Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

look away. “I should let you sleep,” Shane said. “Da. Yes. Okay.” And then... Shane kissed the tips of two fingers and reached out and touched them to the screen. And Ilya’s heart fucking stopped.

“Hollander?” A different voice. “Ilya?” Did I say that? Shane heard his own voice, but had he moved his lips? He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. “Is he all right?” That was Ilya’s voice for sure. It sounded different, though. It was...unsteady. Panicked. “Mmokay,” Shane murmured. He had no idea if it was true, but he didn’t want to hear the worry in Ilya’s voice anymore. “We’re going to move you onto the spinal board, Shane. Keep your head still, please.” Spinal board? “Ilya, please stand back,” the authoritative voice said. And the dark blur that had been looming over Shane disappeared. “We’re not alone,” Shane slurred. “Ilya. They can see us.”

He was in love with him and he could never, ever tell him that. But maybe...maybe he could at least tell his parents...part of the truth? Jesus, but how? Just...blurt it out? How did people do this?

The stupid part of Shane wanted to fight for Ilya. For them. The sensible part—the part that was in control of most things in Shane’s life—knew there couldn’t possibly be a future with Ilya. There couldn’t be a present with Ilya. They needed to end things quickly, and cleanly, and never look back. The other path led to nothing but heartache and scandal and misery and...soft Russian words being breathed against Shane’s skin. It led to falling asleep with strong arms wrapped around him, and waking up to a lazy, crooked smile and playful kisses. It led to homemade tuna melts and the precious times when Ilya would offer Shane the tiny pieces of himself that he usually kept so carefully guarded. The game ended. Ilya’s season was over. It was only a matter of time before everything would be over. And Shane didn’t know what he could do to prevent it. But he knew he wanted to.

Ilya reached for the remote, and was about to turn off the television when... Holy shit. Holy. Shit. Scott fucking Hunter was kissing a man. Not, like, one of his teammates on the cheek in an “I love you, bro” kind of way. Scott Hunter was kissing a man wearing street clothes full on the fucking mouth. It looked like tongues were involved. Ilya’s phone buzzed. Jane: Holy shit. Jane: Are you seeing this? Jane: What the fuck?!!!? Is that his boyfriend???!!!!! Ilya just stared at the television, at Scott Hunter and his probable boyfriend. Or Scott Hunter and the random cute man he had pulled out of the crowd. Ilya couldn’t process what he was seeing. How could it possibly be real? But there Hunter was, smiling at this mystery man like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. And holding his face as he leaned in to kiss him again. Ilya felt like he was watching all the worst things about his life getting sucked up by a tornado.

Jane: What is happening??!!! Did he really just do that???!!! Ilya stabbed the call button. There was only one ring before, “Holy shit, Ilya! Can you belie—” “I’m coming to the cottage.”

He was still in shock that Ilya had accepted his invitation, though he supposed he had Scott Hunter to thank for that. Hunter had come out, very publicly, the night he had won the Stanley Cup. He had also spoken about it openly in interviews that night, and even more openly in his speech at the NHL Awards last week. Shane had watched that speech...a few times. He wished he could have been at the awards to see it in person, but it seemed like an unnecessary burden on his freshly healed body to fly to Las Vegas. But still, he would have liked to have shaken Hunter’s hand. Instead, he had sent him an email. He had written

several drafts of the email before sending one that simply acknowledged Hunter’s bravery. He had chosen his words carefully, because he didn’t have Hunter’s courage. Not yet, anyway. But maybe Hunter would figure out what Shane was actually trying to say anyway.

Shane felt his panic subside. “I’m glad you’re here.” “I am also glad. But...terrified, right?” Shane laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Me too.” They both knew this was a point of no return. More so even than the first time they had kissed, or fucked. This was a new frontier, a new level of intimacy.

