Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(85)

“Yes, but listen. First of all, Ottawa desperately needs a star center, so there’s an opening there. But what if you played there and we...changed the narrative a bit?”

“The what? What the fuck with these words, Hollander? I’m tired.”

“Sorry. I just mean...we would still be rivals on the ice, but we wouldn’t have to pretend to be enemies. I mean, lots of guys have friends all over the league. But we’re, like, the only guys who have this whole story built around them where we can’t stand each other and love nothing more than destroying each other every time our teams meet.”

“That story was kind of true, for a long time, Hollander.”

Shane smiled a little. “Yeah, well. It’s not true now. I think it’s safe to say that, right?”

“Sure.”

“There are going to be new players—younger players—and new rivalries will form. Do we really need to keep this dance up until we both retire?”

Ilya’s brow furrowed. “Is very late, Hollander. This is a lot of English. What is your idea?”

“You play for Ottawa, I play for Montreal. Those cities are an hour apart. We start a charity together, you and me. Something that benefits both cities. So now people see us working together on something. We make up some story about how I approached you with this idea, and—”

“Or I approached you.”

“Whatever. The point is, we tell the press, the fans, everyone, that by working together on the cause that means so much to both of us, we have developed a mutual respect for each other...”

“Yes. And also we are fucking each other. Any questions?”

“Fuck off! This is a great idea, Rozanov!”

Ilya laughed. Shane hit him with a pillow.

“Is not bad,” Ilya finally conceded. “So we start this charity...”

“And it wouldn’t be bullshit either. I’ve been wanting to start one anyway. We’ll do something that means a lot to both of us.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“We still play hard against each other on the ice, obviously. I mean, I am never going to stop enjoying beating your ass.”

Ilya snorted. “Sure.”

“And...like I said. We’re an hour away from each other. All year.”

He wanted Ilya to see this vision as clearly as he could. It seemed tantalizingly possible. Easy, even.

“And you’d be in Canada. And you could apply for citizenship eventually.”

“Yes. I understand that part.”

“And maybe...someday. When we both retire. We can...be together. For real.”

Ilya looked stunned by that part. “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?”

“I do about this.”

“You want that? To be together?”

“I do. So much it terrifies me.”

Ilya turned his face away from Shane, and was silent. Cold dread flooded Shane’s stomach; he had admitted too much.

But Ilya turned back and quickly rolled on top of Shane and was kissing him and kissing him and kept murmuring the same thing in Russian over and over again until he pulled back and translated:

“I love you.”

Shane froze. And then Ilya froze.

“Holy shit,” Shane whispered. It wasn’t how he had meant to respond.

“I...” Ilya’s eyes were so wide and so scared.

“I love you too,” Shane said.

Ilya gave a shaky smile and exhaled. “Thank Christ.”

“Does it...does it feel like agony for you too?”

Ilya started to nod, then stopped. He shook his head slowly instead.

“Not anymore.”

Ilya felt like his smile was going to split his face. He was overwhelmingly happy.

Shane was beaming up at him, eyes bright and freckles crinkled, and Ilya loved him. And Shane loved him.

Holy fucking shit.

Shane Hollander is in love with me.

He wanted to kiss him, but he couldn’t stop looking at him.

“How could we let this happen?” Ilya asked, and his voice was shakier than he would have liked.

“I don’t know. We are very stupid and irresponsible.”

“Very dumb, yes. Oh god, Hollander.” And then he did kiss him. How could he not?

Ilya got the urge to pin him down, as if he would disappear if Ilya didn’t keep a tight grip on him. He wrapped his fingers around Shane’s wrists and held them to the pillow on either side of Shane’s head.

“This is real, yes?” Ilya asked. He just had to make sure.

“It’s real,” Shane said. His voice was low and adorably scratchy.

“I feel like...I am dreaming?”

“You’re not. I love you.”

Ilya wasn’t sure his heart could take any more of this. It felt like it was pushing up against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything except hold Shane down and kiss him over and over again.

Shane’s back bowed against the mattress, and he pressed his rigid cock against Ilya’s thigh. “I want to be as close as possible to you,” he said breathlessly.

“You are.”

“No. I want...”

“Tell me.”

“I want to be in your lap when you fuck me. Facing you. Holding you. I...ahh. Fuck, yes...”