Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(33)

Shane had had no idea what to expect before he’d arrived in Sochi. He’d never been to Russia before, and he wasn’t sure this over-the-top spectacle was the best representation of Rozanov’s homeland. He found himself wondering, often, about the pressure Rozanov was feeling. Being in the Olympics at all was thrilling and stressful enough for Shane without it being in his country.

“What’s up, guys?” he said as Carter and Scott caught up with him. “Did you know there was going to be a beach here? What the fuck is this place, right?”

Carter laughed. “No! There are fucking palm trees here! I thought Russia in the winter would be, like, cold.”

“Congrats on your win last night,” Scott said. Scott was a super nice guy. Carter was nice too, but Scott was, like, an angel who was really good at playing hockey. He looked like an angel: blond hair and blue eyes and built like a Navy SEAL who was also a model and maybe also a firefighter.

“Thanks. It was a pretty easy win, but I’ll take it.”

“These early games are all easy. Who are we playing next, Scotty? Fiji?”

Scott frowned at him. “Denmark. And I don’t want anyone being cocky about it.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter teased.

Carter looked nothing like Scott, with his dark skin and brown eyes, but he was just as attractive. The difference was that Carter knew he was attractive. He was the kind of guy who took over a room, but in a good way. Everyone liked him.

“How are you finding the accommodations?” Shane asked.

“Are you kidding?” Carter asked. “I’m sleeping on a cot—”

“It’s a twin bed,” Scott corrected him.

“Whatever. A fucking twin bed, wedged between two other twin beds. One of them has this fucking oaf snoring away on it.”

“I don’t snore.”

“And the other has Sully—Eric Sullivan—and I don’t even know that kid, but he’s even bigger than Scott. I would like to find the Sochi Four Seasons.”

Shane laughed. “I’m rooming with J.J., and your teammate, Greg Huff.”

“Well, Huff doesn’t take up much space,” Carter said, “but J.J. is a giant.”

“He’s not a fan of the beds either.”

“What are your plans for tonight?” Scott asked.

“I thought I’d watch some of the speed skating.”

Scott’s face lit up. “Yeah? That would be cool. I saw the men’s figure skating short program is tonight too.”

“Oh, right. That’s probably going to be packed.”

“Those fucking guys are brave to be here, you know?”

“Brave?” Scott asked.

Carter lowered his voice and glanced around the beach. “Yeah, like...because of the gay thing, right? Some of those guys are risking their lives for real here. Brave as hell.”

“Right,” Scott said. He turned his gaze to the ocean. Shane knew about Russia’s laws against homosexuality, but he’d been trying not to think too much about stuff like that. He just wanted to enjoy the Olympics, win the gold medal, and go home. But now he was thinking about Dev, a guy he’d trained with a bit from Ottawa who was on the men’s speed skating team, and who Shane knew was gay. He was here. Was he terrified? He must be.

“They should have beach volleyball at these games!” Carter said cheerfully. “Women’s beach volleyball. That’s exactly what the Winter Olympics needs, right?”

Shane nodded, but he was still thinking about Dev.

And about Rozanov.

Rozanov could take care of himself. This was his home turf. He would know how to keep safe.

“You still with us, Hollander?”

Shane blinked and looked at Carter and Scott. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“We were going to check out the McDonald’s in the athlete’s village. Thought it might be fun. Want to join us?”

“Um, I think I’m going to...” Text Rozanov? Try to lay eyes on him? Make sure he’d not been arrested for blowing a ski jumper or something? “Relax a bit in my room. Still jet lagged, y’know?”

“You can relax in that room?” Carter laughed. “Good luck, then. You have my number?”

“Yeah, I have it. I’ll see you guys later.”

Shane tried not to walk too quickly as he left, but he was suddenly desperate to make contact with Rozanov. The only problem was he had no idea where to find him.

He sent a text. Having a good time?

There. That was cool and casual. Just a friendly “Hey, we’re both at the Olympics! Fun, right? Also, are you in jail?”

He waited all night for a reply, but none came.

The Olympics were bullshit.

Ilya had been on edge all week. It had been days of smiling for the Russian media and mingling with government officials who made his skin crawl. Men and women who supported their country’s leader without question, and who expected Ilya to do the same. Ilya hadn’t had any time to enjoy himself; he’d barely had time to focus on his game.

And it showed.

The Russian men’s hockey team was a mess. These sorts of international tournaments were always awkward, with players being tossed together to form a “dream team” of superstars who had no idea how to play with each other, but this team was especially hopeless. Too many egos. Too much pressure, here in their home country, making tempers run high in the dressing room and on the ice. Too many stupid penalties being taken, too few goals being scored.