Original subtitles

This is Audible.

Tanour Audio, a division of recorded

books, presents Heated Rivalry by Rachel

Reed, narrated by Tortom.

Prologue. October 2016. Montreal.

Shane Hollander was as close to losing

it as he ever allowed himself to get.

He'd endured two periods and 12 minutes

of one of the most frustrating hockey

games he'd ever played. It should have

been a glorious win at home for his

Montreal Voyagures against their arch

rivals, the Boston Bears. Instead, it

had been a grueling humiliation and the

score stood at 4 to1 for Boston with

less than 8 minutes left on the clock.

Shane had had no less than five

beautiful scoring chances. He'd taken

shots that should never have missed, but

they had, and the bears had capitalized

on the voyajour's mistakes.

One man had capitalized more than

anyone. The most hated man in Montreal,

Ilar Rosenov, the near century old

rivalry between the Montreal and Boston

NHL teams had over the past six seasons

become personified by Hollander and

Rosenoff. Their intense animosity was

clear, even to the fans in the farthest,

cheapest seats. Hollander bent at the

faceoff circle now, facing Rosenoff as

the referee prepared to drop the puck

after the Russians second goal of the

game. "Having a good night?" Rosenoff

asked cheerfully. His hazel eyes

sparkled the way they always did when he

was talking [ __ ] "Fuck you," Hollander

growled. "Still time for a hat-tick, I

think." Rosenoff mused, his English

barely comprehensible between his thick

accent and his mouthguard. Should I do

it now or wait until last minute? More

exciting that way. Yes. Hollander

gritted his teeth around his own

mouthguard and didn't answer. Shut up,

Rosenoff, the referee said. Last

warning. Rosenoff stopped talking, but

he managed to find an even more

effective way of getting under

Hollander's skin. He winked and then he

won the face off.

[ __ ] Jean Jacqu Buazo, the voyager's

giant Haitian Canadian defenseman,

hurled his stick at the wall of their

dressing room. "That's enough, JJ,"

Shane said. "But there was no real

threat behind it." To make it clear that

he was in no mood to fight or even argue

with anyone, he slumped into his

dressing room stall. Shane's left-wing

linemate, Hayden Pike, sat on the bench

next to him as always. "You all right?"

Hayden asked quietly. "Sure," Shane said

flatly. He tipped his head back until it

met the cool wall behind him and closed

his eyes. Using the word passionate to

describe Montreal hockey fans would be

an understatement. Montreal loved the

Voyajour to the point of absurdity.

Their arena was one of the toughest

places for visiting teams to play

because they faced not only one of the

best teams in the league, but the

loudest fans in the league as well. The

fans also had no problem letting their

own beloved team know exactly how

disappointed they were with them. But

when Montreal fans were really

devastated, like they had been tonight,

they were almost silent. And that was

Shane Hollander's least favorite sound.

You know what would be sweet? Hayden

asked. "You know that movie The Purge

where you get to like break whatever

laws for one night with no

consequences?"

"Sort of," Shane said. "Man, if that was

real, I would murder the [ __ ] out of

Rosenoff." Shane laughed. He couldn't

disagree that bludgeoning that smug

Russian face would be at least a little

satisfying.

Their coach entered the room and voiced

his disappointment with remarkable calm.

It was early in the season. This had

been their first regular season matchup

against Boston and they had been playing

well most games. This was a glitch. They

would move on. Then it was time to face

the press. At that moment, Shane

[snorts] would have preferred to see a

pack of starving wolves enter the room,

but he knew there was no avoiding the

reporters. They always wanted to talk to

him specifically after every game, and

especially after games where he faced

Rosenoff.

He pulled his sweat soaked jersey off

over his head so the CCM branded

athletic undershirt would be seen on

camera, part of his endorsement

contract. A semicircle of cameras,

lights, and microphones formed around

him. "Hey guys," Shane said tiredly.

They asked their boring questions, and

Shane gave them boring answers. "What

could he even say? They'd lost. It was a

hockey game, and one team lost, and that

team was his team. Do you want to know

what Rosenoff just said about you? One

of the reporters asked gleefully.

Something nice, I assume. He said he

wished you'd been playing tonight. The

crowd of reporters was silent, waiting.

Shane snorted and shook his head. Well,

we play in Boston in 3 weeks. You can

let him know that I will definitely be

at that game. The reporters laughed,

delighted that they had gotten their

Hollander versus Rosenoff soundbite for

the night. An hour later, showered,

changed, and finally alone, Shane drove

himself home. Not to his West Mount

penthouse, but to the one nobody knew

about. Shane only spent a few nights a

year at the small condominium in the

plateau. It was where he went when he

wanted to be sure of total privacy. He

parked in the tiny lot behind the

three-story building, let himself in the

back door, and quickly climbed the

stairs to the top floor. He knew the

other two floors were unoccupied because

he owned those two. The bottom floor was

rented to a high-end kitchen wear

boutique which had closed for the night

hours ago. The condo on the third floor

looked like it was a demo condo that had

been decorated by a professional house

stager. Technically, this was the condo

that would be used to sell this one and

the one below it. if Shane was ever

interested in selling, which he told

himself he definitely would be doing

soon. He had been telling himself this

for over 3 years. He went to the

stainless steel fridge and took out one

of the five bottles of beer, the only

things in the pristine refrigerator. He

twisted the cap off and set himself on

the black leather sofa in the living

area. He sat in silence and tried to

ignore the way his stomach churned on

nights like this one.

He drank his beer quickly, hoping the

alcohol would help at least numb the

disappointment he felt in himself. The

disgust at his own weakness. He needed

to dull it because he knew he sure

wouldn't be doing anything to fix this

mess. He'd been trying for over 6 years.

The knock at the door came almost 40

minutes later. It had been enough time

that Shane had almost convinced himself

to leave, to put an end to this

foolishness. But of course, he hadn't.

And if the knock had come hours later,

even Shane would still have been on that

sofa waiting for it. He opened the door.

"What the [ __ ] took you so long?" he

asked, annoyed. "We were celebrating.

Big win tonight, you know." Shane

stepped back to let the tall, smirking

Russian man into the apartment. "I got

away as soon as I could," Rosenoff said,

his tone less teasing. "Didn't want to

draw attention, right?" "Sure." And that

was the last word Shane got out before

Rosenoff's mouth crashed into his. Shane

gripped his leather jacket with both

hands and pulled him closer as he kissed

Rosenoff breathless. "How long do you

have?" Shane asked quickly when they had

broken apart for air. "Oh, maybe."

"Fuck," he kissed Rosenoff again, rough

and needy. "God, he needed this. This

horrible [ __ ] up thing. You taste like

beer, Rosenoff said. You taste like that

horrible gum you chew. Is so I don't

smoke. Shut up. They grappled and

maneuvered each other until they reached

the bedroom where Shane shoved Rosenoff

roughly against a wall and continued

kissing him. He felt the familiar slide

of his rival's tongue in his mouth and

slid his own tongue over teeth that had

been fixed and replaced. God knew how

many times. He wanted a lot tonight, but

they didn't have time for a lot.

Rosenoff grabbed him and pushed him down

on the bed. Shane watched the other man

drop his jacket on the floor and pull

his t-shirt off over his head. A gold

chain hung crookedly around Rosenoff's

neck. The shiny crucifix resting on his

left clavicle just above the famous

ridiculous tattoo of a snarling grizzly

bear. Pasha, I had it before playing for

bears on his chest. Shane would make fun

of it later. Right now, all he could do

was watch Rosenoff strip his clothes off

and belatedly realize that he should be

doing the same. They both took off

everything, and Rosenoff fell on top of

Shane, kissing him and moving a hand

down to grasp his already embarrassingly

rigid cog. Shane arched up into his

touch, making stupid, desperate noises.

Don't worry, Hollander, Rosenoff said,

his lips brushing Shane's ear. I'm going

to [ __ ] you like you want. Yes. Yes.

Shane exhaled, a mixture of relief and

humiliation sweeping through him.

Rosenoff slid down his body, kissing,

sucking, licking until he reached

Shane's [ __ ] He didn't tease any

further. He took him into his mouth and

Shane was grateful that they were alone

in the building because his moan echoed

throughout the sparsely decorated room.

He propped himself up on his elbows so

he could watch. Part of him wanted to

lie back and close his eyes and let

himself believe that it was anyone other

than Ilia Rosenoff making him feel so

good. But most of him wanted to see

exactly who it was. Rosenoff was a

stunning man. light brown curls that

were always a mess fell into his playful

hazel eyes and over his dark, thick

eyebrows. His strong jaw and cleft chin

were covered in stubble. His smile was

lopsided and lazy, and his teeth were

unnaturally white due to most of them

not being real. His nose was crooked,

having been broken more than a few

times. But the [ __ ] thing only made

him look more rugged. And for a Russian

living in Boston, his skin was a lot

more golden than it had any right to be.

Shane [ __ ] hated him. But Rosenoff

was really good at sucking [ __ ] and he

was, for whatever reason, willing. Shane

hated this, but he had taken great pains

to protect it, and he would continue

doing so as long as Rosenoff was

willing. Their lives being what they

were, this was not an easy thing to get.

Maybe when they had started 7 years ago,

they hadn't expected their lives, their

famous rivalry to get to the point it

was at now. Maybe they should have

stopped by now. But despite the

wrongness of it, this was comfortable.

This was familiar, and it was as close

to safe as either of them were going to

get. That's all it was. Rosenoff worked

his talented mouth on Shane's [ __ ] and

Shane tossed the lube down the bed from

the welltock nightstand. Rosenoff took

it without pausing what he was doing and

poured some on his fingers so he could

get to work opening Shane up. This was

never Shane's favorite part because he

felt so [ __ ] vulnerable. He felt weak

and ridiculous every time they were

together like this, but he always felt

it most acutely when Rosenoff had his

fingers inside him. As a result, the

preparation usually took a while.

Rosenoff, on the other hand, always

seemed completely at ease. He was good

at this, and he knew it. He slid his

mouth off of Shane's [ __ ] with a parting

lick to the head that sent a jolt

straight through Shane's body and said,

"Relax." Yeah, it's not much time, but

enough. Shane took a deep breath and let

it out slowly. He hated that voice so

much on the ice and in the interviews he

saw on television where Rosenoff mocked

him in an obnoxious teasing tone. But

here in this bed, Rosenoff's tone was

patient and gentle, his voice soft and

his accent wrapping elegantly around

boxy English words.

Shane relaxed as Rosenoff opened him

with strong fingers and pressed

openmouth kisses on the insides of his

thighs. When he was ready, Shane

wordlessly handed Rosenoff a condom

before rolling over and getting on his

hands and knees. He couldn't look at

Rosenoff. Not tonight. Not after that

humiliating loss. Rosenoff seemed to

understand. He entered him carefully,

not taking him roughly like he had many

times in the past. This was slow and

considerate. Shane felt big hands on his

hips and waist, holding him steady as

Rosenoff pushed inside. He even felt

Rosenoff's thumbs brush gently over his

lower back. There, this is what you

wanted. Yes. Yes, because it was. It was

what he always wanted. Rosenoff started

to move and Shane cried out. It never

took long for him to just give in and

start moaning and gasping and asking for

more.

[ __ ] Hollander, you love it. Shane

responded by turning. He was sure beat

red, but he couldn't deny it. Rosenoff

[ __ ] him hard with one strong hand

pressing between his shoulder blades,

pressing him down to the mattress. They

were both loud, and if he hadn't known

the building was empty besides the two

of them, Shane would have been worried

about it. But he felt safe here, so he

let himself go. He cried out with every

thrust and maybe said Rosenoff's name a

bunch of times.

Shane really hoped no one could hear

them. When Rosenoff reached around to

take Shane's [ __ ] in his slick hand,

Shane became desperate for release and

started bucking back against him. This

was the point where he was always

reminded why he couldn't give this up.

It was too good. You're going to come

for me, Hollander.

Hollander was going to. And he did. He

punched the mattress and swore loudly

and coated Rosenoff's fist with his

release. Rosenoff picked up speed behind

him, sending aftershocks rocketing

through Shane's body with each thrust.

Just as it was becoming too much for

Shane, Rosenoff stilled and cried out

and pulsed inside him. Afterward, they

lay on their backs next to each other,

and Shane felt the familiar aftermath of

guilt and shame creep in. Well, you

wanted something tonight. Rosenoff

amused. God, [ __ ] off. Shane lifted his

arm to flip him off, but Rosenoff

grabbed his wrist and pulled him over so

Shane was on top of his chest looking

down at him. Rosenoff's playful smirk

faded as he held Shane's gaze, and Shane

felt suddenly breathless.

still have that stupid tattoo, I see,

Shane said quickly to distract himself

from whatever the [ __ ] was happening. A

Rosenoff said, the obnoxious little grin

returning to his face. He missed you,

Shane snorted. He did, Rosenoff

insisted. Give him a kiss.

Shane rolled his eyes, but he did dip

his head to Rosenoff's chest. Instead of

pressing his lips to the tattoo though,

he trapped Rosenoff's nipple blightly

between his teeth and tugged. "Fuck,"

Rosenoff said, sucking air between his

teeth. As an apology, and also because

Shane knew it would work him up even

more. He brushed his tongue over the

sensitive nipple. Rosenoff put a hand in

Shane's hair and guided their mouths

back together. After a long, oddly

tender kiss, Shane lifted his head and

saw that Rosenoff was again looking at

him very seriously.

He swallowed but didn't say anything as

Rosenoff brushed fingers through his

hair. He hoped the fear he felt wasn't

showing on his face. "You are very

beautiful," Rosenoff said suddenly. It

was said very matter-of-actly.

Shane wasn't sure how to react. They

didn't really say things to each other.

Not like that. Hottest man in the NHL

according to Cosmopolitan.

Shane joked. It was the only way he knew

how to talk to Rosenoff besides yelling

obscinities at him. They are idiots,

Rosenoff said, the spell broken. They

put me at number five. Five? It does

seem generous. Rosenoff rolled over,

pinning Shane to the mattress. Shane

looked up at him laughing. I have to go,

Rosenoff said, and he sounded like he

truly regretted it. Shower first, but

then I have to get back to the hotel. I

know. They showered together, and Shane

dropped to his knees because he couldn't

let Rosenoff go without tasting him.

Rosenoff murmured his approval as he

loomed over Shane in the spacious

rainfall shower. His strong hands

cradled Shane's head and long fingers

curled in his wet air. Shane turned his

eyes up and found Rosenoff gazing down

at him with that damn crooked smile.

Shane immediately closed his eyes and

felt his cheeks flush and to his

embarrassment, his own [ __ ] get harder.

It was bad enough that he loved being

[ __ ] so much that he loved having a

dick in his mouth. But for it to have

been this son of a [ __ ] to the point

that on the extremely rare occasion when

it wasn't, Shane was left wanting.

So maybe it wasn't just that this was

convenient, but that was something Shane

didn't want to think about. He brought

Rosenoff right to the brink and then

pulled off, catching the man's release

on his chin and lips and probably on his

neck. The evidence was quickly washed

away down the drain and Shane fell back

to a sitting position against the shower

wall. He scrubbed his hands over his

face and pulled his knees in. He heard

Rosenoff panting in Russian. [ __ ]

Rosenoff said, still standing with his

head leaning back against the tile

opposite where Shane was sitting. You've

been practicing that, Hollander.

No, Shane grumbled. No, you've been

saving it for me. Shane didn't reply,

which was as good as confirmation.

Rosenoff laughed. You'll need to get

laid, Hollander. Waiting for a quick

[ __ ] every couple of months is not

healthy.

I'm not waiting, Shane said. It wasn't

quite a lie. He obviously wasn't 100%

straight, but having sex with women

didn't repulse him. It just didn't do it

for him like men did. One man in

particular. But women were safe and easy

and everywhere. And maybe if he kept

trying, he might find one he'd like to

spend more than a single night with,

someone who could finally put an end to

whatever this was. Rosenoff turned off

the water and reached a hand out. Shane

rolled his eyes and took it, letting

Rosenoff pull him to his feet. They

stood, just a chest, and Shane watched

the water that dripped from Rosenoff's

hair onto his shoulder and down toward

his navl. Rosenoff rested a hand on

Shane's face and tipped his head up. He

looked at him fondly with a little smile

on his lips and then he kissed him. I

have ruined you, Rosenoff said when they

broke apart. No one else will do. God,

[ __ ] off. Such a mouth on you. Don't say

it. I preferred it when it was on me.

Damn it, Rosenoff.

Shane pushed the other man back against

the shower wall and kissed him

aggressively. It was always like this,

shoving and cursing each other and

battling for control until one or both

of them gave in and allowed themselves

the release they both craved. I do have

to go, Rosenoff said, but even as he

said it, he was scraping his teeth along

Shane's jaw. I know. I'm sorry. Why? I

don't care. I think we're done here

anyway, aren't we? Rosenoff stopped

kissing him and looked at him,

considering, "I suppose we are." They

left the shower and got dressed quickly.

Shane stripped the comforter from the

bed and loaded it into the washing

machine. He would make sure the place

was left as spotless as he had found it.

"Three weeks then," Rosenoff said as he

stood at the door, ready to leave.

"Yep." Rosenoff nodded, and Shane

thought that was going to be it. But

then the other man grinned and said,

"Was it me tonight? Was what you

distracting you on the ice tonight?" It

took Shane a moment to realize what he

was suggesting. "Fuck [snorts] you."

Rosenoff's smile spread. Couldn't play

at all thinking about my dick. Right.

Good night, Rosenoff.

Rosenoff blew him a kiss on his way out

the door, leaving Shane furious and

strangely relieved. It was good to be

reminded of the fact that they didn't

actually like each other. Shane pulled

another beer out of the fridge and sat

on the sofa to wait for the comforter to

be clean. It was late and he was

exhausted, but he wouldn't sleep here.

He should really talk to a realtor about

selling this building. He would sell the

building and he would stay in his

goddamn hotel room when they played in

Boston and not slip out into the night

to Rosenov's penthouse. he would end

this and he would move on. He realized

as he was making this plan that he was

brushing his fingertips over his lips.

They still tingled from the memory of

the other man's mouth pressed against

them. He knew making plans to end this

was pointless. As long as this was being

offered, Shane would never be able to

say no.

Part one. Chapter 1. December 2008.

Regina

Ilia Rosenoff trudged through the bitter

cold of the hotel parking lot to the

team bus. Like most of his teammates, it

was his first time in North America. He

had expected to feel more overwhelmed by

that. But Saskatchewan was hardly New

York City. Here there was nothing to

focus on but cold and hockey, and those

were two things that Russians were very

familiar with. It was 2 days before

Christmas, but for the world's best

teenage hockey players, Christmas meant

the World Junior Hockey Championships.

