The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(3)

Maybe one day. After they were both retired. Shane knew some retired NHL stars and they’d been able to easily fade into the background if they’d wanted to. Sometimes even if they didn’t want to. Eventually, the world just stopped caring about them.

At the moment, Shane and Ilya were both in their prime at twenty-nine years old. Shane had just led his team to his third Stanley Cup victory, and while Ilya was the captain of a much worse team, he was still putting up big numbers in Ottawa. They were both superstars, and they both had a lot of hockey left in them. Shane had every intention of playing another decade at least, and he expected Ilya to do the same.

Which meant another decade of hiding, probably. But Shane would do it. He would do anything for Ilya. He’d told him, once, that he was willing to play the long game when it came to their relationship and he’d meant it.

“Why are you getting sad?” Ilya asked.

Shane blinked at him. “Sorry. Nothing.” He kissed him quickly. “I love you.”

Ilya gave him one of his crooked, sexy smiles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”



Chapter Two


Ilya was dreaming of his mother.

He knew, somehow, that he was dreaming, but his stomach still twisted with dread as he slowly crossed the familiar lawn behind Shane’s cottage to where he could see a pale arm hanging limply from the hammock. The same way it had hung from her bed once, when he’d been twelve years old.

Then, in the dream, her hand moved. Her wrist twisted, and her fingers danced, as if she was moving them to music. Ilya smiled, and walked faster.

“Mom,” he said when he reached her, in English, for some reason. Irina Rozanova smiled at him from her hammock—the one that he and Shane had installed together last summer—looking young and beautiful and perfectly relaxed. She didn’t speak, only smiled and took his hand.

“Shane is in the house,” Ilya told her. “I want you to meet him.”

Her smile grew wider, but she stayed silent. Ilya looked toward the house, where he could see his boyfriend’s silhouette in the kitchen window. Ilya waved to him, and Shane moved away from the window. Good. He would be here soon, then.

Ilya gazed at his mother while he waited, knowing that this wouldn’t last. He would wake up, she would disappear. But still he wanted her to meet Shane.

Shane was taking his fucking time. There was no sign of him when Ilya looked back at the house, and he began to panic.

Irina patted his hand. She was still smiling, but it looked pained. Her skin was tinged with gray.

“No,” Ilya said. “Wait. He will be here.”

An annoying bird started chirping loudly nearby, and Ilya gripped his mother’s hand more tightly. “Just...wait. Don’t go.”

Everything dissolved. The bird turned into Ilya’s alarm, and Ilya found himself in Shane’s bed in Montreal.

He snarled at his phone as he turned off the alarm, then scrunched his eyes closed, trying to get the dream back.

It was gone.

He stretched out one hand, searching for Shane, but found his half of the bed empty. And cold.

Jesus, how long had Shane been awake?

It was the first day of that summer’s charity hockey camps, so Ilya shouldn’t be surprised Shane had gotten an early start. He supposed he should get out of bed and find him.

He rolled to his back and exhaled loudly, trying to release the vortex of feelings that the dreams always churned up inside him. The joy of seeing his mother again, the heartbreak of realizing it wasn’t real, and the frustration of Shane not moving fast enough. Of not caring enough. It was this last emotion that Ilya needed to shake off most of all, because it was ridiculous. Shane cared. Shane cared enough that he’d suggested naming their charity after Ilya’s mother.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and headed to the kitchen. He found Shane sitting at the kitchen table, already wearing a camp-branded polo shirt, studying his laptop screen through his glasses.

“Good morning,” Ilya said.

“Hey,” Shane said without looking away from the screen. “Just going over the medical forms for the kids. There are so many different things. A couple of the kids are allergic to eggs.”

“Then we won’t throw eggs at them.”

“It’s serious! What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing did last year.”

“I know, but it still could.”

Ilya crossed the room and stopped directly behind him. He put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “It will probably happen, someone getting sick or hurt. But it will be okay. Is hockey. And kids.”

He combed his fingers through the long strands at the back of Shane’s head. Ilya liked it long; he’d liked the way it matched Shane’s transformation when they were alone together by the lake, relaxed and even a bit silly.

Shane rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t want this week to be a disaster.”

“You are worrying too much.”

“Easy for you to say,” Shane grumbled. “Your mom hasn’t been texting all week with stressful details about this damn camp.”

Ilya’s hands dropped to his sides. “No,” he said quietly. “She has not.”

It was early, and Shane had probably barely slept and was tied into even more knots than usual, so Ilya decided to let the insensitive comment go. He knew Shane hadn’t meant anything by it. Just like he knew he couldn’t be mad at him for never rushing outside to meet Ilya’s mother in his recurring dreams.