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“What’s the best-case scenario?” she asked. Ilya blew out a breath. “No idea. We announce we’re together and everyone cheers? I win three more Stanley Cups and celebrate each one with my husband watching? I don’t know.”
“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.”
“I love you so fucking much,” Shane said. He smoothed a thumb over one of Ilya’s thick eyebrows. “I was counting the minutes all week. Couldn’t wait to see you again.”
“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.” Shane’s heart wobbled. “Oh.”
“Is a shame you don’t have foreskin,” he said. “Why? Because if I had some you wouldn’t have to walk around with pockets full of lube?”
“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.”
“It seems somewhat imbalanced,” Galina said. “Your boyfriend—” “Shane,” Ilya said, suddenly finding the way they were both dancing around the obvious annoying. “You know who it is. His name is Shane.”
And he had friends. He had... ...a Swiss weirdo staring at him. Ilya could see him in the mirror.
“Ilya Rozanov. Normal guy. Nice to meet you.” After a moment’s hesitation, Luca shook his hand. “Luca Haas. Embarrassing fanboy.”
“I took him out last night. To the Kingfisher. Was his first gay bar, he said.” Then Ilya laughed. “You’d like him. You are both very bad at being gay.”
“Were you surprised when he told you? Because I’m pretty fucking surprised.” “No. Because of the crush on Harris thing. And also he was checking me out a few times.” 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.”
Shane certainly hadn’t understood why it had been important for Ilya to tell someone—anyone—that he was bisexual. And why it had felt so good to have his teammate come out to him. How good it felt to be making a new friend, and to have earned that friend’s trust so quickly.
“Oh, fuck you. Sorry I still want to win cups instead of smoking weed with my teammates between losses.” 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
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Quietly, in a voice that couldn’t disguise his pain, he said, “I already chose you, Hollander.”
“I messed up,” Shane said as soon as her face filled his phone screen. “What? With your coach? It’s a day off. How could you—” “No. With Ilya.” The concern left her face immediately. She even smiled. “There’s nothing you could do to ruin things with him.
Shane pressed his lips together, trying to fight the lump that had formed in his throat. “I don’t deserve him.” Mom fixed him with an exasperated glare. “Shane.” “He’s going to break up with me,” Shane said miserably. “This was never going to work. It’s too hard. I’m asking too much of him.”
And honestly I think he’d live in the city dump if it meant being closer to you. He’s head over heels.”
“You sound like Ilya.” “Because we’re very much aligned in our views when it comes to you.” “You both think I’m an uptight wet blanket.” “We both love you to death, and want you to be happy. And we both know you can be your own worst enemy.” “Well. I had another enemy, but then I fell in love with him.”
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.
“I can’t do this if I am going to feel worse. I have to focus on hockey, and I have to be a good boyfriend, and I can’t do either of those things if I’m this fucking sad.”
I asked him if he wanted to go to a party at my teammate’s house.” He sighed. “It was stupid. Of course he was right to say no. We have never done anything like that before, and it would have been ridiculous to bring him but...I wanted to. I want to introduce him as my boyfriend to my friends.”
“Are you going to pretend to be Shane?” She smiled back. “Not exactly.” “Good. You’d have to be much more annoying.” “I doubt that’s what you want to tell him.” “No. I tell him that he’s annoying all the time.”
You’ve given up so much and I don’t appreciate it enough. I get that.” “I would give up more,” Ilya said simply. “Anything for you.”
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.”
He loved him, he knew that. He wanted to make sure Shane never doubted it.
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. This was really happening. They were going to die, and Ilya would never get to have the big conversation with Shane. Would never get to tell him everything that Ilya had been hiding in his heart.
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.
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.
He believed the people you loved stayed with you until it was your time to go. He often felt his mother with him, and he knew he’d do the same for Shane.
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.”
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 could tell right away that Shane had been crying. “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.
Good night, moy pomidor.” “Tomato, right?” “Yes.” “Weird. I love you.”
“Look, I know you’ve got this...thing...for Rozanov.” Shane’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”
J.J. smiled sadly at him. “Why do you think I keep trying to set you up? Having a crush on a straight man is no good, buddy.” Wait. What?
“I’m not making fun of you. It hurts to love someone who can’t love you back, and I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. You can always talk to me about it.”
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. That when Shane finally saw Ilya again—in two days, hopefully—he was going to...god, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do. Except he did know. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to reach the other side. He wanted that life together. Not in ten years, but now. Because ten years suddenly seemed like an impossible wait.
Ilya’s heart started to race, but not because he was concerned about fire safety. 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.
Then, Shane was holding a ring, pinched between two fingers, in the space between himself and Ilya. “Shane,” Ilya said again, unable to stop himself. “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?”
They were both half crying as they kissed, their breath stuttering and their lips stretched into wide smiles. A terrible kiss in theory, but Ilya had never experienced one better. 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.”
“I was thinking summer,” Shane said. “Summer for what?” Shane lifted his head and met Ilya’s gaze. “For everything. Coming out. Going public. Getting married.” Ilya’s heart flipped. “Yes?” “Yeah. I know it’s going to be a shitshow, but I’m tired of being scared of being found out. I want to tell people, on our own terms. I think I can handle anything that happens, as long as going public is a choice we made ourselves. Together.”
Ilya stroked Shane’s hair, enjoying the quiet and the excitement that was crackling through him. Summer! Not ten years from now, but this summer. After several quiet minutes, Ilya said, “You have tomorrow off, yes?” “Mm.” “I am skipping practice.” “Is it optional?” Shane murmured sleepily. “I don’t care.”
“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?” Luca huffed and took a sip of beer. “Which poster was it? Did I look handsome?” “You always look—” Luca’s cheeks flushed bright red.
“I am not so much looking for hookups.” “Oh. You don’t like sex?” Luca turned redder. “I like it, yes. I am, um, particular. Maybe. Or shy. I don’t know.” He let out a nervous giggle. “This is not a conversation I thought I would have with you.” Ilya grinned. “But I am right beside your bed, watching you have sex!” “Dude! I did not just hear that!” Ilya turned to see Dykstra standing behind him, laughing. “Stop spying.” “Stop watching the rookies have sex, then?”
“Hey!” Ilya protested. “He is not the best player in the league. Or the fastest.” “Prove it,” Shane said with a sexy grin. Ilya wanted to devour him.