For Ilia, it meant the chance to finally

get a firstirhand look at Shane

Hollander. There had been much made of

the 17-year-old Canadian Phenom. Ilia

was sick of hearing the name, which had

caused such a stir in the hockey world

that even Moscow wasn't far enough to

escape the hype. Both Ilia and Hollander

were eligible for the NHL entry draft

that coming June, and they were already

expected to be the number one and two

overall picks. The expected order of

those two picks depended on who you

asked. Ilen knew his answer. He had

never met Shane Hollander, never played

against him, but he was already

determined to destroy him. He would

start by leading Russia to a gold medal

victory here in Hollander's own country.

Then he would lead his team back in

Moscow to their championship. And then

surely he would be chosen first in the

draft. This was the year of Ilia

Rosenov. Since he was 12 years old, 2009

had always been the year he was expected

to burst onto the world stage. No

Canadian pretender would change that.

The Russian team arrived at the rink for

their scheduled practice at the tail end

of the Canadian teams. Ilia paused with

some of his teammates to watch the

Canadians run drills. The practice

jerseys didn't have names on them, so he

couldn't pick out Hollander before he

was told by his assistant coach to get

his ass into the dressing room. The

schedule at the practice rink was very

tight. They took to the ice as soon as

it had been cleared by the Zamboni. The

rink was small and kind of dumpy. The

actual games would be in the large arena

downtown. There were a few people

sitting in the stands watching the

Russian team practice, some scouts, no

doubt, and the few family members who

had actually made the trip from Russia,

as well as several local hardcore hockey

fans. Halfway through the practice, Ilia

noticed a young man sitting a few rows

above the penalty box wearing a Team

Canada ball cap and jacket. He was

flanked by a man and a woman who were

probably his parents. It was hard to

tell from the ice, but Ilia thought it

might be Hollander. His mother was

Japanese or something, right? He was

sure he had read that somewhere.

Care to join us, Rosenoff?

His coach bellowed and rushing across

the ice. Ilia turned, embarrassed to

find the rest of his teammates huddled

around the coach. He didn't like that

Hollander, if that was Hollander, was

here watching them. Or maybe he did.

Maybe Hollander was nervous about facing

him later in the tournament. Maybe he

felt threatened. He should. After the

practice, Ilia showered and dressed

quickly. He headed back out into the

rink to stand behind the glass and look

at the stands. Hollander and his parents

were gone. The Slovakian team had taken

to the ice for their practice. Ila

shrugged and made his way to a vending

machine. He bought himself a bottle of

Coke and wondered if he could slip

outside for a quick smoke before getting

back on the bus. He zipped his team

Russia Parka up to his chin and slipped

out a side door. It was cold as [ __ ]

outside. He pressed himself against the

wall of the brick building, stuffed his

coke into his coat pocket, and pulled

out a cigarette and a lighter.

"You're supposed to smoke over there,"

someone said. It took Ilia a moment to

translate all of the words. [snorts] He

turned to see the person that he now

definitely recognized as Shane

Hollander. He had a very distinct look.

Some of his features were clearly from

his mother. Jet black hair and very dark

eyes, but his father was of some bland

Anglo-Uropean heritage. So Hollander

didn't look exactly Asian. His skin,

however, was flawless. distractingly so.

Smooth and tan with, and this was his

most striking feature, a smattering of

dark freckles across his nose and

cheekbones. "What?" Ilia said. Even the

single word sounded stupid with his

accent. "The smoking area is over

there." Hollander pointed to a far

corner of the parking lot next to a

large snowbank. It looked very windy

there. Ilia settled back against the

wall and lit his cigarette. This [ __ ]

country.

Bad enough he couldn't smoke indoors

anywhere. He needed to go sit in the

[ __ ] snow while he did it. I'm

surprised you smoke, Hollander said.

Okay, Ilia said, exhaling a long stream

of smoke between his lips. There was an

uncomfortable silence, and then

Hollander made another attempt at

conversation.

I wanted to meet you, he said, extending

his hand. Shane Hollander. Ilia stared

at him and then felt his lips twitch a

bit. Yes, he said. He pinched the

cigarette between his lips and shook

Hollander's hand.

"You're an awesome player to watch,"

Hollander said. "I know." If Hollander

was expecting Ilia to return the

compliment, he was going to be waiting a

long damn time. When Ilia didn't say

anything else, Hollander changed the

subject. Are your parents here with you?

No. Oh, that must be rough with

Christmas and everything. Ilia struggled

a bit to translate so many words, then

said is fine.

Hollander shoved his hands in his jacket

pockets. It's cold, huh? Yes.

They leaned against the wall together,

side by side. Ilia rolled his head

against the brick to look down at

Hollander, who stood a good 4 in shorter

than him. He was very interesting to

look at. His cheeks were rosy from the

cold, and his breath was emerging in

white clouds from between his pink lips.

Next year, these are going to be in

Ottawa, my hometown, Hollander said.

Ilia finished his cigarette and dropped

the butt on the ground. He decided to

make an effort since this guy seems so

determined to talk to him. He's ought to

more exciting.

Hollander laughed then here. I don't

know a little. It's just as cold. Your

parents are here for this? Yeah, they're

here. They always try to come see me

play wherever I go. Nice for you. Yeah,

I know. They're great. Ilia didn't have

anything to add to that, so he stayed

silent. I should probably go. They're

waiting for me, Hollander said. He moved

away from the wall and turned to face

Ilia. Ilia's eyes went right to those

damn freckles. Hollander stuck out his

hand again. "Good luck in the

tournament," he said. Ilia accepted the

handshake and grinned. "You will not be

so friendly when we beat you." That's

not happening. Ilia knew that Hollander

truly believed that, that he would get

the gold medal and be the NHL's number

one draft pick because he was the

[ __ ] prince of hockey. Maybe

Hollander expected Ilia to wish him luck

as well. But Ilia just dropped his hand

and turned to go back inside the rink.

In the car, Shane told his parents that

he had been talking to Ilia Rosenoff.

"What's he like?" his mother asked.

"Kind of a dick," Shane said.

When the final game of the tournament

was over, the Canadian team had to

suffer one more humiliation.

The Russians stopped celebrating long

enough to line up so the teams could

shake each other's hands. A show of

sportsmanship that at the moment Shane

did not feel in his heart. For one

thing, the Russian team had been dirty.

He had hated playing against them. For

another thing, Ila Rosenoff was really

[ __ ] good. Infuriatingly good. And

over the course of the tournament, the

media had put a lot of effort into

building up their rivalry.

Shane tried to ignore the press, but

[snorts] it was possible that they were

stoking the flames of his hatred. When

he reached Rosenoff in the handshake

lineup, he could see camera flashes all

around them. He made sure he looked

Rosenoff right in the eye when he tursly

said, "Congratulations."

Rosenoff smirked and said, "See you at

the draft."

They hung a silver medal around Shane's

neck that may as well have been a dead

rat for all he wanted it. He

respectfully endured the playing of the

Russian national anthem, blinking back

frustrated tears that he refused to let

fall. And then he was finally allowed to

leave the ice. It wasn't supposed to

have gone like this. He was supposed to

have led his country to gold in his

country. It was what the nation had

expected.

Canada's hopes had been heaped onto his

17-year-old shoulders, and he had let

them all down. Every face off he had

taken against Rosenoff, the Russian had

looked him dead in the eye and smirked.

Shane was not easily shaken by anyone,

but that godamn smirk threw him off

balance every time.

Maybe it was just that. After a life of

playing at a level above everyone else,

Shane had finally met his match. He was

sure that was all it was.

Chapter 2. June 2009. Los Angeles.

Shane, could you move a little closer to

Ilia, please? Shane felt Ilia Rosenoff's

arm brush against his as he stepped

closer to him for the photographer.

That's perfect. All right, smile, boys.

Shane's eyes were bombarded with camera

flashes. He stood pressed against

Rosenoff, who seemed to have grown

another couple of inches since January.

To Rosenoff's right was a giant American

defenseman named Sullivan, who had been

drafted third overall by Phoenix.

Rosenoff had been drafted first. Shane

had spent the past six months since the

World Juniors being a little bit

obsessed with Ilia Rosenoff.

They had quite a bit in common

career-wise. They were both the captains

of their respective teams and had both

led their team to the championship this

season. Both men had been named league

and playoff MVPs and both had been the

scoring leaders of their respective

leagues. The only difference between

them was that Shane had a silver medal

at home and Rosenoff had gold. And now

Shane had come in second place again

after a life of always coming first in

hockey. This [ __ ] guy. It wasn't all

bad. Shane had been drafted by the

Montreal Voyajour, who besides being the

most legendary franchise in the league,

were also only an hour's drive from his

hometown of Ottawa. It was a good fit

for Shane who was fluent in both French

and English and who had always had a lot

of respect for the Voyagures despite

having grown up an Ottawa fan. But still

being picked second stung. Adding to the

drama of the day was the fact that

Rosenoff had been drafted by Montreal's

arch rivals, the Boston Bears. Shane

knew his career was now going to be

inescapably linked to Rosenoff's.

If one of them had been drafted by a

team in the Western Conference, maybe

the rivalry would never have gotten off

the ground. But this was going to be

intense.

Which didn't mean that Shane couldn't be

polite to Rosenoff. Now

ulrations, he said, turning to shake

Rosenoff's hand when the photographers

were done. There was a definite

smuggness in Rosenoff's smile when he

said, "Thank you." Rosenoff didn't

congratulate Shane. Instead, he patted

Shane's [ __ ] shoulder like he was

consoling a child who had struck out at

little league. Shane jerked away from

his touch and was about to say something

that was decidedly less polite than

congratulations,

but they were both immediately pulled

away in opposite directions for

interviews.

Shane didn't see Rosenoff again until he

was back at the hotel. The lobby was

packed with athletic young men in suits.

But even in that crowd, Rosenoff stood

out. He was one of the taller men there

and cleaned up. With his dark navy suit

hugging his body, he looked like a GQ

model. Shane felt short. He had turned

18 last month, but he felt like a kid.

Rosenoff had turned 18, too, just last

week, which Shane knew because he was

obsessed with him. That night in his

private hotel room, his proud parents

were across the hall. Shane couldn't

sleep. It had been an exhausting day.

And yes, he had been drafted by the NHL.

He had achieved the thing he had worked

his whole life toward. And being chosen

second overall was nothing to sulk

about. He wasn't sulking, not really. He

was just bothered by something. He

sighed and rolled out of bed. He threw

on some sweats and his sneakers and

headed down to the hotel gym. Maybe he

could shut his mind off with some

exercise. The gym was mercifully empty.

Shane stepped onto one of the two

treadmills and started running at a

gentle pace. He didn't wear headphones.

He just lost himself in the noise of the

machine. He didn't notice when someone

else entered the gym. He only realized

he wasn't alone when the other man

stepped onto the treadmill next to him.

Ilia Rosenoff gave him a quick nod and

turned to face the white wall at the

front of the room as he started running

alongside Shane. Shane tried to ignore

Rosenoff's presence. There was nothing

weird about it. He must have been having

trouble sleeping, too. Or maybe he

always hit the gym after midnight. Or

maybe the time zone was messing with

him. Or maybe Rosenoff increased the

speed on his machine. He didn't glance

at Shane at all because Shane was petty

and competitive. He increased the speed

on his own machine, just a little faster

than Rosenoffs. Within a minute,

Rosenoff did the same thing, raising the

bar and silently waiting for Shane to

match him. Shane glanced over and saw a

slight smirk on Rosenoff's lips. Shane

shook his head and fought his own smile,

he cranked up the speed.

They kept on his way, caught in a silent

battle until they were both testing the

limits of their machines. They were

running at a sprint pace for far longer

than was comfortable, and Shane's entire

body was burning in protest. But he

didn't want to stop or even slow down

until Rosenoff did. Rosenoff smoked for

[ __ ] sake. Shane could beat him. But

Rosenoff showed no signs of quitting.

They kept up that pace for another

minute or two, and Shane finally slammed

his hand on the emergency stop button

and stumbled off. He leaned against the

back wall, gasping for breath before

sliding down to sit on the floor.

Rosenoff stopped his own machine and was

holding on to the console for support.

[ __ ] Shane wheezed. Rosenoff laughed

and set himself on the floor against the

wall facing Shane.

Rosenoff's gray sleeveless shirt was

soaked through with sweat. They both sat

with their legs sprawled out in front of

them. Rosenoff's sneakers were almost

touching Shane's ankle. Rosenoff ran a

hand through his damp hair in a mood

that was more interesting to Shane than

it should have been. Rosenoff was so

masculine.

Shane was babyfaced and short and

couldn't grow proper facial hair and

barely had any chest hair. Rosenoff was

almost exactly the same age as him, but

he looked like he had crossed over a

magical line to adulthood.

Shane quickly turned his gaze to the

floor and hope the flesh from the

exercise covered his blushing.

What a [ __ ] day, huh? Rosenoff said.

Yeah, totally. Everything you dreamed

of. Shane looked him dead in the eye.

Almost.

Rosenoff grinned back. Sorry I ruined

your big day. [ __ ] off. Montreal is

nice. Yes. Yes. Is Boston nice? Sure.

Yeah. I've only been there a couple of

times, but it's a good town. Rosenoff

nodded. They were silent a moment and

then Rosenoff tapped Shane's ankle with

the bottom of his sneaker. Hey, we will

see a lot of each other. It took Shane a

minute. Oh, yeah. Montreal and Boston

play against each other a lot. Should be

interesting.

Rosenoff took a long hall from his water

bottle. Shane pretended he was only

looking longingly at the way his throat

worked because he had forgotten to bring

a bottle for himself. It wasn't until

Rosenoff's Adam's apple stopped bobbing

and his lips were dark and glistening

that Shane realized he was staring. The

lips quirked up a bit and Rosenoff

extended his arm, offering Shane his

bottle. "Oh, I'm all right, thanks."

Rosenoff shook the bottle at him, and

Shane took it. He needed water. It would

be dumb to refuse. The tips of their

fingers touched briefly together. Shane

held the bottle away from his lips and

quickly squirted water into his mouth.

Rosenoff watched him. It was the first

time that Shane felt it.

It was like the air in the room had

thickened. Everything inside him was

buzzing and on edge, like he was about

to jump out of a plane. He didn't know

if Rosenoff felt anything. But in that

moment, Shane wanted something. He

couldn't even name it. He passed the

water bottle back, and this time he

could swear Rosenoff let his fingers

brush Shane's wrist on purpose. It was a

moment that seemed to last forever, but

was probably less than a second. Shane

wanted Rosenoff to touch him again.

Shane wanted to touch him back. Maybe

Shane wanted to kiss him. Shane

scrambled to his feet. I'm going to bed.

I guess I'll see you around, right?

Rosenoff looked up at him from the

floor. You will be seeing plenty of me.

Shane nodded and left the room as fast

as he could. He waited until he was back

in his room before he let himself freak

out. What the [ __ ] was that? He had

never Jesus Christ. He had a girlfriend.

He wasn't a girlfriend you were hoping

will break up with you. She didn't even

come on this trip to see you get

drafted.

Well, that was true. But she had just

started a new summer job and you haven't

thought about her all day until right

now. You haven't even called her yet.

Yeah. All right. Maybe it wasn't really

working out with her. But it wasn't like

she was the only girl he'd ever done

stuff with. You're half hard right now

from sitting on the gym floor with

another man.

Okay, that one he couldn't explain. But

he could get in the shower and jerk off

and try like hell to think about his

girlfriend or any girl. Anything other

than those red wet lips and that dark

stubble and those hazel eyes. For the

rest of his life, Shane Hollander would

have to live with the fact that he had

ended his NHL draft day by getting

himself off to thoughts of Ilia

Rosenoff.

Chapter 3. December 2009. Ottawa.

Ilia watched the red glowing numbers on

his hotel room's alarm clock flick from

11:56 to 11:57.

The room was completely dark. His

roommate was down the hall along with

half the team, watching the American New

Year's Eve celebrations on television.

Ilia had been in that room, too. He had

watched the Black Eyed Peas perform and

had eaten chips and made jokes with his

teammates. And then he just wanted to be

alone.

1158.

There was no mistaking that Ottawa was

Shane Hollander's hometown. It was Shane

Hollander [ __ ] mania here. His face

and his freckles were everywhere.

Newspapers, television, buses, banners,

the sides of buildings. Of course,

Hollander was from Canada's capital

city. Of course, the city was as

inoffensive and bland as he was. Their

teams hadn't played each other yet, and

they likely wouldn't before the gold

medal game. It would be a shocking upset

if it didn't end up being Canada and

Russia in the finals.

11:59

Ilia would be moving to Boston this

summer to America. He had never been out

of Russia for more than a couple of

weeks at a time. He would begin his NHL

career. He would be rich and famous. He

would be his own man away from his

family.

Midnight.

Happy new year," he muttered to himself.

He sat up on the bed and grabbed the

package of nicotine gum off his

nightstand. He popped a piece in his

mouth and frowned as he chewed it. He

could hear fireworks outside and his

teammates cheering in the rooms around

him. He wanted a real cigarette. He

wanted to [ __ ] someone. He wanted to go

down to the hotel gym and find Shane

Hollander on a treadmill. But Shane

Hollander wasn't staying at this hotel.

Shane Hollander was probably ringing in

the new year with friends and family and

his perfect hometown that loved him so

very, very much. That night in the hotel

gym in Los Angeles 6 months ago, Ilia

had nearly embarrassed himself. He

probably could have covered it up with

his usual cocky charm, but he had been

damn close to flirting with Hollander,

or possibly just pressing him against a

wall and taking his mouth. The thing

was, he wasn't so sure that Hollander

would have hated it. Unless Ilia was

very bad at reading people, and he

definitely wasn't. Hollander probably

would have kissed him right back. and

Jesus. That thought had consumed Ilia

since draft day. Ilia had probably

[ __ ] in his rough estimate, dozens of

women since then. He certainly had no

reason to obsess over his [ __ ] arch

rival, or his arch rivals freckles, or

his dark eyes, or the way his cheeks

glowed red when he exerted himself.

[ __ ] Anyway, Russia was undefeated in

the tournament so far. Canada was also

undefeated. Only one team would stay

that way until the end. Ilia had more

important things to think about than

freckles and polite Canadian boys.

Shane couldn't have been happier that

his second and last World Junior

Championship was being held in his

hometown. He had spent Christmas with

his family and New Year's with his

teammates at the hotel. His parents had

been at every game as usual, and he had

been able to visit with lots of friends.

