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“I almost let you win.” “Liar.” “The view was not bad. From behind. Almost worth staying there.” Shane didn’t know how his boyfriend was able to speak in full sentences. “Shut up.” “I like those little shorts.” Shane laughed, but it sounded more like a steam engine puffing. “Thanks.”
“I like Ryan,” Yuna said. “He’s a big sweetie.” “Yes,” Ilya agreed. “We are going to ask about a double date with him and his boyfriend, maybe.” Yuna placed her hands on Ilya’s shoulders and squeezed, once. “I love that idea.” Ilya bit his lip to contain his smile. He really liked Shane’s family.
“I’m helping,” Ilya couldn’t resist pointing out. “I know you are.” Yuna patted his cheek. “That’s why you’re my favorite son.” Ilya grinned at Shane, who tried to look annoyed but mostly failed because his eyes had gone soft.
“Do you think we looked like that to them?” “What, sexy? I probably did.” “No, like...in love?” Ilya seemed to consider the question before answering. “We are very good at pretending to not be in love. Maybe we are bad at showing it when we are allowed.”
“Would you show me off?” Shane asked quietly. He could feel the heat of Ilya’s gaze even without looking. “I would never stop showing you off,” Ilya said. “If I could.”
“Shit, Hollander,” Ilya rasped. God, Shane loved it when Ilya used his last name, the way he’d used to, before. Back when they’d used to fuck but before they were...this.
Shane had a good view of Ilya reclining on his bed, wearing only boxer briefs. “I hope that’s not what you wore to my parents’ house.” “I dressed up for your parents. Nice shirt, very respectable boyfriend.” “You don’t have to dress up for them. They love you.” Ilya’s smile looked soft, and helpless. “I know. They made me chicken parmesan. And there was ice cream.”
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Shane said. Ilya smiled at him in that crooked way that had been making Shane feel crazy for over ten years. “Tell me.” “As if you don’t know how hot you are.” “Tell me anyway.” Shane smiled and shook his head, but said, “You’re so fucking big. Like, everywhere. Your arms, your chest, your fucking thighs. I love how tall you are. I don’t even care that you make fun of my height because I fucking love being swallowed up by you when we’re together.”
Shane: It’s going to be hard to delete that photo. Ilya: I can take more. He knew Shane would delete the photo. They always deleted anything in their message history that could give away their secret.
“Do you think I’d be a good dad?” “Sure. You’d be the responsible one who makes sure they, like, eat vegetables and brush their teeth and stuff. Ilya would be the fun one who buys them Jet Skis for their tenth birthdays.” “Oh god. He would do that.”
“Someone might notice my heart eyes.” “Your what?” “Heart eyes. Hayden said I look at you with heart eyes.” Shane squirmed against his bedsheets. “When did he say that?” “At camp. I was staring at you and he said—” “Oh god.” Shane palmed his face. “He did not say that.” “Yes. Was probably true. I look at you and I am just...” Ilya opened and closed his fist several times in front of his chest. “My heart goes crazy, you know?” Shane’s own heart started going a little crazy.
Ilya sighed loudly, then continued in a quieter tone. “When you watch it, this is what you will see. Me saying nothing. I wanted to say you are fucking everything to me. Everything. Okay?” Shane swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“Sparkles on all of them?” Ilya asked. Ruby nodded without hesitation and Ilya got to work. He’d already painted her nails a bold combination of dark purple, neon pink, and light blue, but obviously the sparkles were necessary. “How’s it going?” Shane asked as he entered the kitchen. “Amazing. Look at this great job I am doing.”
Arthur pressed a button on a toy that played fifteen seconds of a song from Moana, and they were ready to begin. “This is the wedding of Shane Hollander and Ilya...” Jade narrowed her eyes at Ilya. “Rozanov,” he supplied. She nodded. “Rose-noff.” Shane snickered, and Ilya nudged him. “Shane. Keep it together. Is our wedding day.”
Hayden laughed so hard Shane worried he would lose his towel. “You are so innocent. I love it.” “I am not.” Why did everyone act like he was a total prude? Even Ilya—the man he had actual sex with on the regular—teased him about it. “Sorry,” Hayden said, still laughing. “I’m sure you’re wild in bed.” “You think I’m not?” Hayden held up his hands. “Please don’t tell me.”
He slid a hand down to Shane’s ass, found the base of the plug, and pressed on it. “Oh fuck,” Shane gasped. “You drove the whole way here with this in?” “Uh-huh.” “That,” Ilya said as he carefully tugged at the toy, “is very slutty.”
He didn’t keep his photos very organized, but he had one album he’d named “Boring.” He opened it now, and scrolled through the six photos it contained. They were all more or less the same, taken years ago during the NHL Awards. Ilya and Shane had been presenting an award together, and the scripted banter had involved Ilya asking Shane for a selfie. Ilya had used his real phone, and he’d taken real photos. Six of them.
Of course that would be Shane’s reaction to Ilya revealing how fucking soft he was for him. How soft he’d always been. Ilya had been carrying these photos around like precious treasure for years, transferring them to each new phone.
