Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(71)

“We can have a week or two, Ilya,” Shane said. “Haven’t you ever wanted more time?”

Ilya’s stomach clenched. He should just say no. Let Shane believe that he didn’t want any more from him than the hour or two they stole a few times each season.

But instead he brushed his thumb over the back of Shane’s hand and said, “Of course.”

“Then come to the cottage. Please. It will just be the two of us, completely alone for as long as you want to stay.”

And, god, that sounded so perfect. And Shane was looking at him like his heart would shatter if Ilya said no.

So Ilya took the coward’s way out.

“Maybe.”

Shane beamed at him like he wasn’t a man who was in a hospital bed with serious injuries.

The door handle turned and Shane quickly released his hand. Ilya jumped back and turned to face the nurse who entered the room.

“Uh-oh,” she said with a smile. “You’re not trying to smother him with a pillow, are you, Mr. Rozanov?”

“No,” Ilya said, giving her a shaky smile in return. “I was just...leaving, actually.”

“Thank you for coming,” Shane said, all business. “I appreciate it.”

Ilya nodded. “Get well soon, Hollander.”

He quickly left the hospital room of the man he loved, and forced himself to focus on winning the Stanley Cup.



Chapter Twenty-Two


May 2017—Ottawa

“Rozanov is hurt.”

Shane turned his head from where he was lying on the couch to look at his mother. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“He’s protecting his ribs. You can tell by the way he was angled. Look,” she said, pointing at a slo-mo replay on their television. “Right there. He turns away from the hit. He could have taken Hunter off the puck there, but he chickened out.”

Mom was right, of course. Shane already knew that Ilya was secretly playing the second round of the playoffs with bruised ribs.

Montreal had been knocked out in the first round by Detroit, and Shane felt terrible about that. Detroit had just squeaked into the playoffs, and it should have been an easy round for Montreal. But Shane hadn’t been able to play, and their goaltender had gotten some sort of flu, so the team had struggled and, ultimately, lost.

Shane should have been there, helping his team, but instead he was recovering at his parents’ house in Ottawa. His headaches were getting better, but he was still very tired. His collarbone was mostly healed.

He hadn’t heard from Ilya as often as he would have liked, but he knew he was busy. Focused.

“I think New York is going to win the Cup,” his mother said.

“New York, eh?”

“Yes. Scott Hunter is determined. You can see it. Nine seasons without a cup! He’ll make sure he gets this one.” Yuna Hollander was rarely wrong about these things.

“Well,” his father said cheerfully, “at least we won’t have to watch Rozanov lift the cup.”

Shane grimaced. In truth he would love to see Rozanov lift the cup.

“It was nice of him to visit Shane in the hospital, though,” Mom pointed out. “He gets points for that.” Dad made a noise of agreement.

Shane wished he could remember the details of that hospital visit. His brain had been muddled by the injury, and more muddled by the drugs. He could remember Ilya’s gentle fingers on his face and in his hair. He remembered being so happy to see him. Even now, just knowing that Ilya had made the trip to the hospital filled Shane with a tingly warmth.

Shane was so completely in love with him. He would hit his head all over again just to be alone in that quiet hospital room with those careful fingers and those concerned eyes.

He was in love with him and he could never, ever tell him that.

But maybe...maybe he could at least tell his parents...part of the truth?

Jesus, but how? Just...blurt it out? How did people do this?

Not while watching hockey together, surely.

“Have you heard from Rose Landry lately?” his mother asked, completely out of nowhere. And wasn’t that a fucking sign?

“Yeah, she texted me when I was in the hospital. She saw that I got hurt.”

His mother looked pleased by that.

Well, no time like the present. “We’re not...we’re just friends, Mom.”

“I know. Your schedules would make a relationship very difficult. But other players do it. Look at Carter Vaughan and that Gloria what’s-her-name from TV.”

“No, it’s...” Shane sat up a little, and winced at the pain in his head. “It’s not our schedules. I mean, yeah, that would make it hard, but that’s not the reason.”

His mother looked at him sympathetically. “When the right one comes along, you’ll know,” she said.

And Shane chickened out. Because he couldn’t tell them that the right one had come along, and it was the pissed-off Russian man who was currently heading to the penalty box on their television.

“Yeah,” he said, “I know.”

He had the most ridiculous urge to send Ilya a text that just said I love you. He had those words trapped inside of him, filling every part of him, and, the strain of keeping them from slipping out was getting harder to endure.

Instead, he texted Rose.