He'd been in a great mood for the entire

tournament, and he'd been playing

outstanding hockey. And now it was the

night before the gold medal game, and

Canada would be facing Russia for the

second year in a row, and Shane would be

facing Ilia Rosenoff.

He hadn't seen Rosenoff at all for this

entire tournament. The Canadian and

Russian teams had been practicing at

different rinks and staying in separate

hotels. This game would be their first

match. But Shane had watched every game

Russia had played, and he'd been

studying video footage of Rosenoff, and

this time he was going to beat his ass.

He had mostly forgotten the way it had

felt when Rosenoff had brushed his

fingers against his hand when he'd

handed him the water bottle in that

hotel gym 6 months ago.

He had barely thought at all about his

flush skin, or the way the damp curls of

his hair had fallen into his hazel eyes.

It had been adrenaline, the afterglow of

the thrill of competition, when they had

been sprawled out on the floor after

pushing their bodies as hard as they

could on the treadmills. It had been a

glitch in his brain, which had been over

stuffed with emotions from a roller

coaster of a draft day. He had been

tired and confused and his brain had

just turned all of that into something

ridiculous.

So Shane had gone back to life as usual

after that night. Well, he'd broken up

with his girlfriend, but that had been

overdue anyway. There was one other

thing that had changed. Shane had found

himself noticing men. Not his teammates

or his friends or anyone like that. just

like a guy at the airport Starbucks or

the guy who'd been in the cereal aisle

of the grocery store in Kingston a few

weeks ago or the guy who was on Friday

Night Lights. But it's not like he

wasn't into girls. Girls were very into

him and they were throwing themselves at

him now that he was about to become a

millionaire superstar.

So yeah, he'd been hooking up with

girls, plenty of girls. like at least

two girls since breaking up with his

girlfriend. Not like all the way sex,

[snorts] but sex stuff. He had

definitely been blown by two different

girls since July, and he had enjoyed it

with his head tilted back and his eyes

closed, and he hadn't thought about Ilia

Rosenoff's dark, wet lips, or his

crooked smile at all.

Are you getting tired of second place?

Rosenoff smirked. I'm winning this game.

Shang growled. There is not an I in

team, right? There's an I in suck my

dick. Rosenoff raised an eyebrow as they

bent for the face off. There's also an

eye in silver, he said. Shane made sure

he won the faceoff, and he made sure he

was exactly where he needed to be to

score a goal 40 seconds later. And he

made sure they won that game.

For all his cockiness and teasing, Ilia

took hockey very seriously and he hated

to lose. But this time he had lost and

he would be going back to Russia with a

silver medal. He wasn't proud of it. He

didn't want to return to Russia at all.

He wanted to stay in North America and

start the next phase of his life. He

didn't want to hear his father, who

likely hadn't even watched any of the

games, shame him for not bringing home a

gold medal. He didn't want to live with

his father or depend on anyone anymore.

He wanted to be rich and famous and

loved and have a huge garage full of

sports cars. He wanted expensive clothes

and gorgeous women and hot nightclubs.

He wanted the weight of his family and

his country lifted. He wanted to be

himself. On the ice in the lineup to

shake hands at the end of the game,

Hollander had looked into Ilia's eyes.

It had only been for a second, but it

had felt like everything around them had

frozen and fallen silent. Hollander's

damp, sweaty hand had wrapped itself

around Ilia's damp, sweaty hand, and

when their eyes had locked, he'd

squeezed Ilia's fingers just a little.

That look and that squeeze had said so

many things to Ilia.

I know we were supposed to stand alone

at the top, but we will always be there

together. We will keep climbing until no

one else can reach us, but it will

always be together. There had been

nothing apologetic in Hollander's eyes,

but there had been no gloating either.

And by the time I had shaken the last

Canadian hand in the lineup, he was

smirking to himself because soon the

real battle between himself and Shane

Hollander would begin and he couldn't

[ __ ] wait.

Chapter 4. July 2010. Toronto

Shane had signed a lucrative endorsement

deal with CCM, one of the biggest hockey

equipment companies. He hadn't played a

single game in the NHL yet, so he was

pretty stoked about it. Then he found

out that CCM had also signed Rosenov.

And then he found out that they wanted

to launch an ad campaign with both of

them together.

So Shane found himself in a dark, mostly

empty rink in the suburbs of Toronto on

a Wednesday in July. He would be

reporting to training camp in just over

a month. He hadn't seen Rosenoff since

the World Juniors back at the beginning

of January.

Spotlights had been set up around the

ice, creating some very dramatic

lighting. There were going to be two

parts to the day. First, they would do a

photo shoot, both separately and

together. And then they would skate

around and do some fancy stick handling

for the television ads. Shane was

getting used to photooots and to having

cameras on him in general. This seemed

like a bigger production than he was

used to. This felt like he was starring

in a movie. Co-starring.

He took a couple of laps around the ice

while he waited for the crew to finish

setting up. He was wearing headtotoe CCM

gear, of course, including a custom

black jersey with a big CCM logo on the

chest where a team logo would normally

go. His name and number 24 were on the

back. Shane was wearing makeup and it

felt weird. He wasn't supposed to sweat

at all before they did the photo shoot.

He decided he'd better stop skating and

sit on the bench while he was waiting.

He watched the crew fiddle with the

lighting. After a few minutes, he felt

the unmistakable presence of Rosenoff at

the end of the bench. He turned and saw

him standing there, huge and handsome

and also wearing makeup. Very pretty.

Rosenoff teased him like a doll. You're

painted up, too. Rosenoff leaned on the

top of the boards and grinned. "Yes, but

I'm not pretty."

Shane rolled his eyes. He had been

called pretty boy a few times before,

usually during games, and he hated it.

He wished he'd hated it this time. In

his makeup, with his carefully styled

hair and in this dramatic lighting,

Rosenoff did not look pretty. He looked

stunning.

Once again, Shane was astounded and

irritated by how manly Rosenoff was. The

sharp edge of his jaw-framed cheeks that

didn't have any of the baby fat that

lingered on Shane's own, and his eyes

were like sparkling somethings. Shane

couldn't think of a gem that had that

many shades of golden green. The photo

shoot took a lot longer than Shane had

been expecting. It was mostly just

standing on the ice holding CCM hockey

sticks in various positions. They did a

few photos standing together, but most

of them were separate. They finished

with a posed photo of the two of them

hunched over in the faceoff position.

They held the pose for what felt like an

eternity with their faces inches apart

staring into each other's eyes. "Try not

to laugh, fellas," the director said. I

know it'll be challenging.

Laughing was not what Shane was worried

about. He needed to relax his eyes, so

Rosenoff's features blurred [snorts]

just to keep himself from staring at the

man's lips. A little more intensity in

your eyes if you could, Shane. Shane

blinked and tried his best to stare

Rosenoff down like it was a real game.

But a real game would only require him

to hold this position for a few seconds.

This was awkward. He saw Rosenoff's lip

twitch and then the big Russian snorted

and started laughing. Shane cracked too

and started giggling. "Just a few more

seconds, guys, please." "Sorry," Shane

said, trying to school his features back

into a fierce glare. It was no use. As

soon as he looked at Rosenoff, both men

started laughing again. "All right,

we've probably got enough anyway. Let's

take a break and then we'll do the film

footage." That was your fault, Shane

said as they skated over to the bench.

Rosenoff shook his head. Your face's

fault. Made me laugh. Shane bumped him

with his shoulder. The filming was much

easier. They both dawn CCM helmets and

visors and skated around showing off for

an hour or so, probably a bit more

competitively than necessary. Shane was

looking forward to seeing the final

commercial. With some music and some

voice over, it would probably look

pretty badass. The director thanked them

both, and the two hockey players were

left to get showered and changed in the

dingy dressing room. Shane undressed

quickly and went into the shower, which

was like most rinks, communal style,

with a row of showerheads facing each

other on both sides of a corridor. If he

hurried, maybe he could be out of the

shower before Rosenoff came in. No such

luck. Shane had just gotten his hair wet

when Rosenoff entered the showers and

stood under one almost directly across

from him. Shane's eyes landed on the

large bear tattoo on Rosenoff's left

pec. It was absolutely ridiculous.

He also noticed the gold crucifix that

he guessed the guy never took off. The

chain caressed the base of Rosenoff's

long neck, the cross resting comfortably

on his muscular chest.

Shane quickly turned his eyes to the

floor. He had showered with hundreds of

guys in his life in rooms just like this

one. It was just part of the game. He

had never looked at any of his fellow

players before. It was just unthinkable.

He glanced up again and saw that

Rosenoff had turned his back to him.

Shane was left to stare helplessly at

the display of naked, rippling muscle.

His eyes trailed over Rosenoff's broad

shoulders and down the muscles of his

back, down to his tapered waist and his

Shane blushed hard. He couldn't. Why

would he want to check out another guy's

ass? That was just weird.

But it was a really impressive ass. Not

that he was comparing it to others. It

was just perfect. And as Rosenoff

scrubbed water over his face, the

muscles in his ass flexed and Shane was

transfixed and aroused, visibly aroused,

in a shower with Rosenoff.

He only had time to look down at his

thickening [ __ ] with horror before he

noticed that Rosenoff had turned back

around. Rosenoff glanced down at Shane's

crotch and raised an eyebrow. "Fuck

off," Shane grumbled. It's nothing like

what you see, Hollander.

No, it's not. I was thinking about

something else. Shane wanted to die. He

knew he didn't sound at all convincing.

Something else.

Shane should have just left the showers

then. He was clean enough. This was

torture. But Rosenoff was grinning at

him in a way that was not helping

Shane's situation.

And Shane didn't seem to have the

ability to move. Rosenoff was teasing

him, but he wasn't punching him in the

face. And he wasn't leaving either.

Shane wished he could at least make

himself look away from Rosenoff, but he

was spellbound.

Rosenoff just seemed to be considering

him curiously and maybe enjoying the

effect he knew he was having on him.

"Just another godamn thing for you to

hold over me," Shane thought. He was so

busy being mortified that he didn't

immediately notice that Rosenoff's own

dick was starting to swell. The grin had

faded from Rosenoff's face. His eyes

were full of an intensity that was much

more heated than what Shane had been

facing during their photo shoot. Shane

needed to get out of here. This was too

bizarre. He absolutely could not do

whatever this was. But Rosenoff let a

hand trail down his stomach and wrapped

it around his own dick to give it a

slow, firm stroke.

Shane gasped loud enough that the

running water couldn't mask it. "What

were you thinking about?" Rosenoff

asked, his voice low. Shane swallowed.

His throat was bone dry. "You," he said

quietly. Rosenoff heard him and smirked.

He gave himself another stroke. You want

to touch me, Hollander? Shane actually

just wanted to watch Rosenoff jerk

himself off, but not here. Shane

stammered. Someone could come in.

Rosenoff nodded and released himself. He

turned and shut off the water. Shane

waited, heart racing until Rosenoff had

left the showers before he turned off

his own water. What the hell was

happening? Rosenoff couldn't possibly be

suggesting that he and Shane that they

Holy [ __ ] Shane had to get out of here.

He wondered if he could possibly smash

through the tile wall of the shower room

and escape that way. Anything would be

preferable to facing Rosenoff again. He

took a few deep breaths to settle

himself. He could do this. He could talk

reasonably to Rosenoff and end this

thing. Determined, he wrapped his towel

tightly around his waist before

returning to the dressing room. Rosenoff

was already half-dressed and sitting

shirtless on one of the benches. "Look,"

Shane said to the floor. "That was, we

can just pretend that never happened.

Okay. Is that what you want?" Shane's

answer should have been a lot faster.

Yeah, I mean, yeah, of course. Rosenoff

stood and crossed the floor until he

stood right in front of Shane. "You're a

bad liar." Shane scoured at him. "What

is your room number?" Rosenoff asked.

"11410,"

Shane said far too quickly. Rosenoff's

mouth twitched up. "If I knock on door

of room 1410 tonight, maybe around 9."

Shane fought to keep his voice even.

I might open the door. Rosenoff smiled.

I might knock.

Shane spent the evening freaking the

[ __ ] out in his hotel room. He

considered his options. He could leave.

Just go out for a few hours so he

wouldn't be there when Rosenoff knocked.

That would be the sensible thing to do.

He could stay and just ignore Rosenoff's

knock. There could be something

satisfying in that. give him a little

bit of power over him. He could open the

door when he knocked, invite him in, and

they could talk about this whole

ridiculous misunderstanding.

Then they could go their separate ways

forever.

Or he could open the door and he could

spend the evening exploring Rosenoff's

body with his mouth. Shane blushed just

thinking about it. He couldn't really

want that, could he? He had more or less

decided on the second option. He would

talk to Rosenoff. They would put this

behind them as quickly as possible so

things wouldn't be weird when the season

started. He tidied up the room even

though it was already perfectly tidy. He

changed his shirt to a nicer one for no

reason at all. He brushed his teeth,

flossed, and rinsed with mouthwash

because if he was going to be talking to

Rosenoff, it would be rude to have bad

breath. He fixed his hair a bit. He

switched his phone to silent mode. He

decided to turn on the television just

so it wouldn't look like he'd been

sitting there staring at the door. He

flipped to a baseball game and turned

the sound down low. He shut off the

overhead light and turned on all of the

lamps. He checked himself in the mirror

again. The knock came at 7 minutes after

9:00.

Shane checked the peepphole just to make

sure Rosenoff wasn't pranking him or

anything.

It was just Rosenoff

alone. Shane turned off the television

because having it on suddenly seemed

dumb. He opened the door and let

Rosenoff in. Rosenoff looked like he may

have put a little effort into his

appearance, too. He was wearing a black

button-up shirt, his gold chain winking

at Shane from the wide open collar. His

hair, which was usually a mess of curls,

had been tamed a bit, though one lock

had already escaped and was tumbling

adorably onto Rosenoff's forehead.

"Thought you might have chickenened

out," Rosenoff said in his infuriatingly

blunt manner. "No," Shane said. "I mean,

I just want to talk about, you know, I

do know." Yes.

Uh, do you want to sit maybe? Rosenoff

took a step toward him. Not really.

He was so close that Shane could feel

the heat of his body. Or maybe he was

imagining it. I don't think this is a

good idea, Shane said weakly. What?

Rosenoff said, tucking a knuckle under

Shane's chin and tilting it up. This?

He brought his mouth down on Shane's and

Shane flooded with panic. He was stiff

against Rosenoff, lips pressed together,

eyes open. But Rosenoff persisted. Shane

felt the tip of Rosenoff's tongue traced

the outline of his lips, seeking injury.

Long fingers threaded into his hair, and

Shane surrendered. He parted his lips

and closed his eyes, and Rosenoff

deepened the kiss, pushing between his

lips and pressing his tongue to Shane's.

Shane had never kissed a man, and

somewhere in the back of his splintering

brain, he wondered if Rosenoff ever had

either. He certainly seemed to know what

he was doing. Shane felt like he was

made of alarm bells, like his panic was

going to somehow wake up the entire

hotel. [snorts] If it was just that he

was kissing a man, he might be able to

get a grip. But kissing this man in

particular was so absurd and wrong,

wrong, wrong. but his dick didn't seem

to think so, especially not when

Rosenoff wedged a knee between his legs

and rubbed a thigh against Shane's

arousal. Shane whimpered and Rosenoff

tipped his head back farther, using his

height and coming down hard on Shane's

open mouth. Shane wasn't sure what to

do. He hesitantly slid his palms up

Rosenoff's chest. He heard Rosenoff give

a soft moan when Shane's fingers moved

over his nipples. And that one little

sound made Shane lose any remaining

self-control.

He kissed Rosenoff back hard and frantic

and wanting more, but not knowing

exactly what to ask for. Rosenoff

crowded him back against a wall and

started unbuttoning Shane's shirt. When

he got the last button open, he grabbed

Shane's hand and pressed it against his

crotch. And oh, Shane had his hand on

Ilia Rosenoff's dick. Shane could feel

the solid length straining against

Rosenoff's jeans, and he felt his own

[ __ ] grow harder even as he struggled

against freaking out. He gripped

Rosenoff through the denim, and one

clear idea of what he wanted popped into

his head. He wanted the denim barrier to

be gone. He wanted to see Rosenoff's

[ __ ] and hold it and feel it pressed

against him, which was weird. He

shouldn't want that. He shouldn't want

any of this. And yet, with a gold in

mind, Shane unfassened Rosenoff's fly

and worked his hand inside. When Shane

had his hand wrapped around the thick,

smooth length, Rosenoff inhaled sharply

and stopped kissing him. Both men looked

down to watch Shane's hand move under

the cotton of Rosenoff's briefs. Shane

could see the tip of Rosenoff's [ __ ]

poking out of the waistband, and he had

the sudden wild urge to kiss it, to

press his tongue to the slit and taste

him. "Fuck,

this was really gay."

Rosenoff didn't seem troubled, though.

Instead, he was pulling his own shirt

off and reaching to cradle Shane's face

with his hand. Shane turned his eyes up

and Rosenoff was looking down at him

with dark eyes, his mouth slack and lips

swollen. His face was pure desire.

Shane stood frozen as Rosenoff dragged

his thumb over Shane's lips and then

gently pushed it inside. Shane closed

his eyes and sucked it into his mouth,

letting his tongue wrap around it. He

was shocked at how naturally he did

this, but how much he loved the

sensation.

He felt Rosenoff shudder and Shane felt

lightheaded. He wasn't sure how much

longer he could stay standing. He

wondered if Rosenoff would let him, if

he wanted him to. Shane released

Rosenoff's thumb and slowly sank to his

knees. [ __ ] He heard Rosenoff breathe.

Shane knew there would be no going back

from this, but they'd probably already

crossed that line anyway. may as well

take what he wanted. With shaking hands,

he pulled Rosenoff's jeans and briefs

down and lined up his mouth with his

thick, rigid [ __ ] He took a breath and

very carefully pressed his tongue to the

head. "Yes, Hollander."

Rosenoff hissed. It tasted like skin.

Shane slowly moved his tongue around the

head, completely unsure of what to do.

>> [snorts]

>> He liked to be excellent at everything.

His only experience with this sort of

thing had been at the receiving end. So

he tried to mimic what some of those

girls had done. He took Rosenoff deeper

into his mouth, and it felt so weird. He

just sort of stayed like that for a

moment. His tongue flattened by the

weight of Rosenoff's [ __ ] He knew he

must look ridiculous.

Rosenoff's expression didn't suggest

that he was watching something

ridiculous. He held Shane's face with

one big hand and gazed down at him with

hooded eyes. He murmured something in

Russian and then said, "Look at you."