“Was I awake then?” Shane asked quietly. “I don’t remember.” “Yes. Barely.” Ilya’s voice sounded small and unsteady. “You were trying to talk to me.” Ilya never fucking left. Even though Shane’s teammates were all, sensibly, huddled near the Montreal bench, out of the way of the medics, Ilya stayed. He’d stood there in his Boston uniform, making sure Shane knew he wasn’t alone.
“How could they not know?” Shane said. “How could anyone have seen this—seen you—and not known about us?” Ilya had displayed his heart so openly, smashed against the ice as unmistakably as Shane’s broken body.
“I—we were...fucking.” “Wow,” Ilya said dryly. Shane wasn’t going to sit here and be accused of having unimaginative sex dreams. He swallowed his shame and added, “At center ice.” Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. “I know that logistically,” Shane continued quickly, “it would be, y’know, basically impossible, but dreams are weird. So, yeah. Center ice.”
“So how was he?” Shane asked. He was sprawled out on his hotel bed, completely exhausted after the game. “So cute, Shane. You should see him!” “What?” Troy Barrett was an attractive man, sure, but that was an unexpected reaction from Ilya. “He licked my face with his little tongue!” “Uh.” “His ears are so floppy, and he is so soft. I wanted to carry him around all practice.” Oh. “I meant Troy, idiot. Not the puppy.” Ilya huffed. “Who cares? Puppy was great. His name is Chiron. He is black and small and—” “Okay. Puppies are cute. Agreed. But what was Troy like?” “Was fine. Quiet. Whatever.”
Ilya laughed, and kissed behind Shane’s ear. “We do not talk about these freckles on the back of your neck enough.” “I’m not—” Shane’s breath hitched as Ilya increased the speed of his strokes. “I’m not too familiar with them.” “They are just here. A little group of them.” Ilya’s lips brushed the base of Shane’s neck, making Shane shiver. “Adorable.”
“Do you see,” Ilya asked, “how you look when you are gone like this? Stunning, Hollander.” Shane opened his eyes and gasped at what he saw. He’d never seen himself like this. He’d seen Ilya like this—eyes hazy with lust, mouth slack, cheeks flushed—but never his own face.
Shane exhaled slowly. “I don’t think I like Troy.” “Why? You have a lot in common. You both are short, gay, and both think I am hot.” “Your favorite qualities in a man.” “You are both very pretty. Nice dark hair. Troy also does not have chest hair.” “Let’s stop talking about Troy Barrett.” Ilya laughed. “It is cute how you are jealous.”
Ilya didn’t want to fight. He was exhausted, and miserable, and his boyfriend was breaking his fucking heart. Quietly, in a voice that couldn’t disguise his pain, he said, “I already chose you, Hollander.” He stepped back, and watched Shane’s eyes widen. After a moment, Shane’s lips parted as if he had something to say, but Ilya didn’t want to hear it. “Go home,” Ilya said. “Please.” Then he turned and walked quickly upstairs.
Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand. And Shane hadn’t even bothered to look at it before. Not really. He looked now. He scrolled until his eyes were so blurry he had to give up and sob into his hands instead. How could Shane have doubted for a second how fiercely Ilya loved him?
Ilya was screaming. He knew he was screaming and that he should probably stop, but everyone around him was screaming too. He gripped the arms of his seat and closed his eyes, as if either of those things would help. We’re going to crash. I’m going to die. I’ll never see Shane again. We were going to have dogs and kids.
Fuck it. Ilya opened Instagram and started typing a new private message to ShaneHollanderHockeyPlayer. Shane, he wrote, then stopped. He had no idea what to say. There was no possible way to put everything he needed to tell Shane into words. But the plane was on fire, and Ilya didn’t have time to think. He wrote what was in his terrified heart: You are the best thing in my life. His eyes were blurry, making it hard to type. He quickly swiped at his eyes and kept writing. I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.
Ilya couldn’t remember what Shane had said, exactly, that first time they’d met. He only remembered freckles splashed over rosy red cheeks. He remembered Shane’s hand being unfairly warm when he shook it. He remembered being studied by dark, earnest eyes. It was entirely possible that Ilya had lost his heart in that moment. It took his brain a long time to catch up, but his heart had known right away.
I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those. Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
Anger flared through Shane’s body, hot and sudden. They had lots of reasons to keep their relationship a secret, but those reasons seemed extremely unimportant now. What if Ilya had died? What if he had fucking died? Shane would have died too. Alone, and secretly, and for the rest of his life. He clutched his phone to his chest, and turned his head to face the window so his teammates didn’t see the way his lip was trembling.
He could tell right away that Shane had been crying. “Oh,” Ilya said softly. “Sweetheart. I am so sorry.”
He’d once told Shane, years ago, that one day he would cover the dock at his cottage in candles. That he’d bring Shane down there, then ask him to marry him. It had been a joke, sort of. But now he was really standing in a room full of candles and— Shane sank to one knee in front of him. Ilya had enjoyed watching Shane go to his knees in front of him many times over the years, but he knew immediately that this was different.
