Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(72)

Shane: My mom is wondering when we’re getting back together.
She replied a few minutes later. Ha!

Then,

Rose: Sorry. It’s not really funny. How are you? How’s your head?
Shane: Getting better. I can watch tv without sunglasses now.
Rose: But watching tv with sunglasses on is COOL!
Shane replied with the sunglasses face emoji.

Rose: Do you have a hot male nurse taking care of you?
Shane laughed, which caused both of his parents to look at him.

Shane: No. I’m at my parents’ house.
Rose: That’s a shame.
Shane: Maybe I could ask them to hire me a hot male nurse? Is that a good way to come out?
Rose: I legit LOL’d, Shane.
Shane laughed too.

“Who are you texting?” his mother asked.

“No one,” Shane said quickly. “Hayden.” Lies upon lies.

“How’s the baby?”

Baby? Oh! “Great! You know. Hayden and Jackie are totally in love with her.” Probably.

“You shouldn’t be looking at your phone so much. It’s not good for your concussion.”

“I know, Mom!” Shane snapped.

She threw her hands up dramatically. “Sorry for caring about the health of your brain!”

He rolled his eyes. “Trust me. Plenty of people are concerned about the health of my brain.”

He’d been staying with his parents since leaving the hospital, and it was starting to wear on him. He was lucky to have them, and he couldn’t imagine having to suffer through this recovery on his own, but he was craving his independence.

Although, there was one person he wouldn’t mind having around. But that person was looking frustrated as hell on his television.

Sexy too, though. Ilya had a thick playoff beard—the kind that Shane had always been envious of. Even when Shane had played all the way to the Stanley Cup finals, the best he’d been able to manage was a few pathetic tufts of hair, spaced out like islands on his face. Ilya had a full, dark beard that framed his plush lips, and oh god. Now all Shane could think about was wanting to feel that beard rub against his thighs.

The thing that he had been trying not to worry about too much—because his situation was depressing enough—was that he wasn’t entirely confident that he would feel any part of Ilya rubbing against him ever again. And wouldn’t that be the world’s saddest joke? As soon as Shane finally admitted to himself that he wanted to be with Ilya, their weird arrangement might be permanently off the table.

Not that either of them had said anything specific about ending things. They hadn’t said much of anything to each other since the day Ilya had left Shane’s hospital room. Shane just had a sense that maybe this whole thing had become too much. It had become more difficult to contain, or to pretend it didn’t mean anything. The only safe option was to walk away.

Shane was expecting Ilya to tell him as much as soon as the playoffs were over. And it was looking, as the final minutes of the game ticked away, like the playoffs would be over for Ilya tonight.

The stupid part of Shane wanted to fight for Ilya. For them. The sensible part—the part that was in control of most things in Shane’s life—knew there couldn’t possibly be a future with Ilya. There couldn’t be a present with Ilya. They needed to end things quickly, and cleanly, and never look back. The other path led to nothing but heartache and scandal and misery and...soft Russian words being breathed against Shane’s skin. It led to falling asleep with strong arms wrapped around him, and waking up to a lazy, crooked smile and playful kisses. It led to homemade tuna melts and the precious times when Ilya would offer Shane the tiny pieces of himself that he usually kept so carefully guarded.

The game ended. Ilya’s season was over. It was only a matter of time before everything would be over. And Shane didn’t know what he could do to prevent it.

But he knew he wanted to.

June 2017—Boston

Jane: I can’t believe New York is finally going to win the cup.
Ilya couldn’t believe it either. Scott fucking Hunter was going to be a Stanley Cup champion in about forty seconds.

Ilya: I hate Hunter.
Jane: No you don’t.
Ilya: I do.
Jane: Stop. I’ll get jealous if you keep talking like that.
Ilya laughed. Alone, in his penthouse in Boston, he laughed.

The final seconds of the final game of the final series of the playoffs ticked down, and then the game was over. The ice filled with excited men in blue jerseys, and Ilya turned his full attention to his phone so he wouldn’t feel the sting of envy too sharply.

He was bored. The playoffs had ended for him weeks ago. At a loss for what to do or where to go, he’d holed up in Boston. It was his only home now, though he had no real friends in the city. There were teammates who stayed for the summers, but none he was close to.

But his car collection was here, and that wasn’t nothing.

Though the last time he had visited his garage, three days ago, it had kind of felt like nothing.

He wasn’t inviting Svetlana over anymore because...just because.

So he was watching hockey, alone, and texting the man he desperately wished he could be sharing his summer with.

Ilya: Do you think Hunter is going to drink tea out of the cup?
Jane: Caffeine? No way. Hunter isn’t that hard-core.
Ilya laughed again.

Ilya: Milk then.
Jane: Warm milk. And then straight to bed!