The Long Game (Game Changers #6)(81)

J.J. had never been a big fan of texting. He loved talking too much. “I’m sure he’s been waiting for your call,” Shane said dryly.

“Stay strong, friend,” J.J. said as he opened the door to leave. “We’ll get you through this and out the other side, okay?”

“I mean, you don’t really have to—”

But J.J. was gone.

Fucking hell. The other side. Shane wanted to haul the door back open and tell J.J. that the other side was a life together with Ilya. That there was no unrequited crush. That he was so fucking in love with Ilya it felt like his heart would burst sometimes, and that Ilya felt the same about Shane.

That when Shane finally saw Ilya again—in two days, hopefully—he was going to...god, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do.

Except he did know. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to reach the other side. He wanted that life together. Not in ten years, but now. Because ten years suddenly seemed like an impossible wait.

Ilya pulled into his driveway just after two in the afternoon the day his team flew home from Florida. It felt like two in the morning, he was so drained.

But Shane’s Jeep Cherokee was there, at least an hour before Ilya had been expecting it to be, which gave him a sudden burst of energy. He parked his own SUV next to Shane’s, not bothering with the garage, and jogged to the front door. It opened as soon as he reached it, and there was Shane, looking perfect in nice pants and a soft, dark blue sweater.

“Our plane got in earl—” But that was all Shane managed to say before Ilya grabbed his face with both hands and kissed the hell out of him.

And Shane let him. Right there on Ilya’s front step, mostly secluded but still partially visible from the street. Shane kissed him back with equal urgency and, if he felt the same as Ilya, relief.

Ilya wanted to tell him so many things, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. It was bitter cold all around them, but Shane’s mouth was warm and nothing about this place felt like Florida, so Ilya would happily stay here forever, kissing Shane in the snow.

Eventually they broke apart, and Shane managed only to say, “Come inside,” before they were kissing again.

Finally, finally, Shane took Ilya’s hand and led him inside. It was only then that Ilya realized Shane hadn’t been wearing a coat.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m fine.” Shane watched him remove his outerwear, chewing his lip and sliding his hands in and out of the pockets of his dress pants. He seemed uneasy.

Ilya tried to kiss him again, but Shane took a step back and said, “Follow me?”

Ilya smiled. “Anywhere.”

Shane let out an oddly nervous laugh, which made Ilya laugh. Then Shane took his hand again, and they walked together to Ilya’s living room, where—

“What is this?” Ilya asked. The drapes were drawn across the large windows that normally looked out to the river, and the room was dark. Except for the glow of about a million candles.

They were everywhere: on the tables, on the floor, on the mantel, even on the arms of the furniture. It was beautiful and...weird.

“Are you trying to burn my house down?” was what Ilya finally said.

Shane’s lips curved up. “They’re electric. Fucking relax, Rozanov.”

Ilya’s heart started to race, but not because he was concerned about fire safety. He’d once told Shane, years ago, that one day he would cover the dock at his cottage in candles. That he’d bring Shane down there, then ask him to marry him. It had been a joke, sort of. But now he was really standing in a room full of candles and—

Shane sank to one knee in front of him.

Ilya had enjoyed watching Shane go to his knees in front of him many times over the years, but he knew immediately that this was different. He suddenly felt winded. And dizzy. And maybe a little queasy.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Shane gazed up at him, his expression steady and determined, and said, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Ilya swallowed. Why was it so hard to swallow? It was like he had no saliva at all.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Shane continued. “Years of denial, then years of hiding what we are to each other.”

“Shane—”

“Could you not interrupt?” Shane said with a teasing smile. “For once in your life?”

Ilya pressed his lips together.

“I don’t have a plan for anything beyond this,” Shane confessed, “but I know what I want. There’s nothing in my life that matters to me more than you, Ilya.” He slid his hand into his pants pocket again. He had to lean awkwardly to one side to fit his fingers inside.

Then, Shane was holding a ring, pinched between two fingers, in the space between himself and Ilya.

“Shane,” Ilya said again, unable to stop himself.

“I choose you, Ilya. I promise I will always, always choose you.” Shane’s eyes began to shimmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”

Ilya wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized he hadn’t said anything. He hoped it had only been a second or two, but judging from the fear in Shane’s eyes, it must have been longer. Finally, in a tight, trembling voice, he said, “You know my middle name.”