The Long Game (Game Changers, #6)

by Rachel Reid

“You smoke.” “Almost never.” “You had a cigarette last night.” “How do you know?” “I have a nose.” Ilya booped the tip of Shane’s nose. “A cute one.”

Ilya shrugged easily. “She probably knows already.” The panic alarm that lived inside Shane started blaring. “Why would she?” “We are together at your cottage. You are gay. I am hot.”

Shane loved Ilya so much it physically hurt to contain it some days. He didn’t want to be a gay icon, or deal with any of the attention they would get from the hockey world—both good and bad—if they ever disclosed their relationship, but he wished he could love Ilya openly without dealing with any of that.

Max had been in the media spotlight quite a bit over the past couple of years after coming out as a trans man.

He was a vocal advocate for trans rights in sports, and Shane was glad both he and Leah were part of their staff. Not only because they were activists, but because they were both incredible hockey players.

He was terrified that one day Shane would realize he could be with someone who wasn’t a dark secret. That it could be easy to love someone.

“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.”

He closed his eyes and focused on how good it felt to be with Shane, alone in the dark, and tried not to wish it could be the same in the light.

“That’s a long time to keep a secret,” Fabian said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that a distraction too? Having to hide?”

I think he’s still a bit intimidated by the other coaches. He told me they’re all superstars, and he feels out of place.” “Not all superstars,” Ilya said. “Hayden is there.”

“We are very good at pretending to not be in love. Maybe we are bad at showing it when we are allowed.”

Not as close as Ilya would have liked, but still. Next to him. Ideally Ilya would be behind Shane with his arms wrapped around him, holding him close against his chest. Ilya would rest his chin on Shane’s head, and kiss his hair whenever he felt the urge.

Sometimes Ilya was so starved for touch he felt like screaming. He felt it most when Shane was close, like he was now, but off-limits.

person. But he missed being touched.

Most of all, though, he missed the comfort he got from human touch. Right now, in this club in Montreal, he wanted that comfort from the man he was in love with.

Kiss me, Ilya wanted to say. Kiss me and hold me in front of all these people. Pull me onstage and do it. I don’t care anymore. Please. I’m dying. “Nothing,” Ilya said, and stepped away. “Nothing.”

That fucking loon tattoo staring Shane in the face, practically a brand on Ilya’s skin. Mine, Shane thought. The world doesn’t need to know, because I know.

He’d needed to pull over while driving home that night because he hadn’t been able to see the road through his tears. He’d been so confused and scared and devastated. He should have been going home with Rose, his gorgeous movie star girlfriend, not crying on the side of the road, alone in his car, over an obnoxious Russian hockey player.

“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.”

Ilya nipped at Shane’s jaw. “Tell me what to do.” It was a power move for Ilya because he knew how awkward Shane got when he had to ask for things in bed. He was absolutely aware of the battle raging in Shane’s head right now, as Shane tried to ignore his embarrassment in favor of bossing Ilya around.

Ilya loved hockey, but he lived for the summers now.

And then, Shane winked at the camera. Winked. And Ilya knew it was meant for him. “That’s my move!” Ilya said.

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.”

“Do what makes you happy. Live how you want, love who you want. People will judge you, hate you, criticize you, but plenty more will support you and love you. And, in the end, no one matters except the people you care about.

“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?”

“Do you have plans after the game?” Ilya asked casually. Shane’s smile grew. “I’m wide open.” Ilya hoped his own eyes showed the promise he was trying to silently transmit: you will be.

Where are you? Shane: Bed. Ilya: Fingering yourself? Shane: Yes. Ilya: How many? Shane: 3 Ilya sucked in a breath, then wrote, You need something bigger. Shane: I know! That’s why you need turmeric. Shane: Need to hurry, I mean. Fucking voice-to-text.

He forced himself to ignore it, and leaned down to kiss Shane roughly. Fuck, he’d been wanting to do this for so long. He missed kissing Shane possibly more than anything else.

Ilya stretched out beside Shane, then rolled him so he could spoon him from behind. Shane curled against him easily—automatically—holding Ilya’s hand where it lay in front of Shane’s belly.

Sex was great, but moments like this one, where they could cuddle and caress and just exist alone together in a quiet room, were Shane’s favorite thing.

But instead of jumping out of bed and into some running clothes, this morning he succumbed to the comfort of being held by the man he loved, and dozed off.

“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?”

“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.”

Then Ilya scooped Shane into his arms, bridal style. The same way he’d carried Jackie to the car earlier that day. “What the hell?” Shane said, though he knew he sounded more delighted than outraged. “Put me down!” Ilya grinned at him, and nudged the door open with his foot. “Is our wedding night.” “This can’t be good for your knee.” “My knee is fine,” Ilya scoffed. “And you are very light.” “I’m two hundred pounds!” “Sure you are.” “I am!” “Like you are five-ten.” “I am five-ten!” Ilya shook his head and stepped over the threshold.

He’d already met the love of his life, and he was head over heels, and he couldn’t tell anyone and it fucking sucked.

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

“Or...” Ilya leaned in suggestively. “Maybe there is something else you are craving?” “Like your dick, you mean?” Shane asked dryly. Ilya grinned. “Is that part of your diet?” “Gross.”

He reached for Ilya’s hand and held it tight, fingers woven together. There was absolutely nowhere else Shane wanted to be.

Ilya was a bad influence. But maybe Shane had needed that in his life. Needed it as much as he’d needed someone to stroke his hair, to make him laugh, to show him how good sex could be.

“No,” Ilya said in a low voice. “Watch. See how beautiful you are like this.”

“Why do you have sexy mood lighting in your gym?” “You have it in yours.” “Yeah. For yoga and meditation. Two things you don’t do.” “But you do them. So I have lights that dim. For you.”

He’d felt sick at the idea of someone else touching Shane,

The words hit Ilya like a crosscheck to the teeth. Shane truly didn’t understand anything. Not what Ilya had given up for him, certainly. Ilya could be in Boston right now, leading one of the top teams in the league to more Stanley Cups. He could be breaking more records, and winning more awards. Instead he’d chosen to come to Ottawa, when he could have gone to almost any team in the league. He’d chosen a team that hadn’t made the playoffs in over a decade. He’d chosen it because it was Shane’s hometown, and close to where Shane lived. He’d chosen it so he could build a life in Canada with the man he loved.

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

I love you.” “I know, moya lyubov.” Shane grinned. “I know that one.” “Ah,” Ilya said in mock despair, “then you know my secret.” “That you love me?” “That I am very mushy inside.”

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.

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.

“Oh,” Ilya said softly. “Sweetheart. I am so sorry.” They didn’t use pet names very often, beyond the nonsensical Russian nouns Ilya liked to throw at Shane, but Ilya said this one with his whole heart.

“You’re not allowed to die, Ilya. Not before I do.” “Do you have to win everything?” “I have to not lose you.” His voice cracked on the last word. “Shane,” Ilya said soothingly, “it is okay. I am okay. Is over.”