He nodded and said, “Kick Scott Hunter’s ass, okay?”
Ilya smiled, cocky and sexy. “I can’t wait.”
The handshake line ended with Wyatt, who pulled Shane in for a hug. “Always a pleasure watching you play, Hollander. I’ll see you in July.”
“You too, Wyatt. Good luck in New York.”
“Oh shit, we’ve gotta win another one of these?”
Shane laughed and patted Wyatt’s massive chest protector. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
It wasn’t until Shane was back in the locker room that he started to notice that it wasn’t just Drapeau who seemed upset with him.
“I can’t believe I fucking tripped,” Shane said to J.J. as they were tossing their jerseys in the laundry bin.
“Did you?”
Shane tensed. “What’s that mean?”
J.J. stared at him for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I don’t know, Hollander. Just…fuck, tell me it was a mistake.”
“What?” Shane couldn’t fucking believe this. “You think I fell on purpose? That I let Ilya score?”
Comeau stood from where he’d been slumped in his stall. “I know what I saw. What everyone saw. It didn’t look like an accident.”
“Well, it was. What the fuck?” Everyone in the room was staring at him now. Shane turned to face as many of his teammates as he could. “You guys don’t actually think I fell on purpose, do you?”
There was mostly silence, with some muttering in both French and English. Finally, J.J. blew out a breath and said, “No, I don’t think that.”
Suddenly, Hayden was at Shane’s side. “Of course we don’t fucking think that. Come on, guys. Shane would never betray his team.”
But Hayden and J.J. seemed to be the only ones who were sure of that.
“Fuck this,” Shane muttered, and began to angrily remove the rest of his gear. These were the guys who were supposed to have his back. They’d won a cup together last year and fought like hell all season for another one. Some of these men had played with Shane for over ten seasons. It made him sick that they were so quick to believe him to be a traitor.
Shane’s parents were waiting for him outside the locker room by the time he’d gotten showered and changed. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to his teammates. If any of them wanted to apologize, they had his number.
“If you want to stay longer,” Mom said, “we can head to the house without you.”
“No. I want to get out of here. Now.” He walked quickly down the hall toward the underground parking, leaving his parents scrambling to catch up. He was being rude, he knew, but he felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe until he was out of the fucking arena.
When he got to his car, he leaned back against it and stared up at the ugly ceiling of the garage. His eyes burned with furious tears. “They think I fell on purpose,” he said.
“What?” Mom said. “Who said that? I want names.”
Shane shook his head. “I’ve given this team everything and…” His face crumpled.
Dad wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Shane. It’s been a rough couple of weeks for you.”
Shane sniffed. “It can only get better, right?” He glanced over Dad’s shoulder to see Mom frowning at her phone. “Oh god. What now?”
Mom forced her lips into the least convincing smile Shane had ever seen. “Nothing important. Let’s go home.”
“You were checking Twitter, weren’t you? What’s everyone saying?”
Mom slipped her phone into her pocket. “Like I said. Nothing important.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The next morning, Ilya was disgusted to see that hockey media was full of opinion pieces that wondered aloud if Shane had intentionally let Ilya score.
“This is insulting to me as well,” Ilya complained on the phone to Shane. “They think I can’t beat you unless we cheat?”
“You wouldn’t have beaten me if I hadn’t tripped,” Shane pointed out for no reason at all.
“Shane,” Ilya sighed. “Not now. And of course I would have.”
“I’m so fucking angry,” Shane said. “I don’t deserve this.”
Ilya was glad to hear him say it. “You’re a free agent now. Get the fuck out of there. Go somewhere that will appreciate you.”
Shane snorted. “Like where? Ottawa?”
Ilya held his breath. Because of course, yes. Ottawa.
“I mean, I couldn’t, could I?” Shane said.
“This is why you have an agent. Find out.”
“They don’t have the salary cap space for me. Not with you and Troy and Wyatt. And didn’t Bood get a big raise last season? Haas will be looking for more in a couple of years.”
“How much money do you need?” Ilya asked.
“I don’t know. I just want what I’m worth, y’know?”
“Of course. But consider maybe your very wealthy husband.”
Shane sputtered out a laugh. “I guess that’s true.” He was silent a moment. “Is there room for me on that roster, though?”
“We need depth at center. And having both Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander would be very deep.”
“Jesus, we could win Ottawa a cup.”
“Hey!” Ilya complained. “I am trying to do that right now!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I completely believe in you.”
“Hm.”
“Anyway, this is a lot. I’m just angry right now and it’s making me want to do drastic things. I’ll calm down soon.”
Ilya was sure he would, which was why he was trying not to get his hopes up about Shane joining him on the Centaurs. Shane loved Montreal, and it would take a lot more than a few stupid editorial pieces and angry tweets to make him leave.
“I have to get going. Plane leaves soon.”
“Okay,” Shane said. “Good luck. I’ll be watching. And call me. And send me pics. And, fuck, I really miss you.”
“I miss you too. Come to Ottawa. I’ll get tickets for you and your parents for games three and four.”
Shane seemed to brighten at that. “Yeah? I could stay with them, so I don’t distract you or anything.”
“We can talk about it in a few days.”
“All right. Hey, um. No one on your team thinks I tripped on purpose, right?”
Ilya huffed. “No one with a brain thinks that.”
The first two games were in New York, and Ottawa lost both of them. Then Ottawa won the third game, in Ottawa. All three Hollanders had been in the audience for that one, which had been exciting for Ilya. He’d never had so many people he loved at one of his games before.
The following afternoon, on the day between games, Ilya and Shane were watching tennis together on Ilya’s couch. Or at least that’s how it started. Within half an hour Shane was sprawled out and panting while Ilya tortured him with the slowest, laziest blowjob ever.
“D-did you forget how to do this or something?” Shane gasped.
Ilya paused from gently tonguing just below the head of Shane’s cock and smiled. “Are you in a hurry? Playoff game to get ready for?”