Shane's face flushed. An image flashed

through his mind of their roles being

reversed. What would Rosenoff look like

on his knees taking Shane in his mouth?

Would Shane ever find out? Shane moaned

involuntarily, which made Rosenoff

shudder. His thumb brushed Shane's

cheekbone, and Shane closed his eyes and

began to move his mouth. He sucked and

licked, letting himself get used to the

sensation of having a dick in his mouth.

His mind was racing, worrying about

technique and about what exactly this

all meant. But then, Rosenoff's fingers

were tangled in Shane's hair, and Shane

was reminded that this was [ __ ] hot.

that he'd fantasized about exactly this,

alone in his bedroom, even if he had

been embarrassed afterward. He sighed

around Rosenoff's [ __ ] and bobbed his

head slightly, losing himself in the

slide of rigid flesh against his tongue.

He was sure he was doing a terrible job,

and his fears were confirmed when

Rosenoff suddenly yelled, "Stop! Stop!

Stop!"

Shane pulled off quickly and stared up

at Rosenoff, who was grimacing with his

eyes squeezed shut. "Sorry," Shane said.

"I'm not. I've never," Rosenoff laughed.

"It's okay." "Was he waved a hand around

as if trying to physically grab the

English word he was looking for. "It was

too much." "Oh,

really?" Shane felt that he had barely

done anything. just um very um

overwhelming, intense, wrong. Shane

could think of a few words, but he

didn't want to guess at what Rosenoff

was feeling. A lot. Rosenoff finished.

Then he made a frustrated sound. No, I

cannot think of watered.

Shane rose off his knees because he felt

foolish staying on them if he wasn't

going to be doing anything down there.

When he was standing, he looked

curiously at Rosenoff.

"Have you been thinking about this?"

Rosenoff gave a crooked grin and

shrugged. "My like trouble." Shane

laughed. "Well,

I think we found it." "You have not done

this," Rosenoff said plainly. "With a

man." "No." "Have you?" Rosenoff looked

at him and Shang knew he was deciding

whether or not he could trust him and

then must have realized it was too late

anyway if he didn't. He nodded. Then

Rasha, my coach's son, Shane sputtered.

Holy [ __ ] you do like trouble. Was he

on the team? No, not a hockey player.

Did anyone find out? Rosenoff shook his

head. He would never tell. I would never

tell. It was safe.

Safe? Shane repeated. It didn't sound

safe at all. Just fooling around. Not

serious. Was What is it? Curious?

Rosenoff smiled. Yes, curious. And you

make me curious.

Oh. He leaned in and breathed against

Shane's ear in his heavily accented

English. Do I make you curious?

Rosenoff made Shane a lot of things.

Confused, infuriated, terrified,

aroused. And yes, curious.

Obviously, Shane said a little

irritably.

Did you like sucking my dick? Oh, those

English words, you know. Rosenoff licked

under Shane's ear, and Shane gasped. Did

you like it? Rosenoff asked again. Shane

swallowed his saliva and his pride. Yes.

Would you like me to lie on the bed and

let you do it some more?

Let me Rosenoff chuckled against Shane's

neck. I'm a nice guy. Shane shoved him

and Rosenoff stumbled back, pants around

his knees. He laughed as he tumbled

backward onto the bed. Now that there

was some distance between them, Shane

could take in the full splendor of

Rosenoff's mostly naked body. Rosenoff

seemed to enjoy the attention and

stretched his muscular arms up over his

head, grinning and arching his long

torso.

He had dark brown hair on his chest and

trailing down from his belly button to

his bobbing erection, which was still

slick with Shane's spit. Rosenoff sat up

and pulled his pants all the way off

along with his shoes and socks.

Shane's eyes fell on the way his stomach

muscles flexed as he curled forward and

on his thick muscular thighs. Once

again, Shane felt very young, very

boyish. He realized that he was still

mostly dressed and he wasn't sure if he

could change that or not. Rosenoff made

the decision for him. This is a bit not

fair. He moved a hand through the air

back and forth between them.

You want me to? Dah. Yes. Let me see

you. You've already seen me in the

shower. I want a better look.

Shane removed his clothes quickly. Being

naked in the presence of other guys was

not foreign to him. But there was

nothing familiar about this scenario.

He stood in his underwear for a moment

and tried not to blush as he removed

them. Shane stood with his arms out.

Well, Rosenoff grinned and waved a hand

over his own chest. So smooth.

Look like a swimmer. I don't. It's

natural. All right. Yes. Come here.

Rosenoff patted the bed next to him.

Shane blew out of breath and moved onto

the bed. He lay flat on his back next to

Rosenoff, unsure of what to do next.

What do you want? Rosenoff asked. I

don't know. No, Rosenoff asked, and he

leaned over him and kissed him. Nothing.

I What about? Rosenoff pressed a palm

against Shane's erection and curled

gentle fingers around it. Okay.

Shane nodded. It was shockingly okay for

Ilia Rosenoff, a guy, a hockey player,

his rival, to have his hand wrapped

around Shane's dick. "Relax,"

Rosenoff said and kissed him again. His

hands stroked Shane carefully without

lube, and Shane was spellbound.

Rosenoff's soft, accented words, and his

gentle hands and his confident kisses

were all working together to ensnare

him. Dizzy with sensation and lust,

Shane lightly pushed on Rosenoff's

shoulder until he was flat on his back.

Then, before he could talk himself out

of it, Shane slid down his body and took

his [ __ ] into his mouth again. He wasn't

any sure of his abilities, but he knew

what he wanted. He wanted to get

Rosenoff off. He wanted to take him

apart. He let his jaw slacken and took

Rosenoff as deep as he could. He was

nervous about biting him by accident, so

he kept his mouth open wider than was

probably necessary and used a lot of

tongue. It was sloppy and very wet, but

he could hear the encouraging sounds

Rosenoff was making. When Shane turned

his eyes up, he could see Rosenoff had

propped himself up on his elbows and was

watching him give his first [ __ ] with

great interest.

Shane wrapped a hand around the base of

Rosenoff's [ __ ] and stroked up to meet

his mouth. When Rosenoff arched and

moaned, Shane repeated it, stroking him

hard and fast. Hollander [ __ ] Rosenoff

switched to Russian, and Shane didn't

know what he was saying, but he figured

he should probably get out of the way

because he wasn't sure he was ready to

take a load in his mouth. He pulled off

just in time. Rosenoff put his own hand

on his dick to replace Shane's mouth and

stroked himself roughly until his

release fell all over his own stomach.

Shane stared dumbfounded. It was the

hottest thing he had ever seen. Rosenoff

flopped back on the bed, breathing hard.

"Not bad, Hollander," he said. Shane was

still staring at the mess on Rosenoff's

stomach. His own [ __ ] was like iron. He

thought about stroking himself until he

came on Rosenoff. He thought about

Rosenoff putting his mouth on him.

"Okay, well, good night," Rosenoff said

and moved to get up. Shane's mouth

dropped open and he was about to be

furious when he noticed the playful

crooked grin. "Fuck you," Shane said.

"Did you need something?" Rosenoff asked

innocently. Shane glared at him.

Rosenoff chuckled and grabbed some

tissues from the nightstand so he could

wipe his stomach off a bit. Lie down,

Rosenoff instructed. Shane did. Rosenoff

crawled on top of him and kissed him.

You think I'm an [ __ ] Rosenoff said,

"You are an [ __ ]

I would not leave you like that." "No."

He kissed him again. "No."

As they kissed, Rosenoff reached a hand

down and gripped Shane's [ __ ] Shane

gasped into his mouth. "Let me show

you," Rosenoff murmured. "How to do

this?" He kissed his way down Shane's

body, which felt so good that Shane

forgot to be insulted. When he reached

Shane's [ __ ] Rosenoff greeted it with a

long, slow lick with the entire surface

of his tongue, like it was a [ __ ] ice

cream cone or something.

Jesus," Shane shuddered. Rosenoff licked

and sucked the head, tonging the slid

and pushing Shane dangerously close to

the edge already. He gripped the hotel

bed comforter and tried to hold on.

Rosenoff was shockingly good at this.

How many [ __ ] times had he met up

with his coach's son? Shane felt like he

should be paying attention, maybe taking

notes, but his brain had left the room.

Shane reached down to run his fingers

through the golden brown curls of

Rosenoff's hair. He dragged his fingers

down over the stubble on his cheek, the

sharp line of his jaw. Shane had enjoyed

watching some truly hot girls sucking

him off in the past. But this was way

beyond anything he had ever experienced

before. Watching this big, beautiful man

who knew exactly what to do with his

tongue and lips and god his teeth. Work

him like there would be a medal awarded

for performance.

Ah god, Rosenoff. I'm going to He

expected Rosenoff to get the hell out of

the way, but instead he sucked him

harder and Shane emptied himself into

his mouth. A stream of nonsense fell out

of Shane's mouth. Holy [ __ ] I'm sorry.

Oh my god, I'm so sorry. [ __ ] Wow. God.

Rosenoff pulled off, not at all hurried,

and wiped his mouth with the back of his

hand. He laughed at Shane's babbling.

Oh, sorry. Why sorry?

Shane choked out a hysterical laugh. I

don't know. I just I wasn't expecting

you to. Rosenoff shrugged as if Shane

was thanking him for bringing in the

mail. I don't mind it. Shane felt stupid

that he hadn't even tried to properly

finish the job on Rosenoff.

This guy was determined to one up him at

every turn. Rosenoff sat on the edge of

the bed with his back to Shane. He

rolled his neck and idly rubbed his jaw.

Shane sat up and swung his legs over the

opposite side of the bed. He gripped the

mattress with both hands and looked at

the floor. He felt panic surge up in him

again. He heard Rosenoff blow out a

breath which made Shane laugh for some

reason. The absurdity of the situation

was hitting him. You're laughing?

Yeah, well, this whole thing is a little

nuts. I want a cigarette. Rosenoff said

you're not allowed to smoke in the

hotel. I know, stupid country. Rosenoff.

Doesn't matter. Bears told me to quit. I

am trying not to smoke.

Oh, that's good. Smoking is bad for you.

Is it? Shane could hear Rosenoff's eyes

rolling. So, um, Shane said, still

keeping his back to Rosenoff.

This won't leave this room. Okay. You

think I will tell people? Shane

sincerely doubted it. No. No.

He felt the bed shift as Rosenoff stood

up.

Shane had the stupid urge to ask him to

stay. He imagined falling asleep in his

arms. And what the [ __ ] This thing

they' just done was above all things a

huge mistake. As far as hookups went,

Shane really could not have chosen a

less appropriate person. And even

forgetting that, there was no reason to

pretend this was anything more than a

quick, no strings [ __ ] And why would

Shane even want to pretend that? He

didn't. He wanted Rosenoff out of his

hotel room. He wanted to forget that

this ever happened. He did not want to

reach for him to [snorts] pull him back

on the bed to do everything they just

did two or three more times. When

Rosenoff was fully dressed, he gave

Shane one of his playful crooked smiles.

Shane had managed to put his underwear

back on, but other than that was still

naked. "My flight is early tomorrow,"

Rosenoff said. There was maybe a note of

apology in it. Or maybe Shane was

imagining things. All right. Rosenoff

nodded. I'll see you around.

Yeah, Shane said awkwardly. I'll see you

on the ice, I guess. Yes.

Shane wanted to kiss him one more time

because he was sure he would never get

the chance again. But Rosenoff was

already opening the door. Goodbye,

Hollander.

Bye, Shane said to the closed door.

Chapter 5. September 2010, Montreal.

Shane was a man of routine. He woke

every morning at 6:00 and immediately

went for a 10 km run. He would then

return to his new apartment to do sets

of pull-ups, push-ups, and crunches.

Then he would stretch before he would

make himself a smoothie and a bagel,

which he would eat while watching Sports

Center. Then he would shower. The rest

of his day would be dictated by whatever

was scheduled for him. He very rarely

had a day with nothing planned. He had

completed his first NHL training camp,

and he had secured himself a spot on the

Montreal Voyajour's roster for the 2010

to 2011 season. That was no surprise,

but he was still damn proud of himself.

He was starting the preseason games the

next day. The city of Montreal had

already warmly embraced him. He was

excited. On the television, the Sports

Center anchors were talking about Ilia

Rosenoff. Shane hadn't seen or spoken to

Rosenoff since their encounter in the

Toronto hotel room over two months ago.

He would like to be able to say that he

hadn't thought of him either. But that

would be far from the truth. Suddenly,

Rosenoff's face filled the screen. Shane

felt his own face flush a bit, which was

ridiculous because he was alone and not

actually in the presence of those

sparkling hazel eyes or that playful

lopsided smile. He was watching the

television, entranced, but not listening

to a word of the interview. He didn't

snap out of it until he heard Rosenoff

say without a trace of irony. The Bears

will be happy with me this season. I

will score 50 goals. 50 goals? The stun

interviewer asked. Are you [ __ ]

kidding me? Shane asked at home. Yes, by

the end of February,

Rosenoff said. Shane snorted. He was

stunned by the audacity of this guy. He

was announcing before the season had

even started, before he had any idea of

how much ice time he'd even be getting

with the Bears, that he would be scoring

50 goals this season as a 19-year-old

rookie. Shane had every intention of

scoring at least as many goals himself,

but he certainly wasn't going to

announce it. Jesus Christ, [snorts] what

would his new teammates think of him?

They'd think he was a cocky little

[ __ ] that's what. And if Shane

didn't perform, he'd look like a [ __ ]

idiot. But there was Rosenoff, bold as

brass, calmly announcing his intention

to do what maybe four or five rookies

has been able to do ever in history.

Ridiculous, infuriating.

Do you feel pressure to outperform Shane

Hollander this first season? The

interviewer asked. Who?

[ __ ] you, Rosenoff.

Rosenoff looked directly at the camera

and Shane froze.

He can't see you, dummy. He watched

Rosenoff wink at the camera and Shane's

eyes narrowed. He was going to shut this

[ __ ] up when their teams finally met.

The opportunity came a month later. The

hype leading up to the first meeting

between Hollander and Rosenoff seemed to

Shane to be a bit much. They were both

only 19 and their NHL careers were only

weeks old. He wasn't sure what anyone

was expecting to happen. Montreal was

hosting Boston. Shane met his parents

for lunch the day of the game. They came

to every home game, but this day they

came up from Ottawa a little early

because they knew how nervous he was.

The league is always looking for a

marketing angle, Shane. his father said.

It's just a game like any other. I know.

He poked at his pasta. He couldn't

imagine what his parents would say if

they knew the real reason he was nervous

about facing Rosenoff.

Pressure he could handle. He lived for

hockey and he was extremely good at it.

Normally, he'd be looking forward to the

chance to prove himself against a rival.

You had to go and make it weird, didn't

you, Hollander?

Is Drapppo going to be starting tonight?

Shane's mother asked. He was weak on his

left side last game. Is he hurt? He's

fine, Shane said with a small smile. In

a nation of rabid, knowledgeable hockey

fans. Yuna Hollander ranked near the

top. Her parents had immigrated from

Japan, but Yuna had been born and raised

in Montreal. She couldn't have been

happier that her son had been drafted by

her beloved voyagures.

Shane was the only child of Yuna and

David Hollander and they had given him

all the support in the world. Shane

loved them and he knew how lucky he was.

He definitely wouldn't be where he was

without them. Shane knew most guys in

the league didn't have their parents

coming to almost every home game, but he

wasn't ashamed to admit that he was

grateful his folks live so close. He

played his junior hockey in Kingston,

which was close enough to Ottawa that

he'd seen his parents at most games

there, too. He never really felt that

need to distance himself from them.

Maybe it was because he was an only

child, or maybe it was because he knew

how much his parents had given of their

time and money and energy to get him to

where he was now. Plus, he liked them.

You need a lamp beside your couch in

that apartment. Mom said completely out

of nowhere.

What? Your living room. It's too dark.

Do you want the one from the den at

home? We don't need it. That's okay,

Mom. You keep that. I'll get one.

You know, he doesn't need our old

furniture. He's a millionaire.

It's a nice lamp, she argued. They don't

make nice things anymore.

If you have the money, they'll make

anything, Dad said. Next time you guys

drive up, we can go lamb shopping, mom.

That seemed to please her. Have you had

any friends over yet? She asked. One

guy, Hayden, you know, Hayden Pike, the

rookie leftwing, played in the Quebec

League for Drummondville. Mom recited.

Yes.

Yeah. He came over to check the place

out one night before we went out with

some of the other guys. He seems like a

nice boy. Mom said, I saw him

interviewed.

He's cool. Everyone has been great so

far. Really? Dad laughed. Of course they

have been. They're damn lucky to have

you. Shane rolled his eyes. I'm just

another guy on the team. His parents

looked at each other but didn't say

anything. Shane let it go. He knew how

proud they were of him. Anyway, Dad

said, "What were we talking about?"

Rosenoff. "We're not worried about

Rosenoff, right? He's a dirty player."

Mom growled. "He's a good player as what

he is," Shane sighed. "Not as good as

you. Not in any category, Mom said

firmly. He's bigger than me. You're

faster than him. Maybe. And you're a

leader, a nice young man. Rosenoff is a

jerk. Shane laughed. Yeah, I know. He's

better at [ __ ] than me. The thought

crashed to the front of Shane's brain,

and he quickly grabbed for his water

glass, nearly knocking it over. His

mother narrowed her eyes. What's wrong

with you, Shane? You aren't usually this

nervous.

Nothing. I just want to win tonight,

that's all. It seemed to be the right

thing to say because she smiled. You

will screw Ilia Rosenoff, right? That

can be your mantra tonight.

Or not. Shane forced a smile. Sure,

screw him.

All right, [ __ ] it. Coachlair said,

"Rosenoff, get out there and take the

face off against Hollander. Let's give

them what they want." Rosenoff vaulted

over the boards and headed for the

faceoff circle. He was on the ice with

Hollander for the first time in an NHL

game. "Shane Hollander," he said

casually when he reached his opponent.

"Rosenoff."

Ilio let his lips curl up a bit into a

little smile. Hollander's face hardened

and he shook his head slightly. The

crowd was so [ __ ] loud. This city was

nuts.

Will you disappoint them, Hollander?

Nope. They've been for the face off.

Ilia wished he didn't have the

mouthguard in because he would have

loved to do something distracting and

sexy with his tongue. He probably should

have been focusing more on the puck and

less on bothering Hollander because he

lost their first face off and that was

something he'd never get back.

Ilia scoured at the ceiling of his

Montreal hotel room. He was furious with

himself, not at his team, at himself for

losing this first match against

Hollander. He didn't know what to do

with his anger. It was not the best

moment for his phone to ring. It was his

goddamn brother, Andre. Was he, is it?

