Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)

by Rachel Reid

Rozanov had turned eighteen too. Just last week. Which Shane knew because he was obsessed with him.

Fuck. This was really gay.

In fact, they had each scored exactly sixty-seven goals.

6...7...

Rozanov brought something out in him. Shane wasn’t the type of guy who needed to be the best player on the team—he just always was. And maybe that was it. Maybe Shane had been a little bit bored before Ilya Rozanov came along.

Shane kissed him back, just as angrily. Because fuck this guy for doing shit like this. Hiding away all night on a fucking rooftop, smoking a goddamned cigarette in the dark like the worst cliché of a brooding heartthrob. Making Shane feel bad for winning an award that he completely fucking deserved. And then, on a whim, pressing Shane against a wall and kissing him like he would die without Shane’s mouth on his.

The broadcasters always wanted to talk to Shane before the games, especially before games against Boston. He tried to think of a new and exciting way of answering the question, “What does Montreal have to do to win tonight?” as he made his way to the hallway outside the dressing room. “Last question, Shane: What does Montreal have to do to win tonight?”

Ilya nearly choked when he saw Hollander’s reply. Jane: I dunno. Twice, maybe? So fucking pure! So honest and sweet. Ilya: You are very bad at sexting. Jane: Who taught you that word? Ilya: Your mom.

“Wow. Businessman.” Hollander folded his arms. It did not make him look any more intimidating. “Enough questions. We’re not here to talk.” “Yes. Where do you want me? On that ladder? On the pile of wood over there?”

Ilya and Shane are Lestat and Louis variants.

“I hate you.” “Yes. I know. Show me.”

At the end of the season, the league asked Rozanov and Hollander to present together at the NHL Awards. Because the league was cute, they asked them to present the award for Most Sportsmanlike.

Shane. He called me Shane. He pulled back so he could see Rozanov’s face, and was shocked to see him staring at him with the same wide-eyed terror that Shane felt. “Ilya,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

“This is nothing, Hollander.” Hollander. You called me Shane.

Without warning, Ilya moved his hand until it was right next to Shane’s, and then he hooked their thumbs together. Shane’s first instinct was to pull away, but he resisted. Instead he closed his eyes, and tried not to hope for impossible things.

Shane: No. Come on. We both know that’s a bad idea. Lily: Everything we do is a bad idea. Come over.

There was no way he was going to go over there. He could list a million reasons why he couldn’t go over there, and he ran them through his head as he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel room.

If he kept his mouth busy, he wouldn’t be able to use it to ruin everything.

“Go. I didn’t ask you to come over to talk.” “Well...you can. If you ever want to. I mean, you can just call me. Or text. Or if we’re in the same city and you want to just talk instead of...” Ilya cracked a crooked grin at that. “Instead of?” “As well as?” “I like that better.” He leaned forward and kissed Shane. It was as soft and sweet a kiss as Shane had ever received from anyone.

Mostly he had just been ranting about his family, but he had included an admission that he wished things could have been different with his father. That he had stupidly always hoped that his father might tell him that he was proud of him. 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.”

“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. He wished he could warp to Moscow. Just instantly appear in Ilya’s apartment and hold him and tell him it was all right to be conflicted about his father’s death. That he didn’t owe his family anything. That he should leave them all behind because they made him miserable and he doesn’t need them anyway. Instead he said, “Yeah. I’m here.” “And where else are you?” Ilya asked. “I’m home now. Montreal.”

“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?” “Wow. All right.” The skin under Shane’s freckles turned very, very pink.

“I’m fucked,” he murmured in Russian. “I am so fucking in love and it’s horrible.”

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.”

“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.

Shane looked so happy. Somehow, Ilya made him happy. Ilya wanted to always make him happy.

Ilya was here, and Shane would finally know what it was like to be with him when they had all the time they wanted. Ilya had promised him two weeks, and Shane was giddy with the vastness of time that was spread before him.

For long moments, neither of them moved. They both panted and gazed at each other, and there were words that Shane was dangerously close to saying. He could feel them, thrashing around inside him, desperate to get out, but he forced them down.

“He played hockey for McGill.” “Wow. Is McGill a town? What the fuck is McGill?”

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.

The morning light was making everything beautiful, and Shane was in love, so he had leaned in and lightly kissed Ilya’s wrist.

“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.”

He had a book in his hand and glasses on his face, and he was frowning down at Ilya like a concerned lifeguard/librarian.

“I could marry Svetlana,” Ilya said, out of nowhere. It was the following night, and they were playing pool. Shane frowned at the three ball that just missed the side pocket. He would have made that shot if Ilya hadn’t just casually dropped his worst nightmare on him. “Oh?” Shane asked calmly.

The sun shone on every inch of Shane: his skin, his hair, his freckles. He looked so achingly beautiful and happy. It was a shame that Ilya was going to ruin it. A shame, but there was no choice about it: Shane Hollander was standing on the edge of a dock, and now his back was turned to Ilya. Like an idiot. “How’s the water?” Ilya asked. “What?” That was all the warning Shane got before Ilya pushed him off the dock with both hands.

Ilya sucked in a breath. “What do you want me to do to you?” “Anything. I don’t know. Everything.” “Tell me one thing.”

His heart flipped and tumbled helplessly around in his chest. There would be no going back from this. From any of this.

“I mean it,” Shane said softly. “I want to have a life with you. I know it will be awkward, and will still involve a lot of sneaking around for a while, but I’m playing the long game here. So, yeah. Whatever it takes, I’m in.”

Title of sequel !!