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The NHL liked to pretend it was inclusive now, but Shane knew what it was like on the ice, and in the dressing room. There had never been an openly queer NHL player, and homophobic slurs were thrown around enough that Shane couldn’t imagine that happening. Whoever came out first was going to have to be brave as hell. It sure as shit wasn’t going to be Shane.
Why was he even thinking about that? A long-term secret relationship with Ilya Rozanov? Was that what some part of his dumb brain was hoping for?
That admission would have been embarrassing enough, but Ilya had also slipped in an “and on top of everything, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
He’s never going to be your boyfriend, Shane. Oh god. That was what Shane wanted, wasn’t it? He didn’t just want to be Ilya’s dirty secret. He didn’t want their relationship to be nothing but sex. He wanted to comfort Ilya when he was sad, and talk to him on the phone, and snuggle together on the couch and watch movies. He would take the short phone call they had just shared over any of their sexual encounters.
Ilya flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”
Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen. And Ilya’s heart fucking stopped.
He quickly left the hospital room of the man he loved, and forced himself to focus on winning the Stanley Cup.
He had the most ridiculous urge to send Ilya a text that just said I love you. He had those words trapped inside of him, filling every part of him, and, the strain of keeping them from slipping out was getting harder to endure.
The stupid part of Shane wanted to fight for Ilya. For them.
If the world found out about them, that was all they would be: the depraved hockey players who secretly fucked each other. And Shane didn’t want to be that. At all. He wanted to be the best hockey player in the world, and he wanted to be in a relationship with the man he could finally admit he was in love with, without shame or fear.
“Mine.” Ilya’s breath tickled Shane’s skin when he spoke the single word. “Yours,” Shane said dreamily. “All of this. For two weeks. Is mine.” Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever if you ask.
Shane was assaulted by a lazy, crooked smile. “No,” Ilya said. “I like you, Hollander.” It wasn’t an earth-shattering confession, but the words still moved Shane enormously. “I like you too, Rozanov.”
Shane laughed. “It’s a loon.” “A what?” “A loon!” Shane was really laughing now. “It’s a bird. Like a duck, kind of. Oh my god, you thought it was a wolf!” “What the fuck bird makes a noise like that?” “A loon!” Shane said again. Then he doubled over in hysterics. Ilya wanted to push him into the fire.
“What the fuck? You can’t pick Montreal!” “I just did,” Ilya pointed out, gesturing his PlayStation controller at the television. “Well then... I’m picking Boston.” “Good choice.” “I’m going to fucking destroy you.” “I am you.” “You aren’t anything,” Shane grumbled.
Ilya bent to take his third shot. “Is terrible problem.” Fuck. Shane was going start crying right here in his games room. He swallowed and steadied himself. “Do you want the problem to go away?” “No,” Ilya said seriously, looking Shane dead in the eye. “I do not want the problem to ever go away.”
Ilya looked stunned by that part. “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?” “I do about this.” “You want that? To be together?” “I do. So much it terrifies me.”
“I love you.” Shane froze. And then Ilya froze. “Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond. “I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared. “I love you too,” Shane said. Ilya gave a shaky smile and exhaled. “Thank Christ.”
Holy fucking shit. Shane Hollander is in love with me.
“This is real, yes?” Ilya asked. He just had to make sure. “It’s real,” Shane said. His voice was low and adorably scratchy. “I feel like... I am dreaming?” “You’re not. I love you.”
“I have been with lots of women. That was not...fake. But...” He looked at Shane, and Shane held his breath. “I have only been in love with one person.” And suddenly Ilya looked very blurry through Shane’s eyes. Shane swallowed down the urge to cry, and said, “Me too. Just one.”
Ilya took his hands and rubbed his thumbs soothingly over the backs of them. “We are good here, yes?” he said. “Your family is here. And your boyfriend. And we are okay here.” Shane raised his head slightly. “Boyfriend?” Such a ridiculous word. Such a ridiculous, wonderful word. Ilya shrugged and grinned. “I think, yes?” “Yes.”
“Since their rookie season,” Shane heard his mother say. “I can’t believe it.” “Looking at them now, I kind of can,” his father said.
“Oh, wow,” Shane said. “That is strong. I might need some cranberry juice or something.” “If you mix that with cranberry juice I will drown you in the lake.”
“Are you sure you need to go back to Ottawa today?” “Yes. And you are flying to Chicago tonight.” “I know,” Shane sighed. “This is why I want my pilot license. Would be faster.” Shane groaned. “Please don’t get your pilot license. I will be very mad if you fly into a mountain and die.” “Aw. Sweet.”