The moment Shane’s mouth opened under his, everything made sense. All of Ilya’s nerves left him, and he grabbed at Shane’s T-shirt and pulled him closer. Shane made a little moaning sound and plunged his fingers under Ilya’s ball cap, knocking it to the floor. He tangled his fingers in Ilya’s hair and began walking him backward to the leather sofa. They hadn’t been together for months. The ridiculous thing was, Ilya hadn’t been with anyone in all that time. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone else.

“I have an idea,” Shane said. He was brushing his thumb over Ilya’s bottom lip as he said it. “What?” Ilya asked, with more bravery than he felt. “Let’s be honest with each other. For these two weeks, let’s just...say what we’re actually thinking. Maybe...say how we really feel.” I can’t, Ilya wanted to say. I can’t because if I do you’ll think I’m pathetic, or, worse, you’ll say it back and then what the fuck are we supposed to do? “I will try,” he said instead. “Will you?” Shane asked skeptically. “Yes! I will do anything if it will make you touch my dick right now!”

Ilya cheated and murmured, “I would stay here forever if I could” in Russian. He felt Shane sigh around him, but it sounded more dreamy than exasperated. Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe some feelings couldn’t be hidden behind

foreign words.

As expected, Ilya didn’t last long. Neither did Shane, when Ilya immediately returned the favor. But the surprising thing was that the blow jobs were not the best part of the afternoon. Afterward, now that they had taken the edge off, they just relaxed against each other on the sofa. The clothing that had stayed on their bodies was rumpled and unfastened; their hair was messy. They talked quietly to each other as they—there was no other word for it—cuddled for over an hour. Shane was twisting strands of Ilya’s hair around his fingers and gently releasing them; Ilya was tracing his fingertips over Shane’s freckles. Every now and again, Ilya would kiss Shane’s jaw, or his throat, or, one time, the tip of his nose. Ilya couldn’t believe what he had been reduced to. He was...infatuated. It was disgusting. But it was hard to care when Shane was lying on top of him, his smooth chest and...

“I didn’t tell you,” Ilya said, “about after the NHL Awards.” “After?” “Yes. I went out. With Scott Hunter.” Shane missed the next pass. “What do you mean?” “There was a club having a Scott Hunter night, whatever the fuck that means.” “A club? Like...” “A gay club. Yes. So I thought I would go.” “I’m sorry. You went to a gay club in Las Vegas with Scott Hunter?” “And his boyfriend. Yes. Nice guy.” Shane’s brow pinched. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Ilya shrugged. “I forgot.” Which wasn’t true at all. He just wanted to see this exact expression on Shane’s face. Ilya privately thought of it as his “scrunched confusion” face.

“So, does Hunter know you’re—?” “I did not say anything. He may have guessed something.” He grinned. “There were some very hot men there.” And now Shane’s face changed to the expression Ilya called “clenched disapproval.” “I’m glad you had a nice time,” Shane said tersely. “Point is, I went to a gay bar with NHL players and it was...exciting, you know?”

“I give Hunter shit, but what he did was brave. Kissing his boyfriend on TV like that. And the speech at the awards.” “It was. It really...made me hopeful. That things might be changing.” Ilya shot the puck back to Shane. “It made me jealous,” he admitted. Shane laughed. “You wanna kiss me on television?” “Yes. After I win the Stanley Cup.” Shane spread his arms out. “Oh, so in this romantic

scenario, you’ve just defeated me?” “Yes. Sorry.” “I’m not going to be in the mood to kiss you if I’ve just lost the Stanley Cup, Rozanov.” “But you would be so proud of me!” Shane rolled his eyes. “You are the most obnoxious person on earth. I have no idea why I—” He stopped himself just in time. “—why I put up with you.”

“Don’t tease me,” Ilya said. “I have waited too long for this.” “Mm.” Shane opened the front of Ilya’s shorts and playfully nipped at his chest. “Months.” “Years,” Ilya sighed. “Years I have wanted to have you in your real bed.”

Ilya gently licked the spot, and Shane squirmed happily. “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.

“What? I want to know about your family! All I know is your mother is Japanese or something. Probably where you get your looks.” “Half of them, yes.” “And your dad is...boring? Is that where you get your boring from?”

