Shane waved a hand at Ilya’s breakfast. “That’s how you’re going to start your day?”
“No,” Ilya said, dipping his knife back into the Nutella jar. “I started my day by blowing you. Remember?”
Yes, Shane remembered. But he wasn’t going to let that stop his outrage. “Are you seriously going to eat that?”
“Are you seriously going to drink that?” Ilya said, pointing his knife with its glob of Nutella at Shane’s blender.
“This is balanced and contains a ton of nutrients and protein. That contains nothing but sugar and fuck knows what else.”
“Chocolate,” Ilya said helpfully. He finished smearing the Nutella on, then grabbed a banana and waved it in Shane’s face. “Look. Healthy.”
Shane watched as Ilya peeled the banana and began slicing it over the bagel. “Whatever,” Shane sighed, and went back to making his smoothie. He didn’t want to see what Ilya added next. Probably sprinkles. Or onion rings.
While they were eating at Ilya’s breakfast bar, Shane checked his email and was shocked to find one from the NHL’s league commissioner, Roger Crowell. He was even more surprised when he read that Crowell wanted to meet with him when Shane traveled to New York later that week.
“Holy shit,” he said aloud.
“What?” Ilya asked through a mouthful of bagel and chocolate.
“Crowell wants to meet with me.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea.” Shane wrote back right away, confirming that of course he would. Then he immediately spiraled into a panic about what the meeting could possibly be about.
“He doesn’t say why?” Ilya asked.
“No.”
“That is weird.”
“I know it’s fucking weird! Why me?”
“Is it just you?”
“I—” Okay, Shane didn’t actually know. “Maybe? It sounded like it. He didn’t mention anyone else.”
The commissioner was the single most powerful person in the NHL, overseeing basically everything. He wasn’t a particularly popular man among players. Shane had always regarded him with an appropriate amount of respect, mixed with a bit of wariness.
“What if he knows about us?” Shane asked, jumping to the worst-case scenario.
“Why would he?”
Shane chewed his lip. It was true that there was no way Crowell would know about his relationship with Ilya. It probably wasn’t that.
“Maybe he wants to give you a special award,” Ilya said. “Second-best hockey player.”
Shane ignored him. “I’ve met him, but never actually, y’know, met him. Like, I’ve never had a real conversation with him. Is this something he does?”
Ilya shrugged.
“Is it about the documentary, do you think?”
“Possible.”
Shane exhaled. “It’s probably nothing to worry about, right?”
“Probably not. But I like how worried you get.” Ilya bumped his shoulder against him affectionately.
“Whatever.”
Ilya leaned in for a kiss, and Shane dodged him. “No way. Not after you ate that.”
“Come on,” Ilya said, grinning as he leaned in again. “You can taste chocolate again.”
“No.”
In the end, Shane couldn’t resist kissing him. It was better than chocolate.
Chapter Sixteen
A few days later, Shane was sitting in a waiting area outside Crowell’s office. He had never been to the NHL’s headquarters in Manhattan before, and the sleek lobby that had greeted him when he’d stepped off the elevators, with its fortieth-floor view of the Hudson River, was impressive. And intimidating.
“Commissioner Crowell can see you now, Mr. Hollander,” said the receptionist.
Shane nodded at her without quite making eye contact. He found her intimidating too.
When Shane walked in, he was greeted warmly by Crowell. “Shane! Come in. Thank you for meeting with me. Short notice, I know.”
Roger Crowell was a tall man, solidly built, with thick silver hair and heavy eyebrows over calculating, pale blue eyes. He’d never been a hockey player, but he’d played football in college, back in the seventies, and he clearly still kept in shape. If he weren’t so fucking scary, Shane would say he was handsome.
“No problem,” Shane said as he shook Crowell’s offered hand. “The offices are nice.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No.”
Crowell’s face shifted into a confused expression that seemed a bit theatrical to Shane. “Is that so? I’m surprised to hear it. Well, welcome.”
“Thank you.”
Crowell gestured to one of the leather chairs facing his desk, and Shane perched on the edge of the seat. Crowell sat in his own high-backed executive desk chair, leaning back in it comfortably. “Montreal’s had a great start to the season.”
“Yes. Not bad.”
“Always tough, defending a title,” Crowell said. As if he knew.
“It can be, yeah.”
“And how’s that charity doing? The one you started with Rozanov?”
“Good. We’ve been able to fund some very worthwhile organizations and initiatives.” Shane knew he sounded like he was reading directly from the Irina Foundation’s website, but he was too nervous to care. Where the hell was this conversation going?
“Glad to hear it. Your camps are doing good work too. Very…inclusive.”
“Yes. We try to make sure of that. It’s important to both of us.”
“That’s good. That’s good. We like to see that. Diversity is important.”
“It is,” Shane said cautiously.
“It can be hard sometimes to find a balance,” Crowell continued. “If you know what I mean.”
Shane definitely didn’t. “Balance?”
“Of course we, as a league and as a sport, want to talk about inclusion and diversity in hockey. We want to see things move in the right direction. But too much talk about that stuff can be…distracting.”
“Um.”
Crowell held out one hand. “Now I’ve heard, and you don’t have to confirm this, but I’ve heard that you are…homosexual.”
“I, uh—” Shane’s stomach clenched. He was a homosexual, but the way Crowell said it made it sound icky.
“Like I said, you don’t have to tell me. But let’s say the rumor is true.”
It wasn’t so much a rumor as something that Shane had told his teammates, and had willingly admitted to anyone who asked. He kept his mouth shut now.
“So maybe you’ve told your teammates, your friends, your family. Maybe you have a partner, I don’t know. The point is, I don’t need to know, and neither does anyone else.”
“Okay.”
“Nothing against Scott Hunter, of course. He’s a great player and a great ambassador for the game, but that approach can be a lot, y’know?”
“Approach? You mean his activism?”
“Activism, sure. Or just being loud about your personal business. What I’m saying is I appreciate the way you handle yourself, Shane. I know you put hockey first, and keep your private life private. That keeps everyone comfortable, and keeps the focus on hockey.”