ilyaaaaaarozanov: I believe we're staying at the same hotel. My room is 1221.
ilyaaaaaarozanov: you can start by telling me how good i actually am.
Shane stared at the message longer than he should have.
Then he typed back one word.
shanehollander: Okay
#hollanov
Shane Hollander had been out of the league for three years, but the media still treated him like a golden boy.
Forty years old, three cups as Captain, more awards than he can count, and now an assistant coach.
ilyaaaaaarozanov: you hurt my feelings hollander
ilyaaaaaarozanov: but I know a way you can make it up to me
Shane’s typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
shanehollander: Anything.
Then he slipped out of bed and didn’t look back.
Tomorrow Shane would leave his apartment and his life again. And Shane never looked back, so maybe Ilya needed to stop looking too.
#hollanov
Tomorrow Shane will pack his life away into a carry on, and leave.
Ilya hadn’t stopped smiling or feeling happy all week. Until this morning.
He woke up that morning and Shane was already downstairs on the treadmill, and for the first time all week Ilya didn’t want to join him.
Shane kissed his shoulder, then wrapped his arms around his waist, nuzzling closer.
“I could have another nap.”
Ilya stayed awake until Shane’s breathing deepened, until his warm breath tickled the back of Ilya’s hair.