The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(43)

Still not sure what any of this was about, Shane picked up the remote from the coffee table and handed it to Ilya. “We can eat on the sofa. Find a movie or something.”

He got to work making a salad to a soundtrack of heroic music and loud explosions coming from the living room. Ilya loved action movies. The lasagna still needed to bake for a while after Shane finished the salad, so he joined his boyfriend on the couch, letting Ilya rest his feet in his lap.

“What movie is it?”

“I don’t know. But Rose is in it.”

Shane squinted at the TV and wished he had his glasses. “Oh yeah. I’ve seen this one. It’s kind of bad.”

“Rose looks beautiful, though.”

“She always does.” They watched in silence while Shane absently rubbed Ilya’s feet.

“You could have had it all,” Ilya teased when Rose was on the screen in a particularly sexy evening gown.

Shane snuggled closer against him. He’d had a question on his mind since they’d woken from their nap. He didn’t want to ruin this cozy moment, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Ilya?”

Ilya must have heard the caution in Shane’s voice, because his body tensed. “Yes?”

“Are you...okay?”

“Fine. Is just a bruise.”

“No, I mean...” Shane gnawed on his bottom lip, unsure of how to proceed.

“Shane?”

He decided to just go for it. “I feel like, maybe, you’re not okay. Sometimes.”

Ilya removed his arm and turned toward him. “Not okay how?”

Shane sat up and faced him. “You’ve been through a lot, and I know our...thing...isn’t easy. And I’m just wondering if you maybe need to deal with some of that.” He steeled himself. “Professionally, I mean.”

Ilya narrowed his eyes. “Why are you saying this?”

Shane put a hand on his arm, and Ilya flinched under his touch. Shit, Shane was fucking this up. He tried again. “I’d never thought much about, y’know, mental health stuff, before we started the charity. But sometimes you seem...sad. Or, I dunno, withdrawn.”

“Withwhat?”

“Withdrawn, like, um, quiet.”

“Everyone is quiet sometimes.” Ilya turned back to the TV. “You should try it.”

Shane huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it. Just know that if you want to talk, or want to maybe see someone about it, I’ll support you. And if you don’t want to, I’ll support that too. But I’m worried sometimes.”

For a long time, Ilya didn’t say anything. Shane watched the hinge of his jaw twitch. His lips were a hard line.

“You should not worry,” Ilya finally said, his gaze staying on the television. “I am okay.”

Shane took his hand and squeezed. “You don’t have to deal with anything alone, all right?”

Ilya swallowed hard. “Yes. Fine.” His hand was trembling.

“I’m serious,” Shane said.

Ilya stood, pulling his hand away. “If there is something, I will tell you. But there is nothing. So let’s eat bad lasagna and shut up about it, okay?”

That really didn’t sound like nothing was bothering Ilya, but Shane had promised to support him if he didn’t want to talk. He stood too. “It’s not bad lasagna.”

Ilya managed to smile a bit at that. “We will see.”



Chapter Thirteen


“What are you doing tonight?” J.J. asked.

“Nothing,” Shane said, then immediately regretted it. Ilya had left yesterday and Shane was feeling the loss. He didn’t want to do anything social tonight.

J.J. placed one hand on the wall of Shane’s locker room stall, above where Shane was sitting, boxing him in. “Sweet. You should come out with me. I’m meeting some friends at this amazing cocktail bar that my buddy Benoit opened.”

“I don’t drink,” Shane reminded him.

“Still?”

“Yes. Still.” Shane resumed untying his skates, hopefully indicating that the conversation was over.

“Okay, well, they have other stuff to drink. I’ll bet they make, like, bomb mocktails.”

Shane almost reminded him that he didn’t consume most of the probable ingredients in a mocktail either, but decided to just shut the whole thing down instead. “I’m gonna stay in. But thanks.”

J.J. sighed and sat in the stall next to Shane. Hayden’s stall, but Hayden was in the shower. “It’s not healthy,” he said, in French. When J.J. switched to French with Shane, it usually meant he was about to get real. Or that he was drunk. “What do you do besides come to practice—” he waved a hand around the locker room, indicating the activity they’d just finished “—play games, work out, and sleep?”

“Lots of stuff,” Shane argued, hoping he wouldn’t be asked for specific examples.

“Like what?”

“I...see friends.”

“Friends,” J.J. said flatly. And skeptically. “Like who? Your parents?”

“No,” Shane said quickly, then scrambled for examples. “Hayden?”

J.J. frowned at him, then said, “Come out tonight.”