Summary:

Ilyas's head had ended up between his knees, his hands wrapping around the back of his helmet. Ilya couldn't keep the thoughts away. He tried to think of things that didn't relate to Shane, or his mother, or hockey. Grasping at the mental straws, he couldn't come up with anything that didn't relate to Shane in some way. He had completely taken over Ilyas' life. Every good memory he had had Shane in it. Ilya spiralled further, the rubber floor seeming to spin. He had undone his helmet, letting it clatter onto the floor. OR What if Ilya couldn't hold it together when Shane got hurt?