle at Dany's gap-toothed
response...Ilya had gained a stability over the summer that Dany was
both relieved and impressed to see, and in his old lifetime he had
been still basking in the reunion.
In that lifetime, they worried about their stupid bets and making it
to practice on time and staying quiet enough at night that Dan
didn't hear them, and tease them. In that lifetime, there was
nothing important worth worrying about.
But that lifetime had ended.
In this new life, Dany watched Ilya live at the hospital with him.
He left for practices and when Bob made him. He looked more
exhausted every day and his rare smiles were tinged with worry. He
always disguised that he barely touched the take-out that Sutts and
Mac and Slava would bring him and they always pretended not to
notice.
In this lifetime, Slava would squeeze his hand without saying a
word, but look at him with eyes that knew too much, his own demons
resurfacing with a vengeance as he relived days awfully similar to
Dany's.
In this lifetime, he had sapped his young team of its energy, and
Opening Night was just a dreaded 3 days away.
In this lifetime, he didn't have an A or a C and he wasn't even a
hockey player.
In this lifetime he was a killer.
In this lifetime Dan was dead.
He shuddered, and his stomach turned. He pressed the call button
because he couldn't breathe and because he couldn't open his mouth
and because he couldn't think anymore. He saw the nurse rush in and
he tried to take deep breaths against his roiling stomach, but he
couldn't seem to draw enough oxygen. The nurse was talking to him,
trying to calm him he guessed, but his ears were ringing and he
couldn't hear her. He failed to notice the doctor entering the room
and he missed the injection into his IV, but in less than a minute
Dany could draw a breath and the threat of throwing up with a wired
jaw passed. The ache in his knee eased as his eyelids grew heavy
and his last thought was that they must've sedated Ilya too, because
he slept through it all.
* * *
When Ilya woke up, his head was pounding. Dany was still asleep, he
registered, though his brain felt fuzzy. He frowned, rubbing his
eyes. Seems the pill Shawn had thrust into his hand last night with
the disclaimer "It's for your head" had been a little more than
aspirin. He wondered if it drugging people against their will was
illegal, but even in his annoyance he knew Mac's actions hadn't been
unfounded. He did need the rest. And he had hardly been rational
last night. Not when Dan's mother had stood in front of him in the
too-bright hospital corridor and pressed that piece of her dead
son's watch into his hand. "This is your link to Dan," she had told
him. "The team needs you to lead and Dany needs you to take care of
him," she had said, insinuating that Dan's strength could help him
with all that. She was right, but it didn't make seeing Dany's face
a few minutes later any easier. Standing up, he stretched tight
muscles, feeling his vertebrae pop. Couldn't Shawn have at least
had the courtesy to knock him out on a bed? He glanced at his watch
and sighed. Nearly 8 am. He'd barely have enough time to get home
and shower before the team meeting out at Duluth.
He wanted to go back to sleep at that thought. For a few days.
No...really, he just wished he could go back about a week. Back a
week and do one little thing differently. He could've waited a
couple more days to deal with his apartment...if he'd been following
Dany home it never would've happened. Or...if he just hadn't said
anything. "Call you later" instead of "I bet I beat you home." If
he hadn't made a fucking race.
If, if, if. His chest tightened and he gritted his teeth, letting
his hand drop to Dany's head. "I'm so sorry, buddy," he whispered,
fighting tears. He was sick of crying. "I wish..." He paused. I
wish. "If it had to happen...I wish it'd been me behind the
wheel." He looked down at Dany, who appeared calm in his drug-
induced slumber. He had heard the news from LuAnn, initially, and
he'd stayed strong enough for her, but they'd had to sedate him just
a few minutes after Ilya was at his bedside. His fingers tightened
in the familiar, soft curls. "I just wish I could spare you this."
He was reluctant to leave Dany this morning, but he had no choice.
Reaching for his hat, he spared one last glance at the man in the
bed before tugging the cap low over tired, red eyes and heading for
the exit.
* * *
The meeting was everything he was afraid of, and he was glad of
Savy's arm around his shoulders. The notorious jokester was
muttering "dear God" to himself every few minutes. There wasn't a
dry eye in the room, and nobody seemed to know what to say, or do,
except sit in shocked silence.
Ilya bowed his head, and the chain around his neck fell out of his
shirt, the watch link dangling from it flashing. Squeezing his eyes
shut, he closed a fist around it, and from nowhere, a poem he'd
memorized years ago, when he was just a kid, flashed into his
mind. "Ya iz plemeny dukhoff," he said softly, remembering the
recitation in his classroom as an 11-year-old. He'd worked so hard
on that poem, late at night when his father was finally satisfied
with his athletic practice for the evening. His perfect remembrance
had resulted in a 5 and rare praise from his teacher, who usually
considered him a rather undevoted student. She would appreciate
that the poem was back in his head. He'd spoken the opening line
hesitantly, but the rest came rushing back, so he lifted his head
and kept talking. Slava met his eyes across the room and gave him a
little nod, enough encouragement for him to keep going even though
most of them couldn't understand a word.
Marc Savard sat in shock at his teammate's performance. Kovalchuk
had never struck him as a particularly poetic person, but his voice
was deep and melodious and Savy realized he'd rarely actually heard
him speak his native language, and certainly not like this. Marc
couldn't understand the words of the piece, but he didn't need to.
The pure emotion in the young Russian's delivery was enough. "Jesus
fucking Christ, Kovy," Garnet Exelby muttered as Ilya trailed off on
the last "O bessmyslenaya vechnost." And Savard heard the winger
whisper "meaningless eternity" as he pulled him closer as he cried,
knowing his rough week was catching up to him.
"I don't - don't know what to tell you, boys," spoke up Bob Hartley
from the entrance, where he'd been standing with Don Waddell and the
other coaches. His red eyes swept the room, settling on Kovalchuk's
shaking shoulders. "Except that Graham and Luann...they want us to
play."
He let them digest that, until the captain took a deep breath and
sat up straight. His voice was hoarse but firm as he said, "Then we
play. For Dan."
Continued in part 3