Ilia said, forgoing nicities. It wasn't

like Andre was calling just to chat. Did

you play tonight? Yes, I said tightly.

He had teammates from the Czech Republic

whose families back home watched every

game online. "Oh, did you win?" "What do

you want?" Andre was quiet. Ilia's heart

sank. He's dead.

Fine. Why wouldn't he be? Ilia's jaw

clenched. His brother could pretend all

he wanted that there was nothing wrong

with their father. But it was

increasingly obvious that it wasn't the

case. He decided to ignore Andre's lies

for the moment. "Do you need money

then?" Ilia asked. It was the only other

possible reason for Andre's call. Just

not much like 20,000.

$20,000.

His brother laughed. Not rubles, of

course. Dollars. What a [ __ ] for life?

His brother said vaguely. You know what

it's like here.

He knew what his brother was like. He

was either making a bad investment or

had already made a bad investment or was

gambling or something else that a police

officer really shouldn't be doing. I

gave you 10,000 like two months ago.

Where the [ __ ] is that? Life, Ilia. Like

I said, life, right? It's not like you

can't afford it. I know what your

signing bonus was. I'm sure you do.

It was probably the only part of Ilia's

career that Andre had bothered to

follow. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't

important, Ilia. Ilia rolled his eyes at

the phone. He could say no. He should

say no. He didn't owe his [ __ ]

brother a goddamn thing. But if he said

no, then his father would call next to

give him the speech about family and

being a good son. And as much as Ilia

hated Andre, he was still his brother.

But this was the last [ __ ] time.

I'll send you the money, but don't ask

again. Could you send it now? What time

is it there? What? No. [ __ ] you. I'll

send it tomorrow. I'm going to bed.

Fine. Good night, then. You're welcome.

Andre ended the call. Ilia threw his

phone down on the bed. He turned on the

television and there was Shane [ __ ]

Hollander's face filling the screen, all

sweaty and flushed and happy, answering

questions in perfect godamned French.

Yoyo couldn't even say a basic English

sentence without sounding like a cartoon

villain. He hated his stupid accent. He

hated his [ __ ] family.

Shane Hollander was speaking French and

he was breathless and smiling and

drenched in sweat with his hair sticking

up in all directions. His cheeks were

pink and his lips were dark and wet. He

looked so [ __ ] proud of himself.

Ilia told himself the twisted feeling in

his stomach was just jealousy, but he

was terrified that it was something

much, much worse.

Chapter 6. January 2011.

Nashville.

Ilia swiped his key card for the third

time in his hotel room door finally

unlocked.

Once inside, he fell back on the

king-size bed with his arms

outstretched, pleasantly buzzed from the

drinks he'd consumed at his all-star

team's dinner. He had expected to be on

a team with Hollander since they played

in the same conference, but the league

had decided to change it up this year

and have North American players form one

team and European players form the

other. No secret as to why. The league

couldn't get enough of the Rosenoff

Hollander rivalry. Ilia was close to

making good on his promise to score 50

goals by the end of February. He had

already scored 38. Hollander had scored

41.

[ __ ] Hollander.

Ilia spotted him in the lobby earlier

that evening, but that was it. No words

had been exchanged. He hadn't even

gotten a nod of acknowledgement from

him. Ilia wondered what Hollander was

doing right now. He wondered if there

were any cute girls at the hotel bar.

Was Hollander in his own room lying on

his bed? Was he wondering what Ilia was

doing? Why was Shane Hollander so

[ __ ] hard to shake? They'd hooked up

once, months ago. It had been a mistake,

obviously, a giant ridiculous mistake,

or at the very least, something that

should be forgotten about, not a big

deal.

On the ice, it was easy enough to focus

on the game. Ilia actually loved playing

against Hollander. He would never

actually tell him, but Hollander was

really [ __ ] good. He challenged Ilia

in ways that Ilia wasn't used to. He

loved taking the puck from Hollander. He

loved slamming him into the boards. He

loved skating around him. He loved

shit-talking him because his eyes would

get all squashed up in anger and his

pink lips would curl into an adorable

little attempt at a snarl like an angry

kitten. Okay, it wasn't entirely easy to

focus on the game. And after the games

and all the days between their games,

when I had to watch Hollander being

interviewed with his lovely [ __ ]

manners and his adorable boyish smile.

When I watched him play against other

teams and watched how he moved with

flawless, calculated grace. When I heard

him switch effortlessly between perfect

English and perfect French at press

conferences.

When Ilia thought about how eager his

mouth had been back in that hotel room

in Toronto,

he didn't even have Hollander's phone

number. He'd see him tomorrow night.

Shane should have been expecting the

press conference. Saturday morning, the

day of the All-Star skills competition,

he had received a phone call from

someone from the NHL's PR office telling

him there was a short press conference

scheduled for that afternoon, 2:00.

It would just be him and Ilia Rosenoff.

Why? Shane had asked. It's your first

All-Star game, and you're both having

legendary rookie seasons, and besides,

the press loved the idea of getting you

two together. Shane had flushed a

little, so now he found himself sitting

behind a raised table, staring at a room

full of reporters and cameras. That part

was very familiar and didn't cause Shane

any stress. The large Russian man next

to him, who was sitting so close their

forearms were almost touching where they

rested on top of the table, was the one

responsible for Shane's dry mouth and

probably noticeable stammering. Ilia,

one reporter said, "You announced at the

beginning of the season that you would

score 50 goals by the end of February.

You scored 38 so far. Do you think

you'll keep your promise?"

Rosenoff took a moment to reply. Shane

wondered if he was working through all

the English words. "Yes," Rosenoff

finally answered. There was scattered

laughter when it became clear that he

wasn't going to elaborate. "Shane, you

scored 41 goals this year already. Do

you think you'll beat Rosenoff to 50?"

"I don't really think about stuff like

that," Shane said carefully. "This is a

team sport, and I'm happy when my team

is doing well. I just try to

contribute." Rosenoff was wearing a ball

cap and had his head down so the

reporters couldn't see his reaction, but

Shane could feel him rolling his eyes

beside him. Ia, how's it feel to play

with a team of Europeans for this

all-star game? Good. Perfect. Bakaroom

makes more sense than usual. More

laughter. Shane watched the Ray Rosenoff

was slowly rubbing the knuckle of his

forefinger with his thumb. He probably

didn't even realize he was doing it.

Rosenoff had nice hands.

The questions kept coming and they were

all exactly what Shane had been

expecting. He did his best to answer

them and even chanced to glance over at

Rosenoff's profile next to him. His

curls poked out from under his All-Star

game ball cap, and his jawline was

covered in stubble. He was wearing a

V-neck t-shirt and Shane could see the

glint of his gold chain where it

disappeared beneath the fabric. Shane

turned his head abruptly back to the

reporters. He took a sip of his water

and sat back in his chair. Except now he

had an even better view of Rosenoff and

the way he was hunched forward over the

table. Shane could see the muscles in

his back and shoulders straining against

the thin material of the t-shirt.

Shane, sorry. Shane snapped his eyes

forward. Just a quick one from the

Toronto Star. Would you like to play on

an all-star team with Ilia in the

future? Oh, sure. Yeah, I mean. He took

a breath. Ilia's a great player. Ilia,

same question. If Hollander does not

mind me being starting center. Yes.

Shane made a show of rolling his eyes as

the room laughed. He clasped his hands

together and rested them on the table in

front of him, leaning over his

microphone as he awaited the next

question. Rosenoff's elbows were resting

on the table, too. His left elbow was

almost brushing Shane's right. Shane

could swear there was an electric

current in the narrow space between

them. He felt like the hair on his arm

was standing up.

Both Montreal and Boston have been out

of the playoffs for three seasons now.

Do you guys feel the pressure to restore

your team's legacies even this early in

your careers? Shane rubbed his arm and

furrowed his brow. He turned his head

and saw that Ilia was looking at him and

his face showed that he was hoping Shane

would feel this one. Rosenoff probably

only understood about half the words.

Shane thought it was a pretty stupid

question, honestly.

Um, he said, "I can't speak for Rosenoff

or what it's like in Boston, but I know

the fans in Montreal love their team and

definitely are expecting us to turn

things around and get back in the

playoffs and win some cups." And, you

know, I feel the exact same way. So, I

guess my answer is that I don't really

feel any pressure that I'm not already

putting on myself.

He hoped that satisfied him.

Unfortunately, the reporter didn't pick

up on the fact that Rosenoff was clearly

struggling with understanding the

question and said, "You

ah" Rosenoff said, "What?" Hollander

said, "Yes."

He gave the room one of his playful

smiles, and everyone laughed again.

Shane looked at him, and Rosenoff caught

his eye and winged. Shane pursed his

lips to stifle a grin.

under the table. He felt Rosenoff's foot

tap against his own. It was the chastest

contact in the world, but it still made

Shane's heart stop. The press conference

ended. Both men stood as the room

erupted into the chaos of dozens of

people packing up recording equipment.

Shane offered Rosenoff his hand, and

Rosenoff shook it. When Shane released

their handshake, Rosenoff slowly slid

his fingers along Shane's palm. I'll see

you later, Hollander, he said in a tone

that was far more suggestive than it

should have been. Shane swallowed.

Yeah, later.

Shane allowed himself a moment on the

ice to take everything in. The NHL's

All-Star Skills Competition was held the

night before the All-Star game, and was

a chance for the stars to show off and

try to prove themselves the fastest

skater or the hardest shooter. It was

just a laid-back, fun night, and no one

took it very seriously. But he was here,

damn it. He was a rookie and he was an

NHL Allstar. He could be a little proud

of himself. All of the players from both

teams were on the ice now, clustered in

front of their respective benches. Some

of the players kneelled as they waited

for their events to be called. Others

stood and chatted with their Just for

this weekend teammates. The league had

been less than subtle about their desire

to see Shane and Rosenoff go

head-to-head in one of the competition

events. That event ended up being the

shot accuracy competition. Rosenoff went

first. The net had four foam bullseye

targets, one in each corner, fastened to

the goalpost. When the timer started,

the object was to break all four targets

with shots from the blue line as fast as

possible. The league record was about 7

seconds. When the whistle blew, Rosenoff

wasted no time. He broke the top two

targets with the first two shots, then

missed the next one, then cleanly broke

the bottom two targets with his fourth

and fifth shots. 8 seconds. Shane shook

his head and watched Rosenoff play to

the crowd. Rosenoff skated around the

ice holding his stick like a rifle,

celebrating his skills by pretending to

shoot at the rafters.

Shane skated up to replace Rosenoff on

the blue line, and Rosenoff came to a

stop right in front of him. Sorry about

that, Hollander.

You think I can't beat that? Rosenoff

just winked and nudged Shane a little as

he passed him. Shane heard the crowd's

delighted reaction. [ __ ] it. [ __ ] him.

Shane could do this. He could do this

with his [ __ ] eyes closed. The

whistle blew and Shane just locked onto

those targets. He watched each one burst

apart with four perfect shots.

6.7 seconds. The crowd went wild. Shane

threw his arms over his head and

celebrated more than was probably

necessary or sportsmanlike. But [ __ ] it

felt good. He smirked at Rosenoff as he

skated back to his teammates. Rosenoff

wasn't smiling now, but the look in his

eyes was Shane flushed and turned his

attention to his teammates. His

contribution to the competition

completed. Shane could now just relax

and enjoy himself as he watched the

others battle each other. He would like

to say his gradual movement down the

line in front of the bench to where the

two teams met was not deliberate, but

that would be a lie. And it seemed he

wasn't the only one making that journey.

Shane leaned casually against the boards

at the end of the bench, pretending to

focus on the players competing for

hardest shot instead of on the man who

was standing on a couple of feet from

Hollander.

Nice job, Hollander. Rosenoff drawled.

Thanks. Have fun last night.

Last night with your teammates, dinner

somewhere. Get drunk. Shane looked down

at the ice. Oh, yeah. It was fun. Um,

how about you guys? Lots of fun. No

[ __ ] Canadians or Americans. Was

perfect.

Ah. He turned his gaze to Rosenoff's

face. No one wore helmets for the skills

competition since there was no actual

body contact, and Shane could admire the

profile of his chiseled jaw and the soft

curls of his hair. "Going to bed early

tonight, I think," Rosenoff said

suddenly. Shane's mouth went a little

dry. "Oh, yes." They stood in silence,

watching the action on the ice. Loud

music blared, and the crowd cheered as

another record was broken. Rosenoff

leaned down. His breath ghosted over

Shane's ear when he said in a low voice,

"121."

A shiver ran through Shane's body, and

before it had even left him, Rosenoff

was gone. Shane watched him skate down

the ice to talk to a fellow Russian

player. "Shane hoped he wasn't

blushing." "The [ __ ] did Rosenoff want?"

asked Liam Casey, a defenseman from

Pittsburgh. "Nothing," Shane said

quickly. just shit-talking, you know.

Guy's a [ __ ] [ __ ] Yeah, he said.

Ilia wasn't surprised at all when the

knock came. It was late after midnight.

He had been back in his room for almost

2 hours. Hollander pushed into the room

as soon as I opened the door. He turned

and flipped the bar latch as if someone

was going to burst in any moment. He

looked terrified. "Is there a ghost out

there?" Ilia asked amused. "No, [ __ ]

you. This is [ __ ] dangerous and you

know it. Is it? We are not doing

anything."

Hollander looked at him hard. His dark

eyes were a mixture of anger and lust.

Ilia decided to drop the act. "You came

anyway," he said. "Yeah," Hollander

said, his voice tight and full of forced

courage. "I guess I did." Ilia nodded.

And then Hollander swore under his

breath and lunged forward to kiss him.

He grabbed Ilia's t-shirt in a tight

fist and pulled him closer. Ilia moaned

at the hot side of Hollander's tongue

against his. He tugged roughly on the

hair at the back of Hollander's head,

tipping his head back so he could deepen

the kiss. They broke apart and Hollander

looked at him, eyes wild and dark hair a

mess. Silently begging for instruction.

on your knees," I said softly, just to

see what he would do. Expecting

Hollander to tell him to [ __ ] off,

Ilia's breath caught in his throat as he

watched him sink fluidly to the floor.

He gazed up at Ilia. Those Onyx eyes,

always so sharp, were hazy with desire.

Hollander leaned forward to nuzzle and

mouth at the bulge Janilia's sweatpants.

"G Hollander!" Ilia breathed, gently

pulling at Hollander's hair as he

pressed hot, open-mouth kisses to the

fabric that pulled tight over Ilia's

erection. He felt dizzy and less in

control than he wanted to be as

Hollander tucked fingers into Ilia's

waistband and pulled down until Ilia's

[ __ ] was freed.

Hollander didn't hesitate. He dragged

his tongue up the length before wrapping

his lips around the head and sinking

down. Ilia couldn't even make a smarter

remark. He just gasped and let his head

fall back, completely overwhelmed by

Hollander's need for this. He certainly

didn't have the ability to conjure

English words right now. Hollander

reached a hand up and slid it, fingers

spllayed under the hem of Ilia's

t-shirt. He pushed the shirt up until

Ilia took the hint and pulled it off

over his head. He carefully stepped out

of his sweatpants, Hollander's mouth

never leaving, and planted a hand on the

back of Hollander's head. He was careful

not to hold him too firmly in place.

This wasn't control. Ilia just wanted to

touch him, to let the silky strands of

his hair slip through his fingers as

Hollander gave in to what he had clearly

been craving.

Hollander's hands wandered as he sucked

him. His touch was light and curious.

his fingertips almost tickling Ilia as

he explored his thighs and hips and

around to his ass. Ilia wondered how far

Hollander was willing to go with him. He

wondered if he'd done anything with

another man since their last time. The

desperate unskilled motion of his mouth

and the slight tremble in his hands

suggested that he hadn't.

The idea that Ilia was probably the only

one who ever saw him like this, that he

was the only person in the entire

[ __ ] world who knew what it felt like

to have those pretty pink lips wrapped

around his [ __ ] Ilas swore in Russian

and pulled away. He grabbed Hollander by

the front of his shirt and hauled him

up, kissing him roughly before throwing

him on the bed. He wanted to know how

much he would give him tonight.

Hollander stared up at him, eyes wide,

lips dark and wet and parted. His hair

was everywhere. Ilia just stood there

and watched him tow off his sneakers,

never breaking eye contact.

Hollander was breathing heavily as if he

wasn't one of the most physically fit

people on the planet. Ilia bit his lip

and watched him pull his shirt off. In

seconds, Ilia was covering him on the

bed with his body and kissing him

hungrily. Ilia had always been this way.

He loved sex and he loved it more when

it was dangerous, when it was with

someone he knew he shouldn't be with.

Whether that was his coach's son or his

brother's girlfriend or his teammate's

sister, Ilia couldn't resist a bad idea.

And Shane Hollander was a bad [ __ ]

idea. The worst idea. Wrong in every way

imaginable. Two men, two NHL players

poised to be the two biggest stars in

the league soon enough. Two bitter

rivals on opposing teams that had hated

each other for almost a hundred years.

Plus, Ilia hated this guy. He hated his

pretty boy face and his perfect godamned

English and his perfect godamned French

and his loving parents and his polite

little manners and his million-dollar

smile. He hated how serious he was, how

earnest. He was everything the league

wanted from their stars.

Ilya kissed his dumb mouth and swallowed

his stupid little size and felt his

annoying fingers in his hair. He pulled

back so he could look at his horrible

face with its ridiculous freckles. [ __ ]

Ilia kissed him again so he wouldn't

have to think about him. He wanted to

[ __ ] him. God, would Hollander let him

[ __ ] him? They kissed each other

frantically, rolling and taking turns

straddling each other and pulling off

what was left of Hollander's clothes in

the process. Ilia kissed his way down

his body and took him into his mouth.

Hollander's hips jerked off the bed,

nearly forcing Ilia off him, but Ilia

held on. He sucked him and enjoyed the

desperate noises he pulled out of him.

He let his fingers trail down below

Hollander's balls. He tapped one finger

against his puckered opening and waited

for a reaction. Hollander's body stilled

on the bed, so Ilia drew light circles

around his hold, just a casual

suggestion.

He could feel Hollander tense up. He was

completely silent now. Ilia pulled his

mouth off him and looked up at his face.

"Have you ever?" Ilia asked. Hollander

shook his head. Would you like to? I

don't know. You are scared. No. No, I'm

not scared. It's okay to be. Hollander

exhaled loudly. I'm not scared, he said

again. Have you ever touched yourself?

Ilia asked, circling his finger again.

