Here we go again.

Hi. Practice will take long. Don't wait up.

Looking at your messages, you'd figured it would be routine right now. The only thing familiar was the bad feeling it gave you. Ilya canceled plans, yet again, leaving you waiting like a dog in his fancy hotel room. It was pathetic, really, but there was nobody else you put your trust in like him.

At some point, you'd think he'd give in, opening up to the one person he went to bed with almost every night—but he was like every other guy you'd been with. Maybe you could change him—or maybe you could change. Maybe you were missing something he was getting from hockey—or someone else.

In the midst of your overthinking, the door's lock beeped, and in came trudging in a tired Russian boy with a sour look on his face.