The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

“Harris. Are you trying to set me up? Is this a blind date with a dog?”

“I have not ever had a dog.”

“And keeps her little paws warm. At the spa they said she does not need a sweater because her hair is long. Too bad because there was a sweater that looked like a strawberry and was so cute.”

“What can you see?” he asked faintly, already knowing the answer. Hayden scrubbed his face with one hand. “You guys. Kissing. Like, really kissing. A lot.”

Shane couldn’t react. He didn’t know how to react. Eleven years of keeping this a secret and this was how they got discovered. A fucking FanMail video.

“It is okay,” Ilya said quietly. Hayden looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. “What?” “It is okay,” Ilya said again. “You have been a good friend. Kept our secret for years. This was an accident, and it is our fault for not being more careful.”

“Are you watching the video?” Shane asked. Ilya nodded. “Is it bad?” “Terrible. Hayden needs to write down what he is going to say in these videos. He is all over the place.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, not really meaning it. He wasn’t sorry he’d fallen in love with Shane. Wasn’t even sorry he’d made the mistake of kissing him when he’d thought no one could see. But he was a bit sorry that Coach Wiebe needed to deal with this. He was a good guy.

“So that’s a long-winded way of saying I have your back. That I understand.” Ilya’s lips curved up. “This team is very gay.” Wiebe laughed. “Technically, I’m bisexual. To be clear, I love my wife. I’m not hiding anything.”

“That’s why I’ve been hiding it for so long.” “Not from everyone,” J.J. said angrily. Shane took a step toward him, “J.J., I—” “Don’t want to hear it,” J.J. said. “Is Coach sending you home?” “Yeah, but—” “Then fuck off and go home.”

“You gonna gloat about it?” Ilya didn’t feel victorious. He knew eating candy was basically hitting rock bottom for Shane. “No.” “Why not? Isn’t this what you want? Fucking relax, Hollander,” he said in a terrible impression of Ilya. “Right?” “Sweetheart,” Ilya said gently.

Nice. Better than what he would have written himself, which probably would have been along the lines of, We’re in love and fuck you.

Ilya passed his neighbors’ house—the one where Willa and Andrew lived—and stopped dead in his tracks. There was a large hand-drawn sign attached to the tree near the end of their driveway: We love you, Ilya! Underneath the sign was a little shelf that held two Funko Pop figures: one of Ilya, and one of Shane.

“Are your parents still here?” Ilya asked as soon as he’d finished kissing Shane hello. “No, I told them they could go home. I loved having them here, but I, um...” “Want to be railed by your boyfriend?” Shane’s eyes darkened. “Fuck yes.”

“Which is your favorite?” Ilya asked conversationally as he continued to rub the head of Shane’s cock. “Of all of these trophies?” “Rookie of the Year,” Shane said quickly, and smugly. Ilya huffed. “Fucker.” He flicked Shane’s dick, making him yelp, and then moan.

“Do you know how powerful this feels, fucking a king in his throne room?” “Fu—fucking hell, Rozanov.”

“One thing I hate is surprises. Another is disloyalty. And another is liars.” And homosexuals, Ilya added in his head.

Ilya didn’t want to hide anymore, but the playoffs were about to start and he couldn’t honestly blame Shane if he chose this easy cover-up, just to make the drama die down for a while. Ilya would fucking hate it, but he’d agree to it, if it was what Shane chose.

If you post your own statement and start flaunting your...relationship...then you will obliterate your legacies. You’ll be jokes. Choose carefully.”

Then Shane stood and said, “I choose him. Come on, Ilya.”

“So,” Shane said as they walked across the lobby to the exit, “you’re not mad, then?” “Not at you. I’m fucking furious at Crowell.” “Yeah,” Shane said. “Well. I recorded the meeting. So.”

“You know what? There’s a place nearby that makes the best chicken parmesan. I’ve always wanted to take you.” Ilya’s heart bounced happily at how fearless Shane was being. How sure he was about him. About them.

“God, would you stop? I’ve been hiding this thing for eleven fucking years. It sucked, okay? I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt, but come on, man.” Somewhere in the middle of Shane’s outburst, J.J. had gone very still. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Eleven years?” he said quietly. “Um,” Shane said, “give or take.”

“Ilya fucking Rozanov.” J.J. shook his head. “Jesus, Shane. Why?” “Because...” Shane didn’t even know where to start. Finally he just said, “He makes me happy. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he’s it for me. We’re getting married.” J.J.’s head whipped around to face him, eyes wide. “Married?” “Uh, yeah,” Shane said nervously. “So, y’know. Watch for an invitation.”

“I’m the same friend you’ve always had. And I’ll still be the same when I’m Ilya’s husband. I swear I’m normal.” A long, tense silence fell between them. Then J.J. sighed and said, “No one who’s never heard of Cardi B is normal.”

It felt so fucking good to be on the ice again. Sometimes he thought he was getting tired of this game, but being kept away from it for a week had made him realize how much he still loved it. Needed it.

“We’re going to be playing Montreal in the first round, and that’s going to be tough, no question. They’re the defending champions, and the number one ranked team in the league at the moment.” And, Ilya added in his head, everyone is going to be gossiping about the two captains, which is going to be a huge distraction.

“Good luck,” Shane said. It was all he dared to say right now, with everyone watching. Ilya’s lips quirked up in his usual crooked, cocky smile, and then the puck dropped. Ilya won the face-off.

“You have a chain now?” Ilya asked quietly. “Yeah,” Shane said. “And a ring.” Ilya smiled, and totally lost the face-off.

The following afternoon, on the day between games, Ilya and Shane were watching tennis together on Ilya’s couch.

“Oh, were you guys watching the Madrid Open?” Scott asked, glancing at the TV. “Uh, yeah,” Shane said. “Kind of,” Ilya added.

“You need to know, then.” “Know what?” Ilya opened his eyes. “I am not okay.” “With what?” “I am...maybe like my mother. Depressed. Sometimes. And it is not fixed. It might not be something to fix.”

“What do you need right now?” “Sleep,” Ilya answered honestly. “In the morning, probably coffee.” He grinned impishly. “And maybe five or six blowjobs.” Shane smiled so wide his eyes crinkled. “Blowjobs aren’t a cure for depression, Ilya.” “Are you a doctor now?”

“What I’m trying to say, and Yuna’s always been the better speaker, is I’ve always felt so lucky to have a son as wonderful as Shane that I never expected to be blessed with a second one.” David’s hands, and Ilya’s shirt cuff, turned blurry. Ilya blinked rapidly, refusing to cry before the wedding even started. David glanced up from his work, and Ilya could see the tears in his eyes too.

“With this ring, I shall love, honor, and cherish you. And this ring is the symbol of my love,” Shane said. “Gross,” Ilya muttered, which made Shane snort and start laughing. Which made everybody else laugh.

They danced—well, rotated—under the lights and surrounded by everyone they loved as Rihanna sang lyrics that, secretly, had always made Ilya think of Shane.

He heard Shane’s name being called, then the roar of a packed house cheering for the hometown superstar they could finally claim as their own.