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That maybe he watched Shane’s games and was secretly proud when Shane did well. Because that’s how Shane felt when Ilya had a good night. Which was ridiculous.
“Wait,” Shane said, way too loudly. Ilya waited. “Just...call me, all right? If you need to talk. Or text me. Whatever. But... I’ll listen. I want to help, if I can.” Ilya was silent for a moment. “You did. Thank you.”
But as soon as he let himself acknowledge it, and now say it, he felt relieved. Not because he could do anything about these feelings, but at least he had allowed himself to accept them. And he had, in the most cowardly way possible, said them aloud to Shane.
“Should you really be alone right now?” Shane asked. “I am not alone,” Ilya said. “You are here now, yes?” Shane’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating; he could have sworn it had just melted into a gooey puddle.
Ilya let his head sink into the pillows. He kept it turned, facing the camera. “Do you remember, after the NHL Awards in...what year was it?” “Two thousand fourteen,” Shane said quickly. “Yeah. I do. I... I think about that night a lot.” “Do you?” “It was memorable.”
“I think you like to be told what to do, Hollander.” Shane sucked in a breath. “Maybe. A little.” “And you’re a little show-off.” “I am not.” “You are. You love praise. You want everyone to see how good you are.”
“Bullshit. You love the awards. The good press. The fans. You love beating me.” “I love beating everyone, but yes. You the most.” “Why?” Ilya shrugged. “Because you are the best.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about Scott Hunter.” “I think you just have a fetish for good boys.” Ilya laughed. “Is that what you are?” “That’s what you say,” Shane said. “What everyone says.”
“You are very beautiful,” Ilya said. Shane smiled without opening his eyes. “Come on.” “Is the truth. Your freckles.” Ilya grazed a fingertip over his own cheek. “I am nuts about them.” “I have no idea why. I hate them.” “Noooo...” Ilya moaned. “Hollander. They are stunning.” “Stunning?” “Yes. Am I not using that word right? Very beautiful. Um...take my breath?”
“I told you...” Ilya grinned. “You love praise.”
“Tell me about this man in Mexico.” “There’s not much to tell. He was big. He looked like he was, y’know, what I was looking for.” “A big, strong top?” Shane looked so embarrassed, Ilya took pity. “Was he? What you needed?” “No. I mean, sort of. But...” “Did he hurt you?” “No. He just wasn’t...” Ilya needed to hear it. “Wasn’t what?” Shane clenched his eyes shut and said, “You. He wasn’t you.” Ilya damn near lost it. Shane was going to ruin him, saying things like that.
“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.” When he looked back at the screen, he could see Shane’s sex-drunk eyes gazing longingly at him from behind his glasses. “It’s sexy when you speak Russian. You know that?” “Because I don’t sound ridiculous? Like with my accent?” “Tell you a secret? Your accent doesn’t sound ridiculous. At all.” “No? You like it?” “I do. And I want to learn Russian. I wasn’t kidding about that.” “I’ll teach you.” Shane smiled so wide and bright, Ilya almost had to 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. “Good night, Ilya.”
Ilya felt an awful lump in his throat. He had buried his father yesterday, but he hadn’t cried. He hadn’t cried in over ten years. But he knew, in that moment, that he had to end this thing with Shane. It was never supposed to have gotten to this point. He was never supposed to have fallen in love with Shane Hollander. ...
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“He’s not a bad guy,” Shane said, a little daringly. “It’s mostly an act.”
“You scared me,” Ilya admitted. “Scared myself.” “But you will be okay?” “Yeah, I’ll be okay. I wanted to tell you last night. I wish I could have texted you. I was—” “Shhh.”
He had convinced himself that the only sensible thing to do was to end this thing between them entirely. No good could possibly come of it. Ilya’s heart had entered into it, and that changed everything. It wasn’t thrilling or fun anymore—it was torture.
