Heated Rivalry (Game Changers #2)(94)

“He tripped me! Hey, what the fuck, ref! That was tripping!”

Shane glared up at the ref, and then at Ilya, who was looming over him in his Ottawa jersey. “You fell,” Ilya said.

“I didn’t fall. It was tripping.”

“Yes. Was you tripping over your own skates.”

“Get fucked, Rozanov.”

Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Was planning on it.”

And now Shane had to bite back a grin. He rose to his knees, then stood, still mad as hell. Ilya had totally tripped him.

The crowd was booing, cursing Ilya’s name, and Shane got up in his face. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Stop falling down.”

Shane jabbed him in the chest with a gloved finger. He heard the crowd roar its approval. “You can’t beat me without cheating.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think?”

Someone grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled him away. “All right, keep it in your pants, you two. Jesus.”

“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning.

“I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said.

“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”

“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m gonna punch him.”

“No you’re not,” the ref barked. “Get back to your benches, all three of you. It’s a commercial break. Go cool off.”

Ilya winked at Shane and then skated to his bench. Shane could feel his cheeks burning.

“I still can’t believe he’s your...you know,” Hayden grumbled as they headed for their own bench.

“Quiet.”

“I know. I know. Just...it fucks me up, thinking about it.”

“Then don’t!”

“I mean, I could have found you a nice dude, if you had just—”

“Shut it.”

They had reached the bench, and although Shane had come out to his teammates at the start of the season, he hadn’t told any of them about Ilya. Hayden had done the math and figured it out about a month after Shane had told him he was gay.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he had said as they’d walked to their cars after arriving home from a road trip. “You know how you used to go meet up with your mystery man every time we played in Boston? But now you don’t?”

“Um. We, uh...broke up,” Shane had said quickly. And unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh. But you’ve been driving to Ottawa a lot this season.”

“Yeah, my parents live there. I’ve been, um, visiting.”

“Your parents have always lived there, and they drive to Montreal even more than you drive to Ottawa. So I have another theory. I think your mystery man is Ilya Rozanov.”

Shane had been flooded with a mixture of fear and shame, but also relief. He didn’t say anything until they’d reached Hayden’s car, and then he’d blown out a breath and nodded.

Hayden had blanched. “Holy fuck. I was sort of joking. Are you for real...doing stuff...with Rozanov?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, seriously? Did he sign with Ottawa to be closer to you? What the fuck is happening?”

“It’s one reason, yes.”

Hayden had turned and placed both hands on the roof of his car, leaning forward like he was trying to breathe through a cramp. “Shane, this is not good, buddy.”

“It’s not ideal, no. But...I love him.”

Hayden had looked at him, after he’d said that, like Shane had sprouted wings and a tail, and Shane had been sure he’d just lost his best friend. But, instead of yelling at him or getting in his car and speeding away, Hayden had just nodded and said, “I think I need to meet him properly, then.”

They had met properly, a couple of times, since then, but neither time had gone particularly well. Hayden couldn’t think of Ilya as anything but the enemy, and Ilya had responded with relentless snark. So they weren’t exactly friends.

“You sure you wanna do that press conference tomorrow?” Hayden asked. “I mean, no one knows that you guys are friends right now. You could keep it that way.”

“I’m sure.” Shane was definitely sure. He and Ilya had been planning for tomorrow for over a year.

He had sold the hookup building, and Ilya had sold (most of) his car collection. With the combined earnings, they’d started the Irina Foundation. Tomorrow, at a hotel conference room downtown, they would be announcing, and, more importantly, explaining the foundation they had created together.

“It’s a good cause, I suppose,” Hayden sighed. “I apologize in advance if Rozanov has a black eye for the press conference.”

“Please don’t punch him.”

“I’ll make a deal: if he stops being a fucking dick, I won’t punch him.”

Shane grimaced. Ilya was definitely going to have a black eye tomorrow.

Ilya found Shane in the bathroom down the hall from the conference room. He was gripping the counter and staring down into one of the sinks.

“Relax, Hollander,” Ilya said. He was probably as nervous as Shane was, really, but Shane was much worse at hiding it. Ilya put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and rubbed gently, careful not to wrinkle his light gray suit jacket.