The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(59)

“Okay. Puppies are cute. Agreed. But what was Troy like?”

“Was fine. Quiet. Whatever.”

Shane grinned at the ceiling. “Do you have a photo of the dog?”

“Of course. Did you not see my Instagram?”

“No.” Shane was not particularly invested in social media, though he knew that Ilya was posting random things all the time. Shane mostly reposted official team posts, and info about the Irina Foundation.

“There are photos, videos. So many things. Chiron is great.”

“I’m glad you made a new friend.”

Ilya sighed. “I wish I could get a dog.”

Yeah, Shane wasn’t sure how that would work. “Someday,” he offered.

“Everything is someday. I am tired of waiting for someday.”

“I know. But we’re still young. We’ve got lots of time.”

“Are we? I feel a thousand years old sometimes.”

“I imagine Luca Haas isn’t helping. What’s he like?”

“Nice kid,” Ilya said. “Possibly has a crush on me. I will let you know.”

Shane refused to acknowledge his own jealousy. “He’s a good player. Smart, y’know?”

“Very smart. But so young. Too young.”

“We were younger than him when we started,” Shane pointed out. They’d both been nineteen during their rookie seasons.

“I was never as young as Haas. He is, like, seven.”

Shane chuckled, and it turned into a yawn.

“You are tired,” Ilya said. “That game looked tough.”

“Oh, you watched, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Shane smiled. “Talk to me in Russian,” he said. “Just wanna listen to you for a bit.”

“You are going to fall asleep.”

“Probably.” Shane rested the phone on his pillow, and rolled onto his side to face it. It wasn’t a video call, so he closed his eyes and let his boyfriend lull him to sleep with words that Shane mostly didn’t understand, but made his heart flutter all the same.



Chapter Eighteen


Ilya was absolutely not going to buy cigarettes.

He was just going for a walk. After dark. In Vancouver. Alone. With no particular destination in mind. Enjoying the crisp night air—warmer than the nights were now in Ottawa—and letting clean, Rocky Mountain oxygen fill his lungs.

He stopped into the first convenience store he came across, paid for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter with cash, and slunk back into the night.

Using the lights of the cranes at the shipping docks as his guide, Ilya walked toward the harbor. He loved the way city lights reflected off black water at night. It reminded him of the view from his old apartment in Boston.

He found a small park with long wooden docks that stretched out into the harbor, complete with benches. He walked out to the end of one, then pulled the cigarettes and lighter from his pocket.

Shane’s voice nagged him in his head as he took his first drag. He smiled as he exhaled, welcoming the company. Maybe he only ever smoked so he could hear that voice in his head.

Ilya almost never smoked these days, and he felt like a failure whenever he gave into the urge. But for the few minutes between lighting the cigarette and stamping the smoldering butt out, he was incandescently happy.

I will never fucking forgive you if you get lung cancer and die.

Ilya watched another cloud of smoke disappear into the night sky. I know, sweetheart, he replied silently. I know.

He imagined Shane would be similarly unforgiving if Ilya took his own life. Not that Ilya ever would. Unless he couldn’t help it.

I’m trying to get better.

He finished the cigarette, stamped out the butt, then picked it up and put it in his coat pocket. Smoking was one thing, but littering was one bad habit too far.

When he got back to the hotel, he felt somewhat better. Alone in his room earlier, his mind had been reeling and he’d felt claustrophobic after the long plane ride. It was late now, though, especially when translated to Ottawa time, and he needed to get as much sleep as possible before their game tomorrow.

Troy Barrett was standing by the elevators, holding a paper bag that couldn’t more obviously be concealing a liquor bottle. Ilya hadn’t spoken much to Barrett since he’d joined the team earlier that week. He should probably talk to him now, as team captain.

The elevator doors opened and Barrett stepped on. Ilya didn’t move. He knew he was being irresponsible, but he was too exhausted to care. And it seemed hypocritical of him to be lecturing anyone about vices right now.

Truthfully, he wanted to ask Barrett to share whatever was in the bottle.

Deciding he needed to focus on himself tonight, Ilya waited for the next elevator.

Ilya woke later than he should have the next morning, but not late enough to miss breakfast. He filled his plate with scrambled eggs and various breakfast meats from the buffet line and joined Wyatt and Bood at a table.

“You find some trouble last night or what?” Bood asked.

Ilya smiled mysteriously. He’d learned that the best way to hide his secrets was to pretend he was hiding entirely different ones. “Did you see your sister?” he asked Wyatt. “And your nephew?”

“Yep! Saw the whole gang. They’ll be at the game tonight, so I’ve gotta put on a show.”