by Rachel Reid
“Wow,” he said. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?”
The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.”
“I will too. Anything. I want this. I want us.”
Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.”
“And we’re starting a charity.”
“And we will become friends.”
“And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.”
“Yes.”
They kissed again. Ilya couldn’t believe they had solved this impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn’t go as smoothly as they imagined, but it was a plan.
“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—”
“The hell you will.”
“And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...”
Shane laughed. “Okay.”
“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...”
“That sounds like a fire hazard.”
“Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.”
“Oh, is it a clear night?”
“Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—”
“Ilya—”
“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.”
“And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.”
“No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
And, oh god, Ilya didn’t deserve him, but he didn’t care. He was selfish like that.
“I mean it,” Shane said softly. “I want to have a life with you. I know it will be awkward, and will still involve a lot of sneaking around for a while, but I’m playing the long game here. So, yeah. Whatever it takes, I’m in.”
Ilya lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed Shane’s knuckles. “Does this mean I get to see your apartment in Montreal? Your real one?”
“You can even keep a toothbrush there. I’m going to sell that other place. I was being paranoid when I bought it. I’m sorry.”
Ilya grinned. “Buying an entire building because you are nervous is very you.”
Shane shook his head. “I really am sorry. I just wanted to protect what we had. I should have invited you to my real apartment sooner. I want you there. I want you in my life. All of it.”
God, were they really going to be able to keep this a secret until they were retired? Now that they were both honest about what they were to each other, Ilya feared it might be impossible to hide their relationship from the world.
Especially when Shane looked at him like he was looking at him right now—like Ilya was worth all this trouble. Like he was worth loving.
“I want to tell everyone,” Ilya said. “Right now.”
Shane’s eyes went wide with panic. “No! Don’t. We have to stick to the plan.”
Ilya sighed dramatically. “You and your plans. What if I just kissed you on the mouth at the next All-Star Game?”
“I’ll punch you. I swear to god.”
“You wouldn’t. Not if I kissed you like this.” Ilya cradled Shane’s face in one hand, his thumb brushing Shane’s cheekbone, and kissed him. He took his time, and finished with little nips to Shane’s bottom lip. Shane, already boneless from the blow job, fell heavily against Ilya’s chest.
“If you kissed me like that I would push you to the ice and start tearing your gear off,” Shane murmured dreamily.
“That would be interesting.” Ilya’s cock was suddenly very interested in that imagined scenario.
“What if we just told our friends?” Shane suggested. “My family already knows. We could just...feel our way with the rest.”
“Mm,” Ilya said. “And what would your best friend Hayden Pike say?”
“He would probably think I was kidding.”
“You are known for your pranks.”
Shane laughed. “I want to tell him. I want him to know you like I do.”
“Really?” Ilya made the word as suggestive as possible. “Do you think he’d like to join us? A night away from the kids, maybe?”
Shane buried his face against Ilya’s shoulder, probably to hide his blush. “Stop it.”
“Or maybe if Rose Landry wants a sexual experience with you that isn’t a disaster...”
“No threesomes!” Shane said. “That’s my hard rule.”
“You’ve never tried it,” Ilya scoffed. “You might love it.”
“When have I ever loved something I thought I’d hate?” Shane said dryly.
Ilya chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go to bed.”
“It’s four in the afternoon.”
“Yes, but when I am done with you it will be bedtime.”
“Promises.”
Ilya took his hand and pulled him toward the house. He picked up Shane’s vodka glass with the other. No sense wasting it. “And tomorrow, I am going to keep you in bed all day.”
“All day, huh?”
“Yes—bring the bottle in, yes?—and maybe the day after that also.”
“For two weeks?”
Ilya shrugged. “I could maybe extend my stay.”
Shane plunked the vodka bottle on the kitchen counter. “You can?”
“A little. Yes. If you will have me.”
“I do have some other hot Russians coming to stay with me in a couple of weeks...”
Ilya gasped. “Shane Hollander! You have not ever told me that I am hot before.”
Shane frowned. “I haven’t?”
“No. I would remember.”
“Well, I mean...obviously you’re hot. Like, I-can’t-believe-I-get-to-kiss-you hot.”
“Come upstairs. You can kiss me and tell me about Ottawa. And maybe get me off because I am fucking dying.”
Shane raced past him to the stairs. “Only if you beat me.”
Ilya laughed. “Game fucking on, Hollander.”
Epilogue
Sixteen months later—Montreal
“He tripped me! Hey, what the fuck, ref! That was tripping!”
Shane glared up at the ref, and then at Ilya, who was looming over him in his Ottawa jersey. “You fell,” Ilya said.