Here.

Hollander's face flushed bright red, and

Ilia grinned. Jesus Christ. Hollander

muttered. You are embarrassed.

Well, you don't play with your ass. It

makes you gay. Oh my [ __ ] god. You

know what makes you gayer? Rosenoff,

shut the [ __ ] sucking my dick. You were

doing that a minute ago. Hollander set

up. I've played with it. All right. I've

I've got a thing. a thing. A dildo.

Okay. Rosenoff grinned so hard it hurt.

What color? [ __ ] you. Is it big? I'm

leaving.

Hollander moved to get off the bed. Ilia

quickly covered him and pinned him back

down. He held him down by the wrists and

Hollander made a half-hearted attempt to

fight him off, but stopped when Ilia

kissed him. "I want to [ __ ] you,

Hollander." Ilia sat against his ear.

Hollander shuddered and Ilia was sure he

was going to say yes, but instead I no I

can't. Not here. Ilia considered his

answer and nodded. Not here. Not in a

hotel surrounded by their fellow NHL

players, by the media, by fans. Not now

when they would both have to be as close

to silent as possible when Ilia entered

him the first time. Okay, Ilia said,

nipping at his throat. Next time then.

Hollander snorted, but he was smiling

hopefully.

Next time. Ilia shrugged one shoulder.

We play in Montreal in 2 weeks.

That doesn't mean we can. I mean, how

would we? Where would we? Are you

homeless? No. Well, then so what? You're

just going to sneak out of your hotel?

What will you tell your teammates? The

[ __ ] truth. I'm going to get laid

like every city we play in. Hollander's

brow furrowed. Oh,

yeah. Oh,

so after the game, you just want me to

wait at home for you? Hollander's voice

was tight, like he was angry about

something. Ilia rolled his eyes. He had

no idea why they were wasting time

talking right now anyway.

Yes, wait for me. I will come to your

house and [ __ ] you. Hollander looked

embarrassed again. It's an apartment, he

mumbled. Jesus, fine. I will [ __ ] you in

your apartment. Can we get back to

things now? Yes, Hollander frowned. But

but in the shower the water will drown

out anything. Rosenoff huffed, but it

was actually a good idea. Yes, he said,

springing off the bed and onto his feet.

But hurry the [ __ ] up.

Hollander shoved him as he walked by,

leading the way to the bathroom. He

turned the water on and as they waited

for it to get hot, Ilia kissed him

against the closed door until Hollander

shoved him away so he could pull Ilia

into the shower. He slammed Ilia against

the tile and wrapped a hand around his

[ __ ] as he kissed him. Ilia grinned

against his mouth. This was the Shane

Hollander he wanted. Competitive,

aggressive.

Your hands are so soft. Ila said like a

girl's "Fuck you." Ilya laughed.

Hollander jerked him harder as if trying

to prove how strong and masculine his

hands were. Ilia bit his own lip and

gave up teasing his rival for now. He

reached for Hollander, and they brought

each other off frantically and roughly

in the shower, letting the rush of water

muff their English and Russian

profanity.

Hollander got dressed quickly when they

were done. Ilia stood with a towel

wrapped around his waist, waiting to

hear what Hollander would say. "Um" Ilia

didn't say anything back. He waited. "I

know we said about Montreal, but Ilia

crossed his arms and leaned against a

wall. We probably shouldn't." Hollander

finished. No, no. I mean, obviously,

right? Ilia watched Hollander run a

nervous hand through his damp hair.

"It's stupid," Hollander said, more to

himself than to Ilia. "This is stupid. I

don't know why we did this again."

Ilia walked slowly toward him. When he

reached him, he put a hand on the side

of his face and tilted his head until he

could look directly in his eyes.

Give me your phone. My phone? Hollander

asked weakly. Yes. Hollander fumbled the

phone out of his pocket and handed it to

Ilia. Ilia took it and entered his

number into Hollander's contacts under

the name Lily. Hollander snorted when he

saw it. "Who should I be?" he asked as

he picked up Ilia's phone from the

dresser. "Shannon."

"Jane," Ilia said. Jesus Christ,"

Hollander muttered as he typed. "No,

just Jane." Hollander glared at him as

he handed his phone back. "This isn't a

yes, just so you know," he said. "It

will be." Hollander shook his head, but

Ila could tell he was fighting a smile.

"Good luck tomorrow," Hollander said.

"Sure."

Hollander turned to open the door, but

stopped.

Hey, um, you want to take a look out

there and see if the coast is clear?

Ilia couldn't quite translate his words.

Sorry.

Just take a look and see if the hall is

empty. I don't want anyone to see me

coming out of your room. Ilia opened the

door enough to stick his head out.

Empty.

Hollander blew out of breath. Okay,

well, bye. Good night. Hollander nodded

and left.

Chapter 7. February 2011. Montreal.

50 minutes on the treadmill and Shane

still couldn't get his brain to quiet

down. He had a very nice gym in his

apartment, which was close to the

Voyagur's practice rink in Brousard.

Some younger players shared apartments

or houses with other young teammates,

but Shane preferred to live alone.

He had been under intense focus since he

was 16, and it had made him cling to

whatever private moments he could steal.

Also, he walked a dangerous line with

his teammates as it was. His status in

the hockey world had a tendency to make

his teammates understandably jealous. He

was sure any tension would only be made

worse if he lived with any of them.

Shane was supposed to be focusing on the

game that night against Toronto as he

pushed his body on the treadmill.

Instead, he kept thinking back to a

certain Russian's promise to come to

Shane's home, and

there were too many things to process.

Ilia Rosenoff had gotten him off in a

hotel room again. Ilia Rosenoff wanted

to sneak out of his team's hotel the

next time they were in Montreal next

week and meet Shane at his apartment so

he could [ __ ] him. Ilia Rosenoff wanted

to [ __ ] him. Shane was both terrified

and undeniably aroused by the idea.

Undeniably, extremely aroused by the

idea. But that didn't change the fact

that it was a really, really bad idea.

Shane had accepted the fact that he was

more than okay with having sexual

encounters with a man. Fine. He had

suspected that about himself for a while

now. And maybe Rosenoff was just the

first man to see that in him, to offer

him the chance to experiment a little.

So maybe what Shane actually needed to

do was find another man to fool around

with. But who the [ __ ] was that going to

be? This was Montreal. He was Shane

Hollander. If his career went the way he

was planning, that situation wasn't only

going to get more impossible. He

definitely didn't want any rumors of his

sexuality, whatever it was, getting out

there. The NHL liked to pretend it was

inclusive now, but Shane knew what it

was like on the ice and in the dressing

room. There had never been an openly

queer NHL player, and homophobic slurs

were thrown around enough that Shane

couldn't imagine that happening. Whoever

came out first was going to have to be

brave as hell. It sure as [ __ ] wasn't

going to be Shane. One thing he was

certain of about Rosenoff, he wasn't

going to tell anyone. He had as much to

lose as Shane did. As far as Shane could

figure, he had three choices. Forget

about [ __ ] men entirely and just

stick to women. Risk finding men or even

just a man who could be discreet and

patient. Let whatever the [ __ ] was

happening with Rosenoff keep happening

and try not to think too much about it.

Obviously, the first option was the most

sensible, certainly the safest, also the

most unappealing.

[ __ ]

Shane slowed the treadmill to a cool

down speed and grabbed his water bottle.

Yeah. No. Okay. He definitely had to end

this nonsense with Rosenoff. He'd made

it to the NHL and was at the very

beginning of what he hoped would be a

very impressive career. A giant [ __ ]

scandal probably wasn't the best way to

kick things off. And Shane couldn't see

a way that they could possibly keep this

thing quiet if he continued. Why was he

even thinking about that? A long-term

secret relationship with Ilia Rosenov?

Was that what some part of his dumb

brain was hoping for? No. definitely

putting a stop to this. This was just

Shane being 19. He was 19 and horny and

oddly lonely for a star athlete. Just

because Rosenoff was making himself

available didn't mean Shane had to

accept. Pleased with his decision, he

stepped off the treadmill and headed to

the Chinup bar. There would be nothing

to it. Rosenoff would text him to ask

for his address, and Shane would write

back, "No.

Next week, Montreal. Lily, I need your

address. Shane, no. Shane smirked at his

phone, very pleased with his prompt and

clear reply to Rosenoff's text. Lily,

[ __ ] off, what is it? Shane, none of

your business. Lily, fine. Your loss.

Shane stopped smirking. He sat down hard

on his couch and turned on his brand new

lamp. The Bears would roll into town the

day after tomorrow. They would play

later that evening and then Shane chewed

his lip thinking. It's not that he

didn't want to see Rosenoff. If he was

being honest, he'd been obsessively

thinking about it since the All-Star

weekend. He just didn't want his arch

rival coming to his home. That seemed

like too big of a line to cross. He

wrote back, "Could we meet somewhere

else?"

He felt a flesh of embarrassment as he

had sinned. God, why couldn't he just

have left it where it was? He'd

successfully rejected Rosenoff. Why give

the power right back to him? Lily, like

where? Shane, I don't know. Lily, figure

it out. Let me know. Shane hated how

relaxed Rosenoff was about all of this.

It wasn't [ __ ] fair. He almost wrote

back, "Forget it." but instead just

stood and slipped his phone into his

pocket. He would figure it out.

Shane 1822.

Lily. Question mark. Shane, room number.

Lily. Okay. Where is the room? Shane,

same hotel you're in. Lily, see you

soon. Shane sat on the end of his

king-size hotel bed. Then he stood up.

Then he sat back down again. This was so

[ __ ] dumb. Why was he doing this?

Booking a room in the same hotel as the

entire Boston team, several floors above

theirs, but still. So he could hook up

with the man he didn't even like. If

they were caught, it could be

devastating to both of their careers. At

the very least, it would be very

embarrassing.

Shane stood and went to the mirror. He

checked his teeth and nudged a stray

lock of hair back into place. There was

a sharp wrap on his door. He spun

around, startled by how loud it sounded,

and quickly crossed the room to open it.

Jesus, you trying to get everyone's

attention. Rosenoff slid into the room.

His ball cap was pulled low over his

eyes. Shane closed and latched the door

quickly behind him. "You are nervous,"

Rosenoff said. It wasn't a question. No,

Shane lied. It's just sex, Hollander,

Rosenoff said. I know. Rosenoff pulled

the ball cap off and brown curls tumbled

out, falling messily around his grinning

face. He was wearing a charcoal gray

t-shirt with a small Nike logo on the

chest and black track pants. Shane was

wearing dark blue pants and a striped

cashmere sweater and felt ridiculous.

"You look nice," Rosenoff said. His tone

was flat, like he was just stating a

fact rather than offering a compliment.

"You look nice. It's cold outside. This

hotel is big." "Thanks," Shane said

because he had to say something. "I feel

overdressed." "Yes, we both are,"

Rosenoff said, and he pulled his t-shirt

off over his head before bending to

remove his high-top sneakers. Shane's

eyes fixed on the way Rosenoff's gold

cross dangled in the space between his

knees and his chest. The thin chain

glinted against the back of his neck.

When Rosenoff stood again, Shen couldn't

remember why exactly this was a bad

idea. "Come here," Rosenoff said. "No,

you come here." Rosenoff grinned and

shook his head and stepped toward Shane.

Shane must have taken a step forward

himself because they kind of crashed

into each other. A second later, he was

against the wall and Rosenoff was

attacking his mouth. Shane shoved back

against him and was reminded that

Montreal had won the game that night.

Rosenoff had to be at least a little

pissed off about that, and Shane felt he

might be taking it out on him. Shane had

no problem with that. He sank his

fingers into Rosenoff's biceps and

hauled him closer. He wrapped his foot

around Rosenoff's ankle, and Rosenoff

growled and, without warning, grabbed

Shane's thighs and hoisted him up the

wall, so that Shane had no choice but to

wrap his legs around the taller man's

waist, which Shane should have been

angry about. But instead, he gasped and

kissed Rosenoff even more wildly. "We'd

[ __ ] you just like this," Rosenoff

growled against the [ __ ] wall. "You

would like that?" "Yes." Would Shane

like that? Probably. Not tonight,

Rosenoff continued, moving his mouth

close to Shane's ear. Tonight, I will go

easy on you. Shane wanted to tell him to

[ __ ] off, but Rosenoff was kissing his

throat, scraping his teeth over the

sensitive skin. So instead, he threw his

head back against the wall like the

eager [ __ ] he apparently was. He felt

Rosenoff chuckle against his throat. And

then Shane felt himself being pulled

away from the wall and carried carried

to the bed like a [ __ ] child. Put me

down, [ __ ]

I can walk. Rosenoff's big hands gripped

his ass as they crossed the room. Shane

pushed back off Rosenoff's shoulders,

and he could see that crooked smile in

those playful eyes. Put me down.

Rosenoff turned and dropped Shane on the

bed. Shane glared up at him. He was

about to tell him off, but he got

distracted by the tall, bare-chested,

muscular form looming over him. Shane

suddenly felt very small on the bed,

which was ridiculous. He was 5' 10 in

and built of solid muscle himself. But

Rosenoff was gazing down at Shane, who

was still fully clothed, like he was

trying to decide whether to take his

first bite. and Shane felt vulnerable

and he was kind of into it. Rosenoff

slid his track pants down and off and

stood at the end of his bed wearing only

his black boxer briefs, his gold chain,

and his stupid [ __ ] bear tattoo.

Shane's eyes went right to the briefs

and the hard link that was trapped

beneath. He also noted the way

Rosenoff's enormous thighs burst out of

the legs of the shorts, hard muscles

jutting out from the straining fabric.

Rosenoff leaned down and planted a knee

firmly on the bed between Shane's

sprawled legs dangerously close to his

crotch. Shane looked up wideeyed as

Rosenoff descended on him and captured

his mouth again. Two big hands landed on

Shane's chest, stroking him over his

sweater. "This is Thaft," Rosenoff

murmured. "It's cashmere," Shane said

stupidly. "Yes, take it off." He did.

Rosenoff pulled up, keeping his knee

firmly between Shane's thighs as he

watched Shane strip down to his own

briefs. He lay there, waiting for

Rosenoff to cover him again to press his

weight down on him. But instead,

Rosenoff lightly dragged his fingertips

up one of Shane's legs, tickling his

skin and making every hair stand up. He

drew a path up to where Shane's skin

disappeared into the leg of his briefs

and then paused. Shane felt like there

was an electric current running through

him. He could see his own [ __ ] twitching

in his shorts, begging for attention. He

bit his lip and waited. Rosenoff dipped

his head and kissed Shane's stomach. He

did it over and over again. His lips

almost as gentle and teasing as his

fingertips had been. Shane inhaled

sharply. How was Rosenoff so good at

this?

Rosenoff's mouth found one of Shane's

nipples and bit it gently before licking

it. Shane squirmed, and Rosenoff wrapped

a hand most of the way around Shane's

thigh to hold him down. Shane once again

marveled at how big his hands were. When

Rosenoff returned his mouth to Shane's,

he finally moved his hand to palm

Shane's erection through his briefs.

Shane made an embarrassing noise into

Rosenoff's mouth. "Did you bring

everything?" Rosenoff asked. "Yes,"

Shane said. He was pretty sure he had

everything, lube and condoms, right?

"Good boy. [ __ ] you." "Yes." His hand

slid inside Shane's shorts and pulled

his erection out. Shane slipped a hand

in between their bodies so he could rub

his hand over the front of Rosenoff's

shorts. Rosenoff kissed him hard and

ground his crotch against Shane's,

holding himself up with one hand planted

next to Shane's head. Shane moaned at

the feel of Rosenoff's hips and pelvis

rolling against him. "He's going to [ __ ]

me." His whole body tensed up. Rosenoff

noticed. "Relax,"

he breathed against Shane's ear. "You

will like this." "Yeah," Shane said, his

voice strained. Just Rosenoff pushed off

him for a moment so he could quickly rid

himself of his briefs. Shane did the

same. When he returned his eyes to

Rosenoff, he was struck by how big his

[ __ ] was. He'd seen it before, of

course, and he knew it was a decent

size, but looking at it now with the

idea that it was supposed to somehow fit

inside of him, he must have been wearing

his anxiety all over his face. Rosenoff

laughed. It will fit. Shane blushed

furiously, which made Rosenoff laugh

more. Thrust me. Where is the staff?

Shane, grateful for something to do

other than stare at Rosenoff's [ __ ] in

horror, reached over and opened the

nightstand drawer. I've got um lube. I

ordered it online. It's supposed to be

the best for this as [ __ ] Shane

rolled his eyes. You sweet talk all your

sex partners like this. I'm very

charming.

He took the bottle from Shane and

inspected it. I have condoms, too, Shane

said. He pulled a strip of them out of

the drawer. Rosenoff raised an eyebrow.

Are you sure that will be enough?

All right, look. Rosenoff grinned that

sexy godamn lopsided grin, and Shane

laughed, too. He watched as Rosenoff

poured a good amount of lube on his

fingers, then wrapped those fingers

around Shane's [ __ ] "O Shane huffed.

It's cold. You could have warmed it up a

bit." "Shh, relax."

Shane had something smart to say back to

him, but it dissolved on his tongue as

Rosenoff rubbed his thumb over Shane's

slit. They both watched as Rosenoff

teased the slit until he drew out a bead

of liquid. He smeared it over the head

of Shane's [ __ ] and Shane's fingers

grabbed at the bedding. With his other

hand, Rosenoff gently rolled and tugged

at Shane's balls. He was so confident,

but so careful. The combination was

making Shane throbb with need. "Please,"

he whispered. "Please, what?" Rosenoff

asked with a raised eyebrow. "I don't

know," Shane answered honestly. Please

touch you here," Rosenoff asked, his

fingers trailing below Shane's balls and

over the smooth skin that led to Yes,

Shane said. He closed his eyes and let

his head fall back on the pillow. "Do

you know how this works, Hollander?"

"Not really." "Yeah, sure." He opened

one eye. "You've done this before?"

"Yes,

with the coach's son." Rosenoff

shrugged. "Sure, he was one." "Oh,

girls, too, Hollander. You have not done

this with a girl." Shane had never

really wanted to do anything with a girl

that was complicated or that would make

things take longer. "No," he said.

Rosenoff stilled both of his hands. "You

have had sex before?" "Yes," he asked.

"Yes, God." "Okay."

Rosenoff went back to stroking Shane's

[ __ ] and dancing his fingers closer to

Shane's opening. You really think I have

it? Shane was outraged. Rosenoff

shrugged. I've had plenty of sex,

Rosenoff. Lots. Fine. Shane didn't like

how amused Rosenoff looked, but he did

like it when Rosenoff poured more lube

over his fingers and began to stroke

them over Shane's hole. He sucked in a

breath and his whole body shuddered.

