The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

“You were smoking,” he complained sleepily. “No.” “I can smell it.” Ilya kissed his shoulder. “Maybe your house is on fire.” Shane huffed and fell back asleep.

Ilya is so funny

“How many men have you been with?” Ilya glanced up with interest from the coffee mug he’d been spooning sugar into. Shane had blurted the question out and was now staring fixedly at his poached eggs. His ears were bright pink. “This week, you mean?” Ilya asked calmly. Shane turned his gaze up, his annoyance radiating across the breakfast table in grumpy waves. “No, asshole. I mean ever.”

“You said there was one guy in Moscow. The, um...” “My coach’s son. Yes. He was one.” “The first one?” “I said he was. Yes.” “You never said that. I mean, it was implied, I guess, but—” “He was the first.” Ilya bit the inside of his cheek, then added, “Possibly the best too.” “You’re such a giant dick.” “You know who had a giant dick?” Ilya asked wistfully. Shane’s chair screeched across the kitchen floor as he stood up. He snatched his plate off the table and stormed off toward the sink. Ilya continued eating his breakfast. “Was I the second?” Shane asked, after he had finished rinsing his plate. “Biggest dick?” “Stop it.”

It would be, altogether, their eleventh NHL season of hiding. Seven seasons of secret hookups, and three seasons of being in a mostly secret committed relationship. It had been a lot of hiding.

Jeez thats a lot

“I can’t believe no one has figured it out yet.” “Well,” Ilya said, brushing a thumb over Shane’s cheek. “I am way out of your league.” “Right.” “Who would believe you if you told them?” Shane punched his arm, then captured Ilya’s lips in a sweet kiss. He tasted like coffee and home, and Ilya really wished he didn’t need to leave. “You should quit hockey,” Ilya murmured. “Send them a text. Say you quit. Stay here with me.” “I’m not ending my career via text.” “Email, then.” “I have to go.”

Except the summers, when they were together almost every day, and Ilya’s soul lightened as he soaked up Shane’s proximity the same way his golden-brown hair lightened in the sun. Ilya loved hockey, but he lived for the summers now.

He loved being a Montreal Voyageur. He loved what he and his teammates had accomplished here, and he wanted to keep doing it for the rest of his career. He was an unrestricted free agent at the end of this season, but he fully expected to sign with Montreal again. He didn’t even want to look at options. This was his team. These were his fans. And those were his three fucking Stanley Cup banners. Someday his number would hang from the rafters too. He had no doubt that it would be retired here. He’d earned that. Even if he quit right now, he’d done enough to earn that. “You know what’s even better than three Stanley Cups?” J.J. asked. Shane smiled. “Four Stanley Cups.” “Fucking right. Let’s get it.” “Let’s get it,” Shane agreed.

Ilya grabbed his phone off the nightstand. Maybe he was weak, but he needed whatever he could get from Shane right now. A sleepy selfie. A good-night text. A heart emoji. Anything. Early the next morning, Shane woke to find a missed text on his phone, sent after one A.M. Ilya: Are you awake? Shane huffed and shook his head. Was Ilya ever not horny?

This miscommunication is killing me already

He had to go to practice. He still felt tired. He always felt tired these days. It could be because he was twenty-nine, which was hockey middle-aged. Or because his terrible team had lost five to one last night. It could be because of the frequent unsettling dreams he’d been having about his mother. It could be because he missed his boyfriend. It could be because I’m depressed.

“He’d be a good dad, I guess,” Hayden said, breaking through Shane’s anxiety spiral. “Who?” Shane asked, in case Hayden meant the drunk gentleman on the TV. “Rozanov. He’s good with kids. Ruby and Jade love him.” “He basically is a kid, that’s why,” Shane said, though inside his heart was glowing. “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.” “And you’d return them and buy the kids sensible shoes or something instead,” Hayden teased. “Eat shit. I’d be a cool dad.”

Shane smiled back, knowing damn well Ilya had only stayed up late to watch his boyfriend play hockey. “Sure. I saw Rose yesterday.” “Yes, I saw the photos.” “Aw man, did those hit the internet?” “They say you are back together. Congratulations. Very happy for you.” “Anyway, I want to tell you what she said.” “She wants you back?” “No. Shut up. She said we should maybe make, like, a backup plan. In case our secret gets out.”

“Man,” Bood said as they skated to the bench, “this town hates you.” “Nah. They wish I played for them.” Bood laughed. “Hollander would hate that.” “My good friend Shane Hollander, you mean?” “There’s no way he likes you that much.” “He loves me,” Ilya said plainly. Honestly. Bood, of course, thought he was kidding. “Now you’re really dreaming.” Ilya chomped on his mouth guard to avoid smiling.

Shane: Where the fuck are you? Ilya huffed at his phone in the back seat of a taxi that was taking him—slowly—to Shane’s house. Ilya: In traffic. Shane: Fuck. Where? Ilya: Montreal? I don’t fucking know. Shane: Hurry up. Ilya: Ok. I will ask the driver to make the car fly.

He's so funny.. Love him