“I didn’t fall. It was tripping.”
“Yes. Was you tripping over your own skates.”
“Get fucked, Rozanov.”
Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Was planning on it.”
And now Shane had to bite back a grin. He rose to his knees, then stood, still mad as hell. Ilya had totally tripped him.
The crowd was booing, cursing Ilya’s name, and Shane got up in his face. “Stop being an asshole.”
“Stop falling down.”
Shane jabbed him in the chest with a gloved finger. He heard the crowd roar its approval. “You can’t beat me without cheating.”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think?”
Someone grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled him away. “All right, keep it in your pants, you two. Jesus.”
“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning.
“I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said.
“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”
“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m gonna punch h
im.”
“No you’re not,” the ref barked. “Get back to your benches, all three of you. It’s a commercial break. Go cool off.”
Ilya winked at Shane and then skated to his bench. Shane could feel his cheeks burning.
“I still can’t believe he’s your...you know,” Hayden grumbled as they headed for their own bench.
“Quiet.”
“I know. I know. Just...it fucks me up, thinking about it.”
“Then don’t!”
“I mean, I could have found you a nice dude, if you had just—”
“Shut it.”
They had reached the bench, and although Shane had come out to his teammates at the start of the season, he hadn’t told any of them about Ilya. Hayden had done the math and figured it out about a month after Shane had told him he was gay.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” he had said as they’d walked to their cars after arriving home from a road trip. “You know how you used to go meet up with your mystery man every time we played in Boston? But now you don’t?”
“Um. We, uh...broke up,” Shane had said quickly. And unconvincingly.
“Uh-huh. But you’ve been driving to Ottawa a lot this season.”
“Yeah, my parents live there. I’ve been, um, visiting.”
“Your parents have always lived there, and they drive to Montreal even more than you drive to Ottawa. So I have another theory. I think your mystery man is Ilya Rozanov.”
Shane had been flooded with a mixture of fear and shame, but also relief. He didn’t say anything until they’d reached Hayden’s car, and then he’d blown out a breath and nodded.
Hayden had blanched. “Holy fuck. I was sort of joking. Are you for real...doing stuff...with Rozanov?”
“Yes.”
“Wait, seriously? Did he sign with Ottawa to be closer to you? What the fuck is happening?”
“It’s one reason, yes.”
Hayden had turned and placed both hands on the roof of his car, leaning forward like he was trying to breathe through a cramp. “Shane, this is not good, buddy.”
“It’s not ideal, no. But...I love him.”
Hayden had looked at him, after he’d said that, like Shane had sprouted wings and a tail, and Shane had been sure he’d just lost his best friend. But, instead of yelling at him or getting in his car and speeding away, Hayden had just nodded and said, “I think I need to meet him properly, then.”
They had met properly, a couple of times, since then, but neither time had gone particularly well. Hayden couldn’t think of Ilya as anything but the enemy, and Ilya had responded with relentless snark. So they weren’t exactly friends.
“You sure you wanna do that press conference tomorrow?” Hayden asked. “I mean, no one knows that you guys are friends right now. You could keep it that way.”
“I’m sure.” Shane was definitely sure. He and Ilya had been planning for tomorrow for over a year.
He had sold the hookup building, and Ilya had sold (most of) his car collection. With the combined earnings, they’d started the Irina Foundation. Tomorrow, at a hotel conference room downtown, they would be announcing, and, more importantly, explaining the foundation they had created together.
“It’s a good cause, I suppose,” Hayden sighed. “I apologize in advance if Rozanov has a black eye for the press conference.”
“Please don’t punch him.”
“I’ll make a deal: if he stops being a fucking dick, I won’t punch him.”
Shane grimaced. Ilya was definitely going to have a black eye tomorrow.
* * *
Ilya found Shane in the bathroom down the hall from the conference room. He was gripping the counter and staring down into one of the sinks.
“Relax, Hollander,” Ilya said. He was probably as nervous as Shane was, really, but Shane was much worse at hiding it. Ilya put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and rubbed gently, careful not to wrinkle his light gray suit jacket.
“I’m nervous,” Shane said unnecessarily.
“I know.”
“We’ve been planning for this day for over a year and now it’s here and I’m scared. I don’t even know why!”
“Our plan has worked perfectly so far,” Ilya said.
“Too perfectly. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”
It had seemed too easy, so far. When Ilya’s contract had ended with Boston, Ottawa had been all too happy to sign him. Ilya had bought a large, private house on the edge of the Ottawa River with a four-car garage. The garage currently held two sports cars and a very sensible Mercedes SUV. (“Is good in snow,” Ilya had explained sheepishly when he’d first shown it to Shane. “For driving between Ottawa and Montreal.”)