“We can have a week or two, Ilya,” Shane said. “Haven’t you ever wanted more time?” Ilya’s stomach clenched. He should just say no. Let Shane believe that he didn’t want any more from him than the hour or two they stole a few times each season. But instead he brushed his thumb over the back of Shane’s hand and said, “Of course.”
“Thank you for coming,” Shane said, all business. “I appreciate it.” Ilya nodded. “Get well soon, Hollander.” 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 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.
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.
Ilya stabbed the call button. There was only one ring before, “Holy shit, Ilya! Can you belie—” “I’m coming to the cottage.”
“I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this,” Shane said. “Yes. Me too.” Shane smiled and took one hand off the steering wheel. He reached over and Ilya quickly tangled their fingers together and squeezed.
“Wait...same?” “Hm?” “You said ‘same.’ You haven’t...been with anyone? Lately?” Ilya grimaced. He probably shouldn’t have admitted that. But... “No.” “Like, not since—?” “No. Not since. Can we please get back to—?” “Really?” Shane pulled back so he could look Ilya directly in the eyes. He looked stunned and way, way too happy. “Is not a big deal, Hollander. Relax.” “It’s been, like—” “Months. Yes. Which is why I would really like to—” “I haven’t either,” Shane said quickly. “Not since the last time we were together. In Boston.”
But Shane didn’t go back to grinding his hips or attacking Ilya’s mouth with filthy desperate kisses. Instead, he reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of Ilya’s face. Ilya could only stare, mesmerized, at Shane’s face as he looked down at him with so much...tenderness. “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.”
Ilya cheated and murmured, “I would stay here forever if I could” in Russian.
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
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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.”
When Ilya’s eyes had fluttered open, Shane’s face had been inches away from them. He had seen the initial confusion in Ilya’s expression before it softened into a shy smile. It had been a perfect morning.
“Don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane blurted out. Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Just...don’t. I know it wouldn’t be...for love or whatever. But don’t. I couldn’t—we can figure something else out, okay?” Ilya looked surprised, but he nodded.
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...”
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“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.”
“Do it, fuck. Give it to me, Hollander. I’m right there.” “I love you. I love you. Oh, shit. Here it comes—” They both cried out as Shane’s release splashed against Ilya’s chest. His body spasmed around Ilya’s cock and Ilya was hurled over the edge, coming hard with a garbled “I love you.”
“Yeah. I think we should give the money to mental health organizations. Maybe...suicide prevention?”
“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.”
Ilya loved these rare moments that Shane was able to get out of his head and just let go. He loved that he could make Shane do that. He loved Shane. God, he loved Shane.
“Someone could see. By boat,” Shane panted. “Then keep a lookout.” Ilya plunged his hand into the waistband of Shane’s shorts
Shane felt dizzy with happiness. To be held like this and kissed like this by the man he loved—the man who loved him back—here at the place he loved more than anywhere else in the world...
“But...you hate him,” Mom said. “No, I... I don’t. I mean. Sometimes I do, kinda. But mostly I...love him. Actually.” “You...what?”
“You can’t have been...since your rookie season?” his mother gasped. “No,” Ilya said. “That’s not right. Was before that.” Not helping, Ilya.
“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.”
Sure enough, a moment later she clapped her hands together and jumped up from her chair. “All right, so what’s the plan?” she said. “We’ve got a problem, let’s solve it.”
“I will say that, what Scott did, when he, um, kissed his boyfriend?” Shane couldn’t believe he was saying this. He hadn’t even told Ilya this. “That changed something inside me. It was...huge. It made me...want to try. Made me want to be braver, and to let myself try to be happy.”
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.
“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.
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.
He wrapped Shane in his arms, and held him. He nuzzled into Shane’s hair and breathed him in. “I love you,” he murmured, because he could say that. After so fucking long he could finally say that. Shane tilted his head up and studied Ilya’s face with questioning eyes. “I love you too,” he said. “Are you all right?”