“You don’t want to tell your parents that you are fucking Ilya Rozanov?”

He had even imagined benign scenarios where they are at a function—maybe the NHL Awards—and Shane just casually says, “Mom. Dad. Have you met Ilya Rozanov?” And they would meet. And they would shake his hand and Ilya would nod politely at them and tell them it was nice to meet them. Then it would be over, and his parents would shake the hand of the next person who approached them and they would have no idea—no idea—how much of a relief it would be for Shane to have witnessed just that simple contact. To know that the two people he loved the most had touched the skin of Ilya Rozanov, and had looked into his eyes, even for a second, and that Shane now had concrete proof that all three of them existed in the same world.

For seven years, they’d been getting away with this thing. Their luck had to run out sometime, right?

There was something a little creepy about sitting in this small pool of light in the middle of total darkness. It was so eerily quiet—just the crackling of the fire, the occasional lap of water from the lake, and— A fucking wolf. That was a fucking wolf howl. “What the fuck was that?” Ilya said. He couldn’t conceal the terror in his voice. But who the fuck cared, because they were surrounded by hungry wolves! 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. “Fuck you and your loon!” Ilya said. “Stupid

Canadian wolf bird.”

“How did she die?” It had been fourteen years, almost, but a lump formed in Ilya’s throat anyway. “An accident,” he said sardonically. He said it because that was what his father had told everyone. It was what Ilya had been told, very sternly, even though he had known it wasn’t true even at the age of twelve. She had an accident, Ilya. You understand, yes? “An accident?” Shane asked. His hand was on Ilya’s arm now, squeezing him through the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt. “Yes,” Ilya said, with a tight, humorless smile. “She accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills. Oops.”

But mostly he just wanted to hold Shane close to him in this place where no one would ever find them. He wanted to stand in the spotlight of the campfire under the endless stars and feel Shane’s fingers stroking his hair and not think about his horrible father or his wonderful, desperately sad mother. He didn’t want to think about hockey, or rivalries, or what was going to happen when these two weeks were over.

“But?” Ilya shrugged, and he looked like he was possibly blushing. “I have this problem,” he mumbled. Shane waited. “I like women. I always was thinking that to get married would be nice. Kids. All of that. Someday. But...this problem will not go away.” Shane bit his lip. “Tell me about this problem.”

“Is so annoying.” Ilya sighed, and Shane could see him fighting a grin. “Always I am with beautiful women. Wonderful women. Everywhere.” “Sounds rough.” “Yes. Listen. These women, they are so sexy and fun, but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking about this short fucking hockey player with these stupid freckles and a weak backhand.” “A weak backhand?” Shane couldn’t stop smiling. “Yes. And he is just so boring and he drives a terrible car and...that is my problem. All of these beautiful women and I am always wishing they were him.” 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.”

“Is...like, sacrifice. For future gain, yes?” Shane brightened. “Future gain?” “Yes. Our rivalry has been huge. But maybe we can help it to...fade away? A little?” “Yeah...” Shane said. He was getting excited. “Yeah! I don’t like the idea of you being so far, but we could make people forget all about us as rivals and maybe no one would care about us at all one day.” “One day. Yes.” Shane smiled shyly at him, and Ilya grinned back, and they both sat there, smiling stupidly at each other while they thought about the possibility of one day.

“You play for Ottawa, I play for Montreal. Those cities are two hours apart. We start a charity together, you and me. Something that benefits both cities. So now people see us working together on something. We make up some story about how I approached you with this idea, and—” “Or I approached you.” “Whatever. The point is, we tell the press, the fans, everyone, that by working together on the cause that means so much to both of us, we have developed a mutual respect for each other...” “Yes. And also we are fucking each other. Any questions?” “Fuck off! This is a great idea, Rozanov!” Ilya laughed. Shane hit him with a pillow.

