“Yeah. So here’s the thing…”
“I am bisexual,” Ilya blurted out.
Farah’s lips curved up. “I think I can see where this is going,” she said calmly.
Well, now they knew how easy it would be for someone to put two and two together if they knew the truth about Ilya’s sexuality.
“Yeah,” Shane said. “I think you do.”
“We are together,” Ilya said, in case she didn’t.
“Sorry,” Shane said. “I know this is going to be complicated for you.”
“Don’t apologize. I love you guys, and I’m happy for you.” She laughed. “Can’t say I predicted this when I woke up this morning. May I ask how long you’ve been together?”
Shane and Ilya shared a smile, then Ilya said, “A long time. Years.”
“So it isn’t brand-new,” Farah said, more to herself than to them, Shane suspected. “Not to ask a stupid question, but it’s serious?”
“Very,” Ilya said. Shane’s heart flipped the way it always did when Ilya made it clear how much Shane meant to him.
“Do you want to tell people?” Farah asked.
“No,” Shane said quickly, at the same time Ilya said, “Not yet.”
“We just wanted you to know,” Shane clarified. “Not many people do, but we thought you should.”
Farah nodded. “I’m on your side. So whatever you need from me, you’ve got it. There’s no precedent for NHL rivals being romantically involved, obviously, so we’re in uncharted waters here. Whatever happens, it definitely won’t be boring!”
“I wouldn’t mind boring,” Shane mumbled.
“Shane loves boring,” Ilya said.
Farah laughed. “Well, good, because I have a whole list of boring stuff to go over with both of you.”
They talked about endorsement opportunities, about the scheduled air date for a documentary ESPN had made about their rivalry, about Shane’s impending free agency at the end of this upcoming season, about the charity hockey camps that started next week. None of it, as far as Shane was concerned, was boring.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the documentary,” Farah said. “Their Scott Hunter doc was fantastic.”
“Did not see it,” Ilya said flatly.
“I guess they didn’t quite capture the real story about you guys, though.”
No. Ilya and Shane had both been very careful not to give that away. Not that they’d had a lot of direct involvement in the documentary. They’d sat for separate interviews, and had endured a bit of the film crew following them around for a couple of days last season—again, separately—but as far as Shane knew the doc was mostly going to consist of existing game footage and interviews with other people.
As soon as their call with Farah ended, Ilya pinned Shane on the mattress, holding his wrists and kissing him breathless.
“That went okay,” Shane said between kisses.
“Was great. I told you.”
Shane loved Ilya so much it physically hurt to contain it some days. He didn’t want to be a gay icon, or deal with any of the attention they would get from the hockey world—both good and bad—if they ever disclosed their relationship, but he wished he could love Ilya openly without dealing with any of that.
Maybe one day. After they were both retired. Shane knew some retired NHL stars and they’d been able to easily fade into the background if they’d wanted to. Sometimes even if they didn’t want to. Eventually, the world just stopped caring about them.
At the moment, Shane and Ilya were both in their prime at twenty-nine years old. Shane had just led his team to his third Stanley Cup victory, and while Ilya was the captain of a much worse team, he was still putting up big numbers in Ottawa. They were both superstars, and they both had a lot of hockey left in them. Shane had every intention of playing another decade at least, and he expected Ilya to do the same.
Which meant another decade of hiding, probably. But Shane would do it. He would do anything for Ilya. He’d told him, once, that he was willing to play the long game when it came to their relationship and he’d meant it.
“Why are you getting sad?” Ilya asked.
Shane blinked at him. “Sorry. Nothing.” He kissed him quickly. “I love you.”
Ilya gave him one of his crooked, sexy smiles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
Chapter Two
Ilya was dreaming of his mother.
He knew, somehow, that he was dreaming, but his stomach still twisted with dread as he slowly crossed the familiar lawn behind Shane’s cottage to where he could see a pale arm hanging limply from the hammock. The same way it had hung from her bed once, when he’d been twelve years old.
Then, in the dream, her hand moved. Her wrist twisted, and her fingers danced, as if she was moving them to music. Ilya smiled, and walked faster.
“Mom,” he said when he reached her, in English, for some reason. Irina Rozanova smiled at him from her hammock—the one that he and Shane had installed together last summer—looking young and beautiful and perfectly relaxed. She didn’t speak, only smiled and took his hand.
“Shane is in the house,” Ilya told her. “I want you to meet him.”
Her smile grew wider, but she stayed silent. Ilya looked toward the house, where he could see his boyfriend’s silhouette in the kitchen window. Ilya waved to him, and Shane moved away from the window. Good. He would be here soon, then.
Ilya gazed at his mother while he waited, knowing that this wouldn’t last. He would wake up, she would disappear. But still he wanted her to meet Shane.
Shane was taking his fucking time. There was no sign of him when Ilya looked back at the house, and he began to panic.
Irina patted his hand. She was still smiling, but it looked pained. Her skin was tinged with gray.
“No,” Ilya said. “Wait. He will be here.”
An annoying bird started chirping loudly nearby, and Ilya gripped his mother’s hand more tightly. “Just…wait. Don’t go.”
Everything dissolved. The bird turned into Ilya’s alarm, and Ilya found himself in Shane’s bed in Montreal.
He snarled at his phone as he turned off the alarm, then scrunched his eyes closed, trying to get the dream back.
It was gone.
He stretched out one hand, searching for Shane, but found his half of the bed empty. And cold.
Jesus, how long had Shane been awake?
It was the first day of that summer’s charity hockey camps, so Ilya shouldn’t be surprised Shane had gotten an early start. He supposed he should get out of bed and find him.
He rolled to his back and exhaled loudly, trying to release the vortex of feelings that the dreams always churned up inside him. The joy of seeing his mother again, the heartbreak of realizing it wasn’t real, and the frustration of Shane not moving fast enough. Of not caring enough. It was this last emotion that Ilya needed to shake off most of all, because it was ridiculous. Shane cared. Shane cared enough that he’d suggested naming their charity after Ilya’s mother.
He threw on a pair of sweatpants and headed to the kitchen. He found Shane sitting at the kitchen table, already wearing a camp-branded polo shirt, studying his laptop screen through his glasses.