“Am I supposed to wear it now? Or is it for after we are married?” “You know,” Shane said, “I have no idea. I just thought I should have a ring for this.” Ilya handed the ring back to Shane, then loosened and removed his necktie. He opened the top buttons of his shirt, then reached back and unclasped the gold chain around his neck. He removed it, then held out his palm for the ring. “Oh,” Shane said, then handed him the ring. Ilya slipped it onto the chain until it nudged up against the crucifix pendant that had been his mother’s.
Ilya took a moment to just look at Shane, laid out like that in the magical lighting he’d worked so hard to create. His long hair fanned out under his head, and his dark eyes danced with joy and desire. His freckles were all bunched up because he was smiling so widely his nose was wrinkled. Ilya took one of his hands, tangled their fingers together, and pinned it on the rug over Shane’s head. The ring dangled in the air between them. “I love you so much,” Shane said softly. Ilya swallowed. “I will be very proud to be your husband.”
“Is Kip happy you are retiring this year?” “Fuck off. I’m not retiring this year.” Ilya widened his eyes in mock surprise. “No? But your body is so old!”
Shane hadn’t touched alcohol for a year, almost, but he felt a bit drunk in that moment. Ilya’s hand on his hip was possibly the only thing that was preventing him from toppling forward onto the floor. “Sounds like hard work for you.” Ilya’s lips curved up. “It is your reward. For winning today.” “Oh,” Shane said thickly. “Fuck.”
“I can’t believe you fucking chatted with him while you were fingering me,” Shane hissed. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” “Wrong with me? I am not the one who fucking loved it.”
“They could see how well you take it. How much you love it.” “Stop,” Shane said weakly, not meaning it at all. “They would be so jealous of me. Getting to have you like this.” Shane opened his eyes. “They’d be jealous of me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“I’m going to come, Hollander. Fuck.” Shane wished he hadn’t said his name, but he stopped caring about it immediately because watching Ilya Rozanov’s face when he climaxed was Shane’s favorite thing in the world.
He was thrilled for Harris and Troy, but at the same time he knew he’d never get a locker room full of hockey players cheering for his and Shane’s relationship. And of course he shouldn’t resent Troy for being able to come out, announce his relationship with Harris, and basically adopt a wonderful dog all on the same day. “It’s okay,” he said to Chiron in Russian. “My day is coming.”
“So who is he?” Ilya’s cheeks heated, which he hoped wasn’t noticeable in the dim lighting of the restaurant. “You’re blushing,” Svetlana said, delighted. “Ilya Rozanov, are you in love?” Ilya couldn’t stop the smile that crept across his face. “Extremely.”
“His name,” Ilya said calmly, “is Shane.” “Not Russian, then. Too bad. What does Shane do?” Ilya somehow managed to keep himself from laughing. “He’s an athlete.” Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “Which sport?” Ilya rolled the stem of his martini glass between his thumb and forefinger. “Hockey.” Svetlana huffed. “I don’t understand. Unless you’re in love with Shane Hollander, I can’t think of any—” She stopped, and then she lunged forward, practically resting her whole torso on the table. “Is it Shane Hollander?” she hissed. “I’m afraid so. Yes.”
He’d seen how emotional Ilya had been during the long standing ovation Troy had gotten before the game had started. It had been a huge day for hockey. But Shane also understood why Ilya needed to be held right now.
Ilya always looked spectacular when he was naked and wet. Shane had no idea how his teammates were able to shower with him without losing their shit. Shane certainly hadn’t been able to, all those years ago.
Ilya was already sprawled out on his stomach, a pillow under his hips, ass raised, making it clear what he needed. After three years of being an exclusive couple, they knew each other’s bodies well, and they knew each other’s limits. Ilya wasn’t interested in bottoming any more than Shane was interested in topping, but sometimes Ilya liked it when Shane gave his ass some attention. Sometimes Ilya just wanted to be taken as far out of himself as he could go, and this seemed to do it for him.
“Um. So, do you want...” “Fingers, Hollander. Put your fingers in me. And fucking relax.” Shane scoffed. “You’re the one who needs to relax here.” “You are the one who is taking forever.” “I liked it better when you couldn’t talk.” “Then make me forget how to.”
Shane fiddled with the ring on Ilya’s chain. “What would you name your son?” “Roger Crowell.” Shane cracked up. “He’d love that.” “Roger Crowell Rozanov.” “Stop.” “Or...” Ilya rolled on top of him, grinning. “Roger Crowell Rozanov-Hollander.” “God, that’s a mouthful,” Shane said as his heart melted into goo. “Hollander-Rozanov is alphabetical, though, so...” “Sounds worse.” “Maybe we could combine our names. Hollanov. Rozander.” “Roger Rozander. Terrible name.”
The dog put her front paws on Ilya’s shin, her mouth stretched in a smile as if she knew what Ilya was thinking. “Anya,” Ilya said, smiling back at her. “I think her name is Anya.”
