The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

“You should quit hockey,” Ilya murmured. “Send them a text. Say you quit. Stay here with me.”

“Like you need it,” Shane mimicked with his best attempt at a Russian accent. “That is what I sound like? No wonder you are so hot for me. Sexy.”

“I love you.” Ilya’s expression turned serious, and for a moment Shane’s stomach clenched as if he expected Ilya to tell him something awful. But all Ilya said was, “I love you so much, Shane.”

Shane: You gonna watch tonight? Ilya: Maybe. If I am very bored. Shane: I’ll try to win for you. Ilya huffed and wrote, Try to lose. We are in the same division, idiot. Shane: Nah.

“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?”

Maybe therapy, like so many things worth doing, hurts when you first start. Ilya knew about pushing through pain.

“For dessert,” Ilya said with a slight quirk of his lips, “we can look at a picture of cake.”

When he finally got himself under control, he opened his eyes and found Ilya grinning at him. “Trying not to come?” Ilya asked. Shane palmed Ilya’s face, pushing his stupid grin away. “You were asleep! What the fuck?” “I woke up,” Ilya said simply. “And you were meditating with your dick in your hand.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” Shane said helplessly, sliding his palms up to Ilya’s chest.

“Tell me what you think a sex party is,” Ilya teased. His eyes danced with glee. “No.” “Please. I have to know.” “Weren’t you about to—” “Yes. In a minute. Is there, like, balloons?”

“I am so glad I met you,” Ilya said quietly.

Swoon

Shane waved a hand at Ilya’s breakfast. “That’s how you’re going to start your day?” “No,” Ilya said, dipping his knife back into the Nutella jar. “I started my day by blowing you. Remember?”

“Maybe he wants to give you a special award,” Ilya said. “Second-best hockey player.” Shane ignored him.

“My team was perfect. Now we have this asshole.” “Your team is terrible,” Shane reminded him. “Yes, but, you know. The vibes are good.

“Someday,” he offered. “Everything is someday. I am tired of waiting for someday.” “I know. But we’re still young. We’ve got lots of time.” “Are we? I feel a thousand years old sometimes.”

One moment he’d been telling himself it would be absurd to drive all the way to Ottawa for a quick fuck, and the next he’d been exiting Montreal city limits with a plug in his ass.

Shane couldn’t imagine anyone in the world being a better kisser than Ilya. Commanding and tender at the same time, just on the edge of filthy, but still managing to make Shane feel adored and precious. Shane was always just trying to keep up.

“Is chocolate pancakes good for breakfast?” Ilya asked. “Uh—” “I am kidding. I will make your gross protein shake.”

“You’d like him. You are both very bad at being gay.”

“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.”

Quietly, in a voice that couldn’t disguise his pain, he said, “I already chose you, Hollander.”

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.

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.

😭

Ilya only had vague ideas of the afterlife and any gods who may be waiting there, but he believed his soul would stay with Shane, however it could. He believed the people you loved stayed with you until it was your time to go.

😭😭

To please not let this plane crash, because Ilya had wasted so much fucking time hiding how much he loved Shane—from the world, from Shane, from himself. He needed more time. He needed to love Shane properly.

😭😭😭

“Thank you,” Ilya said, gazing at the ceiling of the plane. “I won’t waste it.”

“So a little brush with death and you turn into Mr. Poetry?” Ilya laughed softly. “Was it too much?” “No. Fuck you, it was beautiful.

“Call me tomorrow. Or later tonight if you want. I’ll just be, y’know, freaking out in my hotel room.” “Don’t. Jerk off or something instead. Send me pictures.” “While you’re hanging out with your teammates? Absolutely not.” “I won’t show them.” “Good night, Ilya.” “I almost died!” “I’m really not ready to joke about that yet.” “Sorry. Good night, moy pomidor.” “Tomato, right?” “Yes.” “Weird. I love you.” “I love you. Send pictures.”

Shane wanted to haul the door back open and tell J.J. that the other side was a life together with Ilya. That there was no unrequited crush. That he was so fucking in love with Ilya it felt like his heart would burst sometimes, and that Ilya felt the same about Shane.

“Follow me?” Ilya smiled. “Anywhere.”

There’s nothing in my life that matters to me more than you, Ilya.”

“I choose you, Ilya. I promise I will always, always choose you.” Shane’s eyes began to shimmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”

“Is this because I almost died?” Ilya teased. “No. It’s because I almost died.”

Shane Hollander was going to be his husband.

“Yours,” Ilya said. “Mine.” Shane crashed into him again, kissing him hungrily.

“I love you so much,” Shane said softly. Ilya swallowed. “I will be very proud to be your husband.”

This wasn’t frantic rutting—this was Shane loving Ilya with his body. Careful, steady thrusts that matched the rhythm of their pounding hearts.

“I had your poster on my wall. When I was a kid.” “When you were a kid,” Ilya teased. “Like when? Last year? Four months ago?”

We are very good. Remember when we beat you? We haven’t lost since then. Since that time we beat you.”

“Hollander told me you want to coach our camps.” “One of them, maybe. Yeah.” “What are your qualifications? We have a boring guy already: Hollander.”

“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!” “Okay,” Scott said, and began to stand. “Good night, Rozanov.” “Do you remember where your room is?” “Shut up.” “Do you need help?” Scott kept walking and didn’t reply.

Sneaking into Ilya’s hotel room like this set Shane on fire like nothing else. He hooked his leg around Ilya’s ass and gripped his shoulders, practically trying to climb him. Ilya huffed out a laugh into his mouth and slid a hand under Shane’s ass to help support him. “Talking to Matheson made you horny,” Ilya said. “Looking at you made me horny,” Shane corrected him. “Not being able to touch you. Just—fuck—just shut up, okay?”

The ring glinted on its chain against his dark chest hair, and god, sometimes Shane forgot. It seemed impossible to be able to claim this man forever.

“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.”

But I hate when you are so close but not in my arms.”

“Did you fuck every woman in Canada and had to move on to men?”

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.

Shane hummed around him, because yes. He was made for this. For anything Ilya needed from him.

“I hope you did not like that pillow.” Shane laughed. “That bad, huh?” “My whole body just shot out of my dick.”

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.” “We’re not naming our kid Roger, you sack of shit!” They both laughed, and then kissed until exhaustion made their mouths sloppy and slow.

OMG I laughed so hard I cried 🤣