“And maybe...someday. When we both retire. We can...be together. For real.” 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.” Ilya turned his face away from Shane, and was silent. Cold dread flooded Shane’s stomach; he had admitted too much. But Ilya turned back and quickly rolled on top of Shane and was kissing him and kissing him and kept murmuring the same thing in Russian over and over again until he pulled back and translated: “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.” “Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?” Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead. “Not anymore.”

“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.” Ilya wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this. It felt like it was pushing up against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything except hold Shane down and kiss him over and over again.

“I was just thinking.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “The charity we start, I think we should start a hockey school. Like, we could have summer hockey camps in Ottawa and Montreal.” “And we give the money away?” “Yeah. I think we should give the money to mental health organizations. Maybe...suicide prevention?” Shane was looking away, as if he were embarrassed, but Ilya held his chin and guided his face toward him. “It was just an idea,” Shane said quietly. And Ilya was not going to cry right now. “Shane,” he said, “I love that idea.” “Yeah?” Shane smiled. “Yes. It’s very...” Fuck. What was the right word? Was there a right word for everything Ilya was feeling in that moment? He couldn’t think of one, so instead he said, “She would have loved you.” “I wish I could have met her.” “Yes. Me too.”

“A little funny.” Shane turned around, ready to glare at him, but when he saw Ilya’s face he started laughing too. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “So much for easing them into it.” Ilya laughed harder. “Maybe he did not notice?”

They got dressed quickly. Shane put on a T-shirt from a charity hockey camp he helped coach last summer, just to remind his parents that he was a good and normal person. Ilya was wearing a Boston Bears T-shirt. Shane made a face. “That’s not going to help.” “Oh, do they not know I play for Boston?” Shane rolled his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“But...you hate him,” Mom said. “No, I... I don’t. I mean. Sometimes I do, kinda. But mostly I...love him. Actually.”

“All this time,” Dad said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve been holding this secret inside. The whole time.”

“You didn’t ever...” His mom sounded suddenly horrified. “You didn’t ever let him win, did you, Shane?” “God, Mom! No!” Ilya laughed. “He does not need to let me win.” “I would never,” Shane said quickly. “The team comes first. Always. And besides, I like beating him.” Mom was frowning at him, not quite believing his words. “When you and Dad play Yahtzee, do you let him win?” Shane asked desperately. “Never,” Mom smiled, maybe understanding. She seemed to relax.

“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’s hand moved to Shane’s knee as he crouched beside him, seeking his eyes. “Shane?” “I’m okay,” Shane said weakly. “I’m just...freaking out. Don’t worry about me.” 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.

But Shane, seemingly unable to concentrate at all, was already taking a second sip. “This has been the weirdest day of my life.” Ilya wanted to tell Shane that it had been one of the best days of his life. It had been awkward, sure, but Ilya felt that, if he hadn’t quite been already, he would be welcomed into Shane’s family, and that was no small thing. In fact, to Ilya, who had barely been welcome in his own family, it was huge. He wanted to tell Shane that the closest he felt to home was when he was with him. It didn’t matter if it was in a hotel room, or Ilya’s apartment, or at that weird hideout building Shane bought in Montreal, or here at Shane’s cottage; he was himself when he was with Shane. He’d left Russia, he was uneasy in America, and he’d spent his entire adult life drifting between continents and between lovers. But now he had been reeled in by this annoying Canadian, and all that he knew was that he wanted to stay. He wanted to anchor himself to Shane and

just...stay.

“Because it is a beautiful day. And we are alone. And I met your parents. And I want you to calm the fuck down. And I love you.”

“Wow,” he said. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.” “I will too. Anything. I want this. I want us.” Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.” “And we’re starting a charity.” “And we will become friends.” “And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.” “Yes.”

“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—” “The hell you will.” “And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...” Shane laughed. “Okay.” “Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...” “That sounds like a fire hazard.” “Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.” “Oh, is it a clear night?” “Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—” “Ilya—” “And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’” Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.” “And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.” “No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.” And, oh god, Ilya didn’t deserve him, but he didn’t care. He was selfish like that.