Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(16)

Plus, he liked them.

“You need a lamp beside your couch in that apartment,” Mom said, completely out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Your living room. It’s too dark. Do you want the one from the den at home? We don’t need it.”

“That’s okay, Mom. You keep that. I’ll get one.”

“Yuna! He doesn’t need our old furniture! He’s a millionaire!”

“It’s a nice lamp!” she argued. “They don’t make nice things anymore.”

“If you have the money, they’ll make anything,” Dad said.

“Next time you guys drive up we can go lamp shopping, Mom.”

That seemed to please her. “Have you had any friends over yet?” she asked.

“One guy. Hayden. You know...”

“Hayden Pike. The rookie. Left wing. Played in the Quebec league for Drummondville,” Mom recited. “Yes.”

“Yeah. He came over to check the place out one night before we went out with some of the other guys.”

“He seems like a nice boy,” Mom said. “I saw him interviewed.”

“He’s cool. Everyone has been great so far, really.”

Dad laughed. “Of course they have been! They’re damn lucky to have you.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I’m just another guy on the team.”

His parents looked at each other, but didn’t say anything. Shane let it go. He knew how proud they were of him.

“Anyway,” Dad said, “what were we talking about? Rozanov? We’re not worried about Rozanov, right?”

“He’s a dirty player,” Mom growled.

“He’s a good player is what he is.” Shane sighed.

“Not as good as you. Not in any category,” Mom said firmly.

“He’s bigger than me.”

“You’re faster than him.”

“Maybe.”

“And you’re a leader. A nice young man. Rozanov is a jerk.”

Shane laughed. “Yeah. I know.”

He’s better at blow jobs than me. The thought crashed to the front of Shane’s brain, and he quickly grabbed for his water glass, nearly knocking it over.

His mother narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you, Shane? You aren’t usually this nervous.”

“Nothing! I just want to win tonight. That’s all.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because she smiled. “You will. Screw Ilya Rozanov, right? That can be your mantra tonight.”

Or not.

Shane forced a smile. “Sure. Screw him.”

“All right, fuck it,” Coach LeClaire said. “Rozanov, get out there and take the face-off against Hollander. Let’s give ’em what they want.”

Rozanov vaulted over the boards and headed for the face-off circle. He was on the ice with Hollander for the first time in an NHL game.

“Shane Hollander,” he said casually when he reached his opponent.

“Rozanov.”

Ilya let his lips curl up a bit into a little smile. Hollander’s face hardened and he shook his head slightly.

The crowd was so fucking loud. This city was nuts.

“Will you disappoint them, Hollander?”

“Nope.”

They bent for the face-off.

Ilya wished he didn’t have the mouth guard in because he would have loved to do something distracting and sexy with his tongue.

He probably should have been focusing more on the puck and less on bothering Hollander, because he lost their first face-off. And that was something he’d never get back.

Ilya scowled at the ceiling of his Montreal hotel room. He was furious with himself—not at his team, at himself—for losing this first match against Hollander.

He didn’t know what to do with his anger. It was not the best moment for his phone to ring.

It was his goddamned brother, Andrei.

“What is it?” Ilya said, forgoing niceties. It wasn’t like Andrei was calling just to chat.

“Did you play tonight?”

“Yes,” Ilya said tightly. He had teammates from the Czech Republic whose families back home watched every game online.

“Oh. Did you win?”

“What do you want?”

Andrei was quiet. Ilya’s heart sank. “Is Dad...?”

“Fine. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Ilya’s jaw clenched. His brother could pretend all he wanted that there was nothing wrong with their father, but it was increasingly obvious that it wasn’t the case. He decided to ignore Andrei’s lies for the moment.

“Do you need money, then?” Ilya asked. It was the only other possible reason for Andrei’s call.

“Just...not much. Like...twenty thousand?”

“Twenty thousand! Dollars?”

His brother laughed. “Not rubles. Of course dollars.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Life,” his brother said vaguely. “You know what it’s like here.”

He knew what his brother was like. He was either making a bad investment, or had already made a bad investment. Or was gambling. Or something else that a police officer really shouldn’t be doing.

“I gave you ten thousand like two months ago. Where the fuck is that?”