“Because you’re on different teams?”
“Mostly, yes. It’s a little bigger than that, though.”
“The league has built up this huge rivalry between them,” Ryan explained. “Been going on since their rookie seasons.”
“Before that, even,” Shane said.
“Oh wow. That’s kind of fascinating,” Fabian said. “But everyone knows you’re friends, obviously. You have this charity together. What difference does it make if you also kiss?”
Shane opened his mouth to explain the difference, but couldn’t quite find the words. The way Fabian said it made the distinction sound so unimportant. It really shouldn’t make a difference. But it did.
“It would make things very…hard for us,” Ilya said. “Distracting.”
“It would be a fucking shitshow,” Shane agreed. “I think we’d both rather focus on hockey for now.”
Fabian hummed, then said, “For now. How long have you been together?”
Shane and Ilya looked at each other, which made Shane blush for some reason.
“Not an easy question,” Ilya said.
“Over ten years, though,” Shane clarified, “depending on your definition of ‘together.’”
“That’s a long time to keep a secret,” Fabian said thoughtfully. “Isn’t that a distraction too? Having to hide?”
Shane wasn’t sure how to answer that, and, judging by Ilya’s expression, Ilya wasn’t sure either.
“Sorry,” Fabian said quickly. “I’m super nosy. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine,” Shane said. “It’s just, you know, a lot to think about.”
“Yes,” Ilya agreed quietly.
Their food arrived and the conversation turned to the best pizza in various cities. Shane was dying for a slice of Ilya’s greasy, sausage-covered dinner, but he dutifully ate his salmon and garden salad. He’d started this diet in February and he didn’t care what Ilya said—Shane felt better. And he’d just won the Stanley Cup and the Conn Smythe Trophy. So there.
As he chewed his salmon, Shane thought about the questions Fabian had asked. He’d always imagined that the hockey world’s reaction if he and Ilya were ever found out would be the biggest nightmare to deal with, but maybe the bigger challenge was hiding. Maybe keeping how he felt about Ilya a secret was more draining than facing the backlash.
It was possible he was on a bit of a high from the past two weeks together at the cottage, followed by a successful start to their camp, and now being on their first ever double date. He may not be thinking clearly.
When they’d all finished eating, Ryan left to go to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Fabian said, “I want to thank you both for inviting Ryan to be a part of these camps. It’s meant so much to him. He absolutely loves working with kids and I think it’s been healing for him.”
“Healing?” Shane asked.
Fabian nodded. “He had a bad breakup with hockey, you know? I don’t think he’s ever regretted retiring, but he misses how hockey used to make him feel. Before it made him feel bad all the time.”
“Oh.” Shane couldn’t imagine hockey ever making him feel bad, but Ryan had a very different career from his own. “Well, I’m glad if we helped him gain back some of that love for the game.”
“You did.” Fabian smiled. “And he’s so proud, being a part of this initiative of yours. I think he’s still a bit intimidated by the other coaches. He told me they’re all superstars, and he feels out of place.”
“Not all superstars,” Ilya said. “Hayden is there.”
Shane flicked Ilya’s thigh. “We’re happy to have Ryan as part of the team. We’re glad he can do both weeks this year.”
“He is a great coach,” Ilya agreed. “The kids love him.”
Fabian beamed, which made him look younger and less intimidatingly sexy. When Ryan returned to the table, Fabian smiled up at him with unguarded adoration in his eyes.
“What?” Ryan asked suspiciously.
“Nothing, darling. We were just talking about hockey.”
Ryan scoffed. “If you say so.”
Fabian stretched his neck and kissed him, quickly, on the mouth. Ryan grinned, then tried to hide his grin as he glanced sideways at Ilya and Shane. He didn’t quite manage.
“Fabian really loves him, huh?” Shane asked, later, as Ilya was driving them back home over the Champlain Bridge to Brossard. They were in one of Ilya’s “summer cars,” a bright orange Porsche something-or-other.
“Yes. Too bad for you.”
Shane turned in his seat to face him. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Ilya’s lips quirked up, but he kept his gaze fixed on the road. “You were checking him out.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Okay.”
“If I was it was only because, like, I’d never seen anyone who was so…”
“Beautiful?” Ilya suggested.
“No! Shut up.”
“He is beautiful,” Ilya said plainly. “And, like, sexy. You know what I mean.”
“I guess,” Shane said, as if he didn’t know exactly what Ilya was talking about. “But if I was staring at him it was only because I couldn’t figure out how he and Ryan are together.”
“Ryan is not ugly.”
“No,” Shane agreed. “Especially now that his hair and beard are all trimmed up. But I spent so many years being terrified of the guy, it’s still hard to see him as handsome, y’know?”
“He is a sweetheart. I am glad Fabian loves him.”
“How did they even meet?”
“Ryan lived with Fabian’s family when he played junior hockey.”
“What? Fabian’s parents billeted hockey players?”
“Yes. Big hockey family, I guess. Ryan told me he and Fabian, um…met again?”
“Reunited?”
“Yes. In Toronto when Ryan played there. Cute, right?”
It was really fucking cute. “Wow. So it was, like, destiny.”
“Maybe.”
Shane still couldn’t get over how different Ryan and Fabian were. Ryan was so huge and shy, often hunched to make himself appear smaller. Fabian was possibly a full foot shorter than him, but made himself impossible to ignore with his beauty and the unapologetic way he decorated himself with makeup, feminine clothing, and sparkly jewelry. “I’ll bet their sex life is wild.”
Ilya grinned. “Pervert.”
“As if you’ve never thought about it.” Shane waited for Ilya to merge from the off-ramp before he asked, “Do you think we looked like that to them?”
“What, sexy? I probably did.”
“No, like…in love?”
Ilya seemed to consider the question before answering. “We are very good at pretending to not be in love. Maybe we are bad at showing it when we are allowed.”
Ilya’s words felt like a lead vest. Shane slid down in his seat and stared out the window, frowning. Neither man said a word for the rest of the drive.
Chapter Four
“I fucking love hockey,” Max said with a big grin. He tossed his camp-issued bagged lunch on the coaches’ table and slid energetically into the seat opposite Ilya.