Just relax, Mr. Lots of sex, Rosenoff

said. I will make sure you are ready for

me. Shane wanted to scowl at him, but in

truth, he was sort of charmed by the

level of care Rosenoff was showing, but

Shane was still at least 35% terrified.

Rosenoff kept gently brushing his

fingers over Shane's hole while at the

same time lazily stroking Shane's [ __ ]

Together, it all felt wonderful.

Shane felt his body release a lot of the

tension he had been holding, and he

floated a bit on the good feelings that

were coursing through him. It was so

good he could almost forget to be

embarrassed about where Rosenoff was

touching him. "Good?" Rosenoff asked.

"Sane,

and then he felt the tip of Rosenoff's

finger enter him, and he clenched in

response." "Sorry," Shane winced, then

took a breath. He did know how this

worked. He had done a little

experimenting on himself with the

aforementioned dildo, but those times

had been him alone in private. This was

is okay, Rosenoff said in a low,

soothing rumble. We will go slow. Yes.

Thank you, Shane mumbled. The other

thing about the private dildo sessions

was that Shane had been kind of bad at

it. At least he had been pretty sure he

had been doing something wrong. It

hadn't felt bad necessarily,

but it hadn't been mind-blowing either.

Rosenoff dipped his head and took

Shane's [ __ ] into his mouth. Shane felt

himself relax, each stroke of Rosenoff's

tongue making him forget to be nervous.

He took slow, even breaths as Rosenoff

worked his finger in a little deeper.

And then, "Oh."

Shane arched and gasped. Holy [ __ ]

Rosenoff pulled his mouth out of him and

smirked. Good. Yes. He rubbed his

fingertip again over what had to be

Shane's prostate. Shane had kind of

nudged it himself before when he had

been alone, but Rosenoff seemed to know

exactly where it was and what to do with

it. Shane squeezed his eyes shut and bit

his lip. If he didn't, he was going to

do something embarrassing, like whimper.

The combination of Rosenoff's mouth on

his [ __ ] and his finger inside of him

was like nothing he had ever felt

before. And there was no way he was

going to last long enough for Rosenoff

to [ __ ] him if this continued.

"You got to [ __ ] Just wait a minute."

Shane rasped out. Rosenoff stopped

immediately. "Okay," he asked. "Yeah,

yeah, very okay. Too okay." Ah.

Rosenoff used the break time as an

opportunity to give his own erection a

few lazy strokes. Shane watched him and

noticed again how absurdly large

Rosenoff's dick looked. We do not have

to, Rosenoff said, noticing Shane's

face. I want to, Shane said quickly. Too

quickly. Rosenoff nodded and reached for

the lube and the condoms. He got himself

ready and then returned his attention to

Shane. Shane felt two fingers press

against his opening before they slipped

inside. There was less burning this

time. "Stroke yourself," Rosenoff

instructed. Shane nodded and obeyed.

Rosenoff let out a low noise that

sounded like a growl. "Turn over," he

said. Shane got on his hands and knees

because that's how this worked, right?

He was pretty sure. He had watched about

40 seconds of gay porn once before he'd

gotten embarrassed and closed his

laptop. Now he'd wished he had endured a

little longer, if only for research

purposes. He felt Rosenoff's hands grab

his thighs, and he was hauled back until

his knees were at the end of the bed.

Rosenoff put one foot on the mattress

next to Shane's knee and placed a hand

firmly on Shane's hip. And then Shane

could feel it. the much too large blunt

head of Rosenoff's [ __ ] bumping against

his hole. He clenched his eyes shut and

braced himself for pain. When Rosenoff

pressed in, it was slow and careful, but

Shane's whole body trempled anyway. The

pain was there, but not as sharp as

Shane had been expecting. The pressure

was the most overwhelming sensation.

He felt impossibly full and couldn't

imagine how Rosenoff was supposed to

move once he was all the way in. Shane

was struck with the sudden horrific

thought that Rosenoff would become stuck

inside him. Oh, Jesus. They would have

to call 911 or something. Shane forced

himself to take a breath and pushed

images of doctors trying to separate

them while all of Rosenoff's teammates

watched out of his mind.

Okay? Rosenoff asked again. He ran a

hand over Shane's back, slow and

soothing. "Yeah," Shane said. His voice

sounded strained. Rosenoff pulled out a

little, then pushed back in, even deeper

this time. "Fuck," Shane gasped. "Wow."

Encouraged, Rosenoff repeated the

motion, and again. Then Rosenoff

adjusted his hips a little and on the

next thrust hit Shane's prostate,

sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

God, yes. [ __ ] Keep doing that. I will.

Don't [ __ ] worry. Shane wasn't

feeling any pain now, and he wasn't

scared. He started to push back against

Rosenoff when he thrust into him, which

Rosenoff seemed to take as an invitation

to go harder. His thrust became faster,

causing the bed to shake and Shane's

arms to tremble as he struggled to hold

himself up. It was more than Shane had

thought he'd be able to take, but he

wanted it. He loved it. Rosenoff's

fingers were digging hard enough into

Shane's hips to leave marks. He was

hauling Shane back against him as he

pounded into him. Shane lifted a hand up

to his own mouth so he could bite his

knuckles to keep from screaming out.

This, he realized, was why people were

so wild about sex. He had never ever

felt like this with anyone before. And

of course, Ilia Rosenoff, all of 19

years old, [ __ ] with the confidence

and skill of like a sex god. Shane

Chance, taking his hand out of his mouth

so he could wrap it around his dick. He

wished he had put a towel down or

something. He was going to come all over

this hotel bedding. He knew he was going

to feel bad about that, but not enough

to do anything about it now. Yeah, come

on in there. Rosenoff growled. Rosenoff,

who did not care at all about the poor

hotel mates. [ __ ] Shane dreaded out,

and he came so hard that most of it shot

up and hit him in the chest. He was so

dazed by his own orgasm that he almost

didn't register when Rosenoff tensed and

stilled behind him. Rosenoff grunted and

came inside of Shane's body into a

condom. But still, Shane's body had made

that happen, and he couldn't quite wrap

his brain around that fact. Then, to

Shane's dismay, Rosenoff collapsed on

top of him, crushing Shane in the mess

all over his chest into the mostly clean

bedding. "Now the bed's all dirty,"

Shane complained before he could stop

himself. "What?" Rosenoff said sleepily.

Shut up. Shane closed his eyes and

enjoyed the weight of Rosenoff on top of

him. Eventually, Rosenoff rolled off and

went to the bathroom to clean up. Shane

shifted carefully to his back, already

feeling the pain that was going to make

it hard to sit down tomorrow. With

Rosenoff safely out of the room, Shane

grinned stupidly at the ceiling. He was

maybe happier than he should be that his

most successful sexual experience to

date was with Ilia Rosenoff. The smile

faded as he wondered how in hell he was

ever going to experience this again

because he couldn't keep letting

Rosenoff [ __ ] him obviously and he

wasn't sure how to safely find other men

to do it. Get the showers Hollander.

Rosenoff said as he left the bathroom. I

will get dressed and leave. Oh, Shane

said, "Of course he was going to leave."

What the [ __ ] had Shane been expecting?

He stood up. Yeah, okay. Well, Rosenoff

put one hand on Shane's shoulder in a

fairly condescending way. His lips were

twitched up in an irritating little

smile. "Was fun," he said. "Yeah. Um,

thanks, I guess." Rosenoff nodded, then

turned to pick up his scattered

clothing. Shane went to the bathroom,

closing the door behind him. When Shane

left the bathroom, freshly showered and

wearing a towel, Rosenoff was gone.

There was no trace of the man other than

the messed up bed sheets. Shane grimaced

at them, then pulled off the top sheet

and dropped it on the floor. He imagined

that hotel maids probably dealt with

worse [ __ ] than this all the time. He'd

leave a big tip.

He dropped the damp towel beside the

soiled bedding and got himself dressed.

He wasn't going to spend the night here.

He made sure he had removed everything

he had brought into the room, then

dropped a $50 bill on the dresser for

the maid and left to go back to his

apartment

alone.

Chapter 8. June 2011. Las Vegas.

It couldn't have been a closer race. It

was the night of the NHL Awards in Las

Vegas, and all anyone had been talking

about leading into it was who would win

the Rookie of the Year award. Both Shane

Hollander and Ilia Rosenoff had scored

over 50 goals. In fact, they had each

scored exactly 67 goals. Both men had

helped their teams reach the playoffs

for the first time in years, though both

had been eliminated in the first round.

The two men had been the most talked

about players in the league all season,

sparking fierce debate among fans and

the press about which of them was the

better player. Shane knew that it was

impossible to definitively answer that

question. But being named rookie of the

year would certainly feel good. Rosenoff

brought something out in him. Shane

wasn't the type of guy who needed to be

the best player on the team. He just

always was. And maybe that was it. Maybe

Shane had been a little bit bored before

Ilia Rosenoff came along. Rosenoff was a

lot of things, but he wasn't boring. He

frustrated Shane on the ice and

flustered him off the ice. Shane wanted

to cross-check him in the mouth and then

kiss it better. He wanted to forget

about him and he wanted to play every

game against him. He wanted He wanted to

win this [ __ ] Rookie of the Year

award. He wanted to rub it in Rosenoff's

face. He wanted to rub himself on

Rosenoff's face. The Canadian rock band

on stage finally finished their song and

a Beeless celebrity walked out on stage

holding an envelope. This was it.

Shane's mother put her hand on his arm.

She was as nervous as he was, maybe

more. Shane gave her a weak smile and

waited.

The reception afterward was as rockous

as anyone would expect a Vegas hotel

banquet hall packed with professional

hockey players to be. Most of the guys

were pretty drunk, but Shank couldn't

have gotten drunk even if he had been

legally old enough to order a drink in

Nevada because he was faced with an

unending parade of people slapping him

on the back and congratulating him

again. Some even tussled his hair. The

only person Shane hadn't seen that night

was Ilia Rosenoff.

Secretly, Shane had been searching for

him all night. Half the times he'd been

talking to someone he'd been looking

over their shoulder. He never caught

even a glimpse of golden brown curls,

which should have been easy to spot,

giving Rosenoff's height. He wondered if

Rosenoff had just gone back to his room.

The thought made Shane angry. What a

[ __ ] baby. If Rosenoff had won, Shane

would be here in this room, ready to

congratulate him. If Rosenoff wanted to

spend his first NHL award soaking in his

hotel room, that wasn't Shane's problem.

Or maybe he just wanted to stealthily

get drunk in his hotel room and then

come to the party. Rosenoff wasn't old

enough to order a drink here either.

"You seen Rose anywhere?" someone asked

him suddenly. Shane flinched. He felt

like his mind had been read.

No, he said way too quickly, and with

more blushing than was necessary, he

took a breath. Why would I know where

Rosenoff is? The guy, a forward for

Toronto, shrugged. "Thought you guys

might be at the kitty table together or

something." "No," Shane said. "I haven't

seen him at all." "Okay, well,

congratulations, kid." He squeezed

Shane's shoulder and walked past him. It

was hot in the room. Too many people.

Quite a few of the guys had removed

their jackets and ties. It was getting

harder to tolerate the atmosphere of the

place without the help of alcohol. Shane

scanned the room for his parents. He

spotted his father slumped in a chair

drinking what Shane was sure was a

sprite. Shane's mother seemed to be

talking a star goender's ear off. "I'm

just going to step out for some air,"

Shane told his father. "Just for a

minute. I'll be back." "Sure," Dad said.

He looked exhausted. I'm going to try to

convince your mother it's bedtime in a

minute anyway. Good luck, Shane smiled.

As soon as he left the room, Shane felt

the relief of the air conditioning that

flowed unencumbered through the mostly

empty hallway. He leaned against the

wall for a minute and exhaled. He

wondered what room Rosenoff was in.

"No," he thought. He's a [ __ ] baby

and he doesn't deserve anything.

Was Rosenoff really that upset, though?

He was normally so cool and collected.

If anything, Shane would have expected

him to show up at the party just to show

everyone how unbothered he was about

losing. He knew where Rosenoff couldn't

be right now. The casinos, the bars. He

could be in his room or someone else's

room or in his own room with someone

else. Shane frowned. He pulled his phone

from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket so

he could check the time. almost two in

the morning. Not that time meant

anything in Las Vegas. Shane had never

been to Las Vegas before. He had just

flown in the night before and hadn't

really done any sightseeing yet. He

probably wouldn't get a chance because

he was flying out tomorrow afternoon. He

had been told when he had checked in

that the hotel offered a spectacular

rooftop view of the city. Feeling

restless and not wanting to rejoin the

party, he decided he may as well check

it out. He took the elevator to the top.

There was a trio of loud, drunk girls in

the elevator with him. He pressed

himself into the back corner and fixed

his eyes on the glowing floor numbers as

the elevator ascended.

"Oh my god, is it your wedding day?" one

of the girls asked him suddenly. "Pardon

the tuxedo," she said. "Did you get

married today?" "Oh, no. He doesn't have

a ring." One of her friends hissed. They

all erupted into giggles. Shane turned

his eyes back to the numbers above the

doors. They weren't moving fast enough.

"Are you going to Stratspear?"

the first girl asked. "To where?"

"Tratosphere,"

she said again more slowly. "Um,

Stratosphere," one of her friends

explained. "The bar on the roof."

"There's a bar on the roof." They all

laughed again. "You are so cute." the

friend said. They nodded and giggled

some more. Come to the bar with us. I

can't. Sorry. Jesus, this was a long

elevator ride. By the time they finally

reached the top, the girls had forgotten

about him. They stumbled out of the

elevator and turned right, presumably in

the direction of the rooftop bar. Shane

turned left. There was a lot of noise

coming from the bar, pulsing music and

loud, drunken voices. On the other side

of the roof, there was a quiet corner

that looked out over the city. It was a

place that Shane guessed was normally

used for weddings. It was empty now,

almost empty. Shane didn't see him at

first, all black in his tuxedo with his

head bent down over the railing.

Rosenoff blended right into the

darkness. Then he raised his head and

let out a white cloud of smoke. It's not

worth jumping over, Shane said, moving

to stand just behind him. Rosenoff

turned. He didn't even seem surprised to

see Shane. He took another long drag of

his cigarette and said in a tight voice.

Is the party over then? "No, I just

needed some air." Rosenoff exhaled. The

smoke swirled around his face and then

floated up into the desert sky. Such an

exciting night for you. I guess.

Rosenoff rolled his eyes. I guess it

could have gone to either one of us. It

went to you. Yeah, well, you know, who

knows how they decide these things.

Shane wasn't sure why he was even saying

this stuff. He didn't need to apologize

for anything. He'd earned that [ __ ]

trophy.

So, you're just soaking up here all

night then? It bothers you that much

that I want. Rosenoff took another drag

and turned back to the view. He said

something that Shane couldn't hear.

What was that? Shane asked, moving to

stand beside him against the rail. Note,

everything is about you, Hollander.

He didn't look at Shane at all when he

said it. His voice hadn't been angry. He

just sounded tired and sad. Shane

studied his profile. His own anger left

him, and he found himself caring about

Ilia Rosenoff, which was an odd

sensation.

"So, what is it then?" Rosenoff dropped

the butt of his cigarette on the ground

and stamped it out. He laughed a little

without any humor at all. "What do you

want, aller?" "Nothing. I just wanted

some air to see the view." "Well,"

Rosenoff said, sweeping a hand through

the air in front of him. Here is view.

Shane's eyes turned toward the blanket

of city lights that sprawled beneath

them, but they quickly found their way

back to Rosenoff's face. He saw the

clinch in Rosenoff's jaw and the

hardness of his eyes. I go back to Rasha

in 3 days. Oh. They were both silent for

a long time. Shane wasn't sure if

Rosenoff had more to tell him or not. He

decided not to push. It wasn't like they

were friends. I should get back, Shane

said after several minutes of gazing

down at the city. My parents might still

be at the party. Your parents? Rosenoff

said, "Right,

I guess. I guess I'll see you next

season." Shane stuck out his hand.

Rosenoff looked at it. Then he turned

his head left and right, looking all

around them. A split second later, Shane

found himself pushed back from the

railing against a wall. Rosenoff's mouth

was pressed hard against his and his

hands gripped his arms roughly, fingers

digging into his biceps.

Shane felt panicked. This was super

[ __ ] dangerous and stupid and

confusing. And Shane kissed him back

just as angrily because [ __ ] this guy

for doing [ __ ] like this. Hiding away

all night on a [ __ ] rooftop, smoking

a goddamn cigarette in the dark like the

worst cliche of a brooding heartthrob.

making Shane feel bad for winning an

award that he completely [ __ ]

deserved. And then on a whim, pressing

Shane against a wall and kissing him

like he would die without Shane's mouth

on his. Kissing him until Shane's senses

were full of hard muscle pressed against

him and the taste of cigarette and the

slick heat of Rosenoff's tongue in his

mouth. What the [ __ ] Shane grabbed

Rosenoff's lapels and shoved him back.

They couldn't do this here at all. Shane

looked frantically around him. There was

no one. But Jesus, there could have

been. Rosenoff leaned in to kiss Shane

again, and Shane dodged him. "No," he

said. "No way. Not here. What's wrong

with you?" Rosenoff gave him that

crooked grin that did absurd things to

Shane's stomach. "We can't," Shane said.

He meant it, but it hurt to say. I have

to go. You should go to bed, Rosenoff.

The smile disappeared. See you next

season, Rosenoff said. Then he turned

and walked toward the elevators. Shane

waited a few minutes so they wouldn't

have to ride down together.

Next season. Next season would be

different. He was going to end this

stupid thing between them and focus on

his game.

Part two. Chapter 9. December 2013.

36,000 ft over Pennsylvania.

Tap tap tap tap. Ilia could hear Ryan

Price's foot drumming against the floor.

Even with an empty seat between them,

even though Ilia was wearing headphones

and watching a very loud, Fast and

Furious movie, Ilia glanced over.

Price's knee was bouncing, jostling the

paperback novel. He was balancing open

and upside down on his thigh. Price was

gripping both armrests and his eyes were

closed. He looked bad and he was

definitely going to drop that book on

the floor and then he would lose his

place. Ila sighed, hit pause on the

movie and removed his headphones. He

didn't know Price very well. No one did.

He had only joined the team at the start

of this season. He was a gigantic

defenseman, but his real position on the

ice was enforcer.

