The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(61)

Troy’s face went even paler than it had been before. “What?”

“Yes. He introduced himself to me.” Ilya probably wasn’t able to hide how he’d felt about that interaction. Nevertheless, if Troy needed someone to get rid of his father, Ilya could stomach talking to the man again. “He is still there, but I can tell him you are...”

Thankfully, Troy refused his offer, insisting that he deal with his father himself. Ilya wasn’t sure it was the best idea, given Troy’s condition, but he didn’t argue. Troy thanked him for the Gatorade, and Ilya suggested he spend the day resting before the game.

Before he left the room, Ilya paused and said, somewhat awkwardly, “Family can be hard. Fathers.”

Troy seemed to understand. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Ilya nodded and left. It was possible he had more in common with Troy Barrett than he would have guessed.



Chapter Nineteen


Shane wondered, as he traveled the dark highway between Montreal and Ottawa, how many times he’d done this drive in his life. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, and was in fact in danger of doing that now. It was after midnight, and he was exhausted.

He could have waited until tomorrow morning to make the drive. He’d just finished a game in Montreal, and Ilya had played in Winnipeg tonight. His plane back to Ottawa was still in the air, meaning it would be another couple of hours at least before Shane would see him. Waiting until morning would have made sense.

But Shane couldn’t wait until morning. Not when he hadn’t seen Ilya for two weeks. Even if all they did was fall asleep on each other tonight, it would be worth the drive.

He listened to a Russian language lesson podcast as he drove, which kept his mind alert as he concentrated on translating as much as he could. The podcast wasn’t quite as effective at keeping him awake as the butt plug had been. Shane smiled to himself, still surprised he’d actually done that. Seeing Ilya in that ridiculous gladiator costume had fried his capacity for rational thought. One moment he’d been telling himself it would be absurd to drive all the way to Ottawa for a quick fuck, and the next he’d been exiting Montreal city limits with a plug in his ass.

Ilya was a bad influence. But maybe Shane had needed that in his life. Needed it as much as he’d needed someone to stroke his hair, to make him laugh, to show him how good sex could be.

As much as he’d needed the warmth that filled his heart whenever he watched Ilya work on jigsaw puzzles with Dad.

Ilya texted as Shane was pulling into his driveway. Just landed.

Shane: I’m here.

Ilya sent back a heart emoji.

Shane let himself into the house and hung his coat up in the closet. He tucked his shoes away underneath. He’d gone home to change out of the suit he’d left the arena in before driving here, and was now wearing the fancy silk T-shirt Rose had bought him and a pair of dark jeans. He checked himself out in the full-length mirror in Ilya’s living room and fixed his hair a bit.

It would be another hour at least before Ilya walked through the door. Shane decided to make himself comfortable on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping around until he settled on an Australian rugby game that may or may not be live. He barely understood rugby, but the men were certainly hot enough to keep him awake until Ilya got home.

“Shane.”

He heard the name but couldn’t place where it was coming from.

“Hollander.” Something pushed on Shane’s shoulder.

Shane opened his eyes, which was his first clue that he’d fallen asleep on Ilya’s couch. Ilya was standing over him, smiling softly, still wearing his suit.

“Shit,” Shane said groggily as he sat up. “Sorry.”

“Is okay.” Ilya sat beside him. His hair was a mess of curls, likely because he’d shoved his shower-damp hair under a toque in Winnipeg before getting on the plane. In the low lamplight of the living room, his hazel eyes looked almost golden.

“Hi,” Shane said.

“Hi.”

Shane fell into his arms. The usual rush of relief flooded through him as they kissed for the first time in two weeks.

“I missed you,” Ilya said unnecessarily.

“Yeah.” For several long moments they just held each other. Shane buried his nose in the crook of Ilya neck and inhaled deeply, enjoying his familiar scent, and the solid weight of him in his arms.

“This shirt feels nice,” Ilya said.

“It’s silk.”

“Fancy.”

Shane pulled back and examined Ilya’s face. “You look tired.”

“Well. I was not the one asleep on the couch.”

Shane frowned at him the way he always did when Ilya was being snarky when Shane needed him to be serious. “Rough trip?”

Ilya glanced down at the sofa cushions. “You know it wasn’t good.”

Yes, Shane knew that Ottawa had lost all four games on the trip, but that wasn’t what he meant. “You okay?”

“I have not been sleeping well,” Ilya admitted.

“Then let’s go to bed.” Shane stood and extended his hand. Ilya took it, and they walked upstairs together.

In the bedroom, Shane turned on one of the bedside lamps, keeping the lighting low. Ilya stood at the end of the bed and watched him, then continued to watch as Shane began to undress him. Ilya’s eyes were hooded, but more with exhaustion than lust, Shane suspected.