They had agreed that it would be easier to continue in secret if they weren’t both living in apartment buildings, so Shane had bought a house in Brossard that was still close to the team’s practice facility.
Ilya wrapped his arms around his boyfriend now, to pull him back against his chest. Shane met his eyes in the mirror. “Your cheek looks better than I thought it would.”
“Is still sore.”
“Serves you right. You were an asshole to Hayden.”
“Hayden is an asshole to me.”
Shane sighed. “I have terrible taste in men. For friends and boyfriends.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against Ilya’s shoulder.
“Will be fine,” Ilya said. He kissed Shane’s temple and nuzzled his hair.
“Don’t mess my hair up,” Shane murmured, but he was smiling.
“Jesus.” Ilya turned his head to see Hayden standing just inside the door with his hand over his eyes. “I’m still not used to that. You guys know this is, like, a public bathroom, right?”
Ilya dropped his arms, and Shane stepped away. Hayden was right. Shane and Ilya weren’t even out, publically, as gay and bisexual, let alone as a couple. They’d agreed that they wanted their private lives to be their own, and they would only tell the people they wanted to include in that life. So far, it was a very small circle. A small circle that, much to Ilya’s chagrin, included Hayden.
“Anyway,” Hayden said, looking at the wall and not at them, “Shane, your mom asked me to look for you. They fixed the audio problem, so you can start any time.”
“Okay, thanks. We’ll be right out.”
Hayden nodded. “I’ll stand outside the door, but you have, like, two minutes, tops, all right? Don’t, y’know, start anything.”
Ilya knew Shane was rolling his eyes. “We won’t. Geez, Hayd.”
When the door was closed, Ilya laughed. “He thinks you can’t come in two minutes?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Ilya grabbed his hand and pulled him close. “I want to tell you, before we do this, that I am...very happy today. My mother would have really liked this. And I think she is with me today. And proud.”
Oh, oops. Now Shane’s eyes were glistening. “She has so many reasons to be proud of you, Ilya.”
Ilya smiled at him. “I need to kiss you here, or else I will do it out there.”
“Okay.”
He held Shane’s face in his hands and gazed at him for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing the hell out of him.
“I love you,” Ilya said.
“I love you too.”
Ilya nodded. “Remember that when I am being a dick to you out there.”
Shane grinned and kissed him again. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
* * *
The room was packed with people who were dying to see what announcement Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov would be making together. Shane wasn’t sure what rumors had been stirred up by this press conference, but it was time to end the suspense.
They had agreed that Shane would do most of the talking. Ilya was by no means shy, but Shane kn
ew he was uneasy making long speeches in English. Besides, Shane wanted to make sure everything was said in both English and French, since both Montreal and Ottawa were bilingual cities.
“Ilya and I have been competing against each other for over eight seasons. A lot has been said, and written, about our rivalry. About what makes us different as players, and as people. But I don’t say enough how much I respect Ilya, not only as one of the best players in the NHL, but as a person. He is a great leader, a fierce competitor, and an amazing goal scorer. But over the years I have also gotten to know him off the ice, and I consider him a friend.”
That statement alone created a swell of murmurs throughout the room.
Shane read through the words again, in French this time, and then continued. “When Ilya signed with Ottawa, we began talking about creating a charity together. Today that dream is a reality. The Irina Foundation will raise money and awareness for organizations that provide support, counseling, and assistance for people who are suffering from depression and other mental illnesses that can lead to suicide. It’s a cause that is important to both of us, and I am very happy and proud to be working with Ilya to create something that can hopefully help a lot of people.”
He translated in French, and as he finished, he heard Ilya clear his throat.
“Ah, I can only say my part in English.” He smiled, which made the audience laugh. “This is not in the notes, but I want to say that the Irina Foundation is named for my mother. She battled depression without help for many years. She had no support, no medical treatment. When she...”
Shane didn’t think. He just reached out a hand and placed it on Ilya’s forearm, where it rested on the table. He hadn’t expected Ilya to say any of this, but looking at Ilya now, Shane knew he needed to say it.
“My mother died when I was twelve years old. She lost her battle. This foundation is for her. It is to help people like her, so they do not have to fight alone.”
Ilya looked down at the table and sniffed. Shane patted his arm, wishing he could hold his hand or kiss his hair. His chest felt tight, and his eyes burned.
After a long moment where you could have heard a pin drop in the crowded room, Shane spoke. “Thank you, Ilya.”