His job was to make sure no one

interfered with the more talented

players. Ilia could take care of

himself, but playing with guys like

Price meant he didn't have to. Ilia

talked [ __ ] on the ice, got under other

guys skin, and then Ryan Price had to

take their punches. Pretty sweet deal

for Ilia.

Price, he said, your book. No response.

Price," Ilia said again. Still nothing.

So Ilia reached out and poked his arm.

"You okay?"

Price's eyes flew open and he jumped a

little, causing his book to tumble to

the floor. Ilia watched it fall in

dismay. He had failed. "Sorry," Price

said. "Was I tapping my foot?" "Yes,

sorry," Price said again. "Just um

nervous flyer sometimes." Ah. Yoya bent

and retrieved the book. He glanced at

the cover before handing it back. Ann of

Green Gables.

Wasn't that a children's book for girls

or something? You lost your place. Price

gave a thin smile. It's okay. I've read

it before. It's kind of just I bring it

on planes as kind of a comfort thing.

Ilia could not figure this guy out. He

was even taller than Ilia and much

bulkier with shoulderlength red hair and

a beard that made him look like a biker

gang member. He could knock a guy out

with one punch. Some of the toughest

opponents in the league were scared to

face Price in a fight.

Is it the red hair? Ila asked. He didn't

understand Price, but he could at least

try to help him calm down. Ann of Green

Gables.

Price stared at him like he had no idea

what he was talking about. out and then

he laughed. It was quiet and uneasy, but

it was still a laugh. Yeah, maybe.

This was Ilia was pretty sure Price's

fourth NHL season, but he had played for

three different teams already. He was

quiet in the dressing room, scary on the

ice, and clearly a nervous wreck on

planes. So, Ilia imagined he didn't make

friends easy. "Are you like this every

flight?" Ilia asked. He couldn't imagine

what that would be like. Price was

definitely in the wrong line of work if

he hated flying. Price shook his head.

Not every flight. I mean, yes, I'm

always nervous, but not always this bad.

His cheeks flushed as if he hadn't meant

to even admit that he was more terrified

than usual. They were in route to

Montreal from Raleigh, North Carolina,

which wasn't a particularly long flight,

but it had been a turbulent takeoff.

Maybe that had been the difference. Ilia

didn't really want to talk about it, and

he figured Price didn't want to either,

so he gestured toward his iPad. Fast

five. Have you seen it? Yeah, I think

so. Is that the one with the bank safe

chase scene? Yes, he's the best one.

Ilia flipped down the table for the

unoccupied seat between them and moved

his iPad onto it. He only had the one

set of headphones, but he always had

subtitles on. It helped to improve his

English. He handed Price the headphones,

figuring he could use a fully immersive

distraction.

Oh. Oh. Price ran a hand through his

bushy hair. It's okay. I will tell you

if pilot says we are crashing. The joke

was a risk, but it paid off. Price

snorted and took the headphones. Thanks.

They watched the movie. Price listening

and Ilia reading, and Price's leg

remained still for the rest of the

flight. He even asked the flight

attendant for a coke, which had to be a

good sign.

When Ilia got tired of reading movie

dialogue, he stared out the window into

blackness. He had, in truth, been trying

to distract himself with the movie

because heading to Montreal always put

him on edge. It wasn't nerves. It was

something else. Anticipation, maybe. He

didn't want to say excitement. They

would play tomorrow night, their second

game of the season. Montreal had been in

Boston for their season opener in

October. Boston had won in overtime, and

Hollander had been in a terrible mood

when he'd shown up at the room Ilia had

booked in the hotel down the street from

where Montreal was staying. Ilia liked

it when Hollander was angry. He liked it

when Hollander took out his frustrations

on Ilia's body. He liked him cursing him

as he [ __ ] Ilia's mouth. These were

the kind of thoughts that Ilia had been

trying to distract himself from with the

Fast and the Furious movie because

thinking about this [ __ ] up thing with

Hollander made him feel pretty disgusted

with himself. It also made him

uncomfortably aroused which only made

him feel more disgusted with himself.

Yeah, super [ __ ] healthy.

Ross, you awake? Ilia glanced up to see

Cliff Marlo's face peeking over the seat

in front of him. Cliff was a year

younger than him, a bit of an idiot, and

probably Ilia's best friend. Null. Ilia

dead panned. I've been talking to this

chick in Montreal. We've been sending

each other messages on Instagram for a

couple of weeks. She's hot as [ __ ]

Check it out. He thrust his phone into

Ilia's face. There was indeed a hot

woman on the screen. Good job, Ilia

said.

So, she wants to meet up after the game

tomorrow night. She's hot for hockey

players and she said she could bring her

friend. You want in?

Oh, no thanks. I will be busy [ __ ]

Shane Hollander in a hotel room. We have

a curfew tomorrow night. Early flight

the next morning. Yes. Ilia reminded

him. Yeah, I know. But Cliff looked

wisfully at his phone. I got to see her.

Maybe I can just No. You know what,

Ilia? I'm going to be completely honest

here. I'm probably going to break

curfew. It's not like I'll miss the bus

to the airport. Ilia rolled his eyes. I

am assistant captain [ __ ] Do not

tell me about your plan to break curfew.

I thought that A was for [ __ ] Funny.

So, no to going out with me tomorrow

night. No, but have fun. I remember when

you used to be fun, Ros. I am [ __ ]

fun. W to have a solid hour of fun

before I'm back in time for curfew.

Cliff nodded at Price, who was watching

the movie intently and didn't seem to

notice him at all. Cliff's face was a

question mark, and Ilia had no idea what

the question was. So, Cliff, being an

[ __ ] held a hand to the side of his

face to block it from Price's view and

mouthed, "Weird guy, right?" Ilia

shrugged. Maybe Ryan Price was weird. Or

maybe he just wasn't exactly what people

were expecting him to be. Ilia was

certainly in no position to fault

someone for that.

The following evening, Montreal.

I'm telling you right now, JJ said, "If

[ __ ] Rosenoff starts [ __ ] with you

tonight, I'm taking him out." Shane

pulled his shoulder pads over his head

and began securing them in place. If you

go for Rosenoff, Ryan Price is going to

go after you. [ __ ] Price. I'll send that

dumb [ __ ] crying back to

wherever the [ __ ] he's from. Nova

Scotia, I think. I'm just saying. JJ

pointed his shuguard at Shane for

emphasis. Rosenoff gives you trouble.

I'm ending him. Price or no price?

Shane politely ignored the fear that JJ

was trying not to show. JJ was one of

the biggest players in the league and

could handle himself in a fight. But

Ryan Price was a [ __ ] terror. Price

was just one of the things that made

these games against Boston extra tense.

Montreal was a city that buzzed with

excitement about their hockey team all

winter. You could feel the electricity

in the air every home game day. And

whenever Boston was in town, Shane felt

like the city was pulled as tight as he

was. Every cell in his body sparked with

the need to get on the ice and face

Rosenoff. And when the games were over,

he pulsed with a different kind of need.

A loud bark of laughter interrupted

Shane's thoughts. Hayden thrust his

phone in his face. "Hey, look at what

the fans are doing outside." It was a

video posted to Twitter of a group of

people outside the arena burning what

appeared to be an effigy of Ilia

Rosenoff. "Well, that's a bit much,"

Shane said. JJ grabbed the phone. Ha,

this is happening now. A few minutes

ago, Hayden said, "Beautiful. Love it."

Hayden took his phone back and studied

the screen. "They didn't make the dummy

ugly enough." "Sure, Hayden. They

probably burned effiges of me in

Boston," Shane said. "Oh, yeah, they

totally have. Here, let me go to

YouTube." "Yeah, no, I actually am

trying to focus on winning a hockey game

right now." No YouTube, please. The

team's PR manager, Marcel, came into the

dressing room and Shane side. Shane,

Marcel said, NBC wants to talk to you.

You good? Sure. I'll be out in a sec.

The broadcasters always wanted to talk

to Shane before the games, especially

before games against Boston. He tried to

think of a new and exciting way of

answering the question, "What does

Montreal have to do to win tonight?" as

he made his way to the hallway outside

the dressing room.

Last question, Shane. What does Montreal

have to do to win tonight? Shane put on

his best thinking face to give the

impression that he certainly hadn't

expected this question. Get the puck to

the net, take shots, stay out of the

penalty box, score more goals than the

other team before the game ends. We're

in good shape tonight. Everyone is

healthy. So, I think we're definitely

going to make it tough for Boston. Thank

you, Shane, and good luck tonight.

Thanks, Chris. Shane tried not to

begrudge these interviews. Whenever he

had to do one, which was often, he would

think of the kids who were watching. He

used to love seeing his favorite stars

interviewed on television before and

after the games. Back in the dressing

room, he picked up his phone to send a

quick text to his parents. He messaged

them before every game. He saw that he

had a message waiting for him, and it

wasn't from his parents.

Lily, how many times can you come in 1

hour? What the [ __ ] This was dirty

[ __ ] pool. Even for Rosenoff, they

didn't text each other before the games,

especially not about [ __ ] like that. He

definitely wasn't going to write back,

and he definitely wasn't getting hard in

his jockstrap.

[ __ ] He was hard. And now he was riding

back. Ilia nearly choked when he saw

Hollander's reply.

Jane, I don't know, twice, maybe. So

[ __ ] pure, so honest and sweet. Ilia,

you are very bad at sexing. Jane, who

taught you that word? Ilia, your mom.

Okay, that was pretty stupid. But

Hollander loved his mom, and that

probably would bother him. Jane, stop.

I'll text you after the game. A few

seconds went by. Jane, if you're lucky.

Ilia snorted. Hollander was probably so

proud of himself for that dig. Lily, are

you hard right now? No answer. Ah, well,

Illion knew he was crossing a line with

these texts, but it was just so damn fun

to tease Hollander. He could just

picture him now in the Montreal dressing

room, blushing as he shoved his phone

into a bag or something so no one would

see it. He hoped Hollander was still mad

about it later when they met in a hotel

room.

Ilia frowned at the abandonedl looking

three-story building the cab driver had

delivered him to. He checked the address

again and confirmed that it was the same

as what Hollander had texted him. The

[ __ ] Hollander's only instruction had

been for Ilia to go around the back of

the building, text him, and wait at the

door. So Ilia did that trying not to

think about being murdered in a dark

empty lot behind a creepy building. If

he believed Hollander had a diabolical

bone in his body, Ilia would suspect he

was about to be pranked. The back door

opened a minute after Ilia sent the text

and all it revealed was Hollander, who

glanced nervously around as if he was

expecting a SWAT team to descend on

them. "Get in here," he said. Ilia

stepped past him into a dimly lit

stairwell and Hollander locked the door

behind them. "What is this place?" Ilia

asked. Instead of answering, Hollander

pushed him harder with both hands. "Fuck

you for texting me before the game, you

asshole." Ilia grinned. "You water hard,

weren't you? For how long? The whole

game?" Hollander glared at him, then

said, "Follow me." He led them up way

too many stairs to the top floor and

then used a key to unlock another door.

It opened to reveal a large loft

apartment, only partially finished from

the looks of it. The walls looked like

they had been freshly plastered and

hadn't been painted yet. There was a

ladder leaning against one wall and an

open box of tools beside it. The kitchen

area had a brand new countertop and

cupboards, but no appliances. Is this

your place? Ilia had never been to

Hollander's home. It had always been

hotel rooms before. The idea excited

him. No, I mean, I don't live here, but

yes, I own it. You will move here? No,

it's just an investment or whatever, and

I thought it could be a safe place to

meet. Hollander was damn cute when he

was embarrassed. Did you buy a building

so you would have some water to [ __ ]

Hollander?

Ilia assumed he was trying to look

stern, but the flesh of his cheeks was

ruining the effect. No, it's an

investment. I'm having it renovated and

then I'll sell the condos. And I already

have a tenant lined up for the

commercial space on the main floor. Wow,

businessman.

Hollander folded his arms. It did not

make him look any more intimidating.

Enough questions. We're not here to

talk. Yes, waiter. Do you want me on

that ladder? on the pile of wood over

there. In here, idiot. Hollander crossed

the room and opened yet another door.

This one led to a fully finished

bedroom. Like a really nice one. I um I

kind of made the bedroom the priority

and the bathroom so we could But Ilia

didn't let Hollander finish his

sentence. He gripped Hollander's arm and

pushed him back against the closet wall

and kissed him. Hollander had bought

them a [ __ ] building. Ilia had been

sure all summer that this would be the

year Hollander would call it off, but he

had thought the same thing last summer,

too, after their rookie seasons had

ended, with Hollander shoving Ilia away

after they'd kissed on a Las Vegas

rooftop.

But when their teams had met for the

first time that second season, Ilia had

texted him a hotel room number and

Hollander showed up 20 minutes later.

You were smoking. Hollander complained

now as he broke away from their kiss.

Only one. You aren't supposed to be

smoking. You aren't supposed to be

talking. Ilia pushed Hollander's chest

and knocked him flat onto his back on

the bed. Ilia took a moment to gaze down

at him at his flesh cheeks and must hair

and at the strip of exposed skin where

his t-shirt had written up. Then Ilia

pounced. They kissed in their usual

combative style for a while. Hollander

rolling them to pin Ilia down and attack

his mouth before Ilia would flip them

and regain control. Shirts came off,

then pants, then socks and underwear. An

hour, Ilia murmured. He was on top now,

biting and licking his way along

Hollander's collarbone. Then I have to

go. Then hurry the [ __ ] up. Ilia smiled

against Hollander's skin. He was such a

little brat. Ilia raised himself up and

straddled Shane's waist, making sure to

squeeze just a little too hard with his

thighs. He took his own dick in his hand

and stroked it slowly, thoughtfully.

"You want this, Hollander?" And oh, God,

Ilia could see the war going on in

Hollander's head. He could see how much

he wanted to tell Ilia to [ __ ] off and

die. But more than that, he could see

the way Hollander's tongue poked out to

moisten his lower lip.

Starving for it. Yes, Hollander. Ilia

slid forward, positioning his body

closer to Hollander's face to his mouth.

Hollander's chest was heaving beneath

him, and he glared up at Ilia with dark,

intense eyes. "He's okay," Ilia said

soothingly. He tapped the head of his

[ __ ] against Hollander's lips. "You can

take it. I hate you. Yes, I know. Show

me. [ __ ] Hollander whispered seemingly

to himself. Then he parted his lips and

licked the moisture off Ilia's slit.

Ilia's hand shot out and gripped the

headboard. It seemed like a nice

headboard, sturdy. He expected he'd find

out exactly how sturdy soon enough.

Hollander teased the head of Ilia's dick

for a maddeningly long time, but damn,

what a show. Ilia watched Hollander's

eyes flutter closed as he sucked the

head into his mouth. His tongue rolled

around it, flicking the underside of

Ilia's dick and then dipping into the

slit. It was so [ __ ] good and not

nearly enough. Hollander growled,

seemingly as frustrated with the angle

as Ilia was, and pushed him down to the

mattress before taking Ilia's [ __ ] into

his mouth again. This time, Hollander

made a meal of Ilia's dick, his head

bobbing in a quick rhythm that Ilia was

not going to be able to endure for very

long. Not if he also wanted to [ __ ]

Hollander in their allotted hour of

time. But Hollander wasn't letting up.

He tugged at Ilia's balls with just the

right amount of pressure, and Ilia could

feel Hollander's erection sliding along

his thigh. All in, he warned. He was

flying way too high, too fast.

Hollander moaned. Or maybe he tried to

form a word around Ilia's dick. But all

it did was cause vibrations that Ilia

really didn't need right now. [ __ ]

[ __ ] You have to stop. If you want me

to [ __ ] you. Hollander ripped his mouth

away from Ilia's [ __ ] but then he went

very still. [ __ ] Oh god. [ __ ] Ilia

felt wetness splashing against his

thigh. Hollander's body jerked a couple

of times and then he buried his face in

Ilia's shoulder. [ __ ] All her. I'm

sorry, he groaned. I can't believe I

just You didn't even touch me. And Ilia

just laughed because it was [ __ ]

funny. Don't [ __ ] laugh at me. Been a

while. Ilia teased. Hollander kept his

forehead planted on Ilia's shoulder,

hiding his face completely. Shut up. But

Ilia laughed harder. He laughed until

Hollander joined in. And then they were

both holding each other and laughing

until they were wiping tears from their

eyes. You could win the fastest shot

competition.

Hollander punched him lightly in the

chest. Ilia rolled to his side, dumping

Hollander on the mattress beside him.

Is too bad. I wanted to [ __ ] you. Do you

still want? I don't think I can. I think

I'm too [ __ ] embarrassed to get it up

again. Is that a challenge? No. But can

I finish what I was doing? Ilia flopped

onto his back again and folded his arms

behind his head. Go for it. And

Hollander did, but this time he was far

less frantic and took his time. Ilia

enjoyed every second of it. Ilia would

be lying if he said Hollander had the

most talented mouth that had ever been

wrapped around his dick. But he was so

eager to please, so determined to be

good at this. For Ilia, there was

something very sweet about the way

Hollander was sucking him off right now,

like he wasn't trying just to get it

over with, even though Hollander had

already had his own orgasm. He seemed to

legitimately enjoy making Ilia feel

good. Ilia always did feel good with

Hollander. He didn't want to say it was

better than it was with anyone else, but

it was different. And not only because

Hollander was a man. Ilia hadn't been

with a man who wasn't Hollander in huh,

over a year, almost two maybe. But that

wasn't it. Hollander glanced up at him

and Ilia smiled and stroked his hair.

The clock was ticking and Ilia really

did need to leave. So he gently held

Hollander's head and guided him. So he

hit the rhythm Ilia needed. And there.

Yes. Oh [ __ ] That's good, Hollander.

Just like that. Make me calm. Hollander

moaned and dug his fingers into Ilia's

thighs, keeping the pace with his mouth

that Ilia had set. The familiar,

exhilarating pressure of impending

release gripped Ilia's body. The high

that he couldn't stop chasing, and he

squeezed his eyes shut. I'm going too

calm. Oh, [ __ ] Hollander.

Hollander pulled off, replacing his

mouth with his hand. I want to see it.

Seconds later, Ilia erupted. He cried

out much louder than usual as a white

hot orgasm rocketed through his body.

Holy [ __ ] Hollander. Ilia gasped when

he was able to speak again. I'm dead.

You killed me. Hollander was sitting up

now and staring at the mess on Ilia's

stomach. That was really hot. Yes. I'm

glad we were in an empty building where

no one could hear you. And then Ilia

felt the rare and unwelcome sensation of

his cheeks heating and embarrassment. He

didn't usually yell like that when he

was coming. He didn't want to think

about it, so he said, "I have to go."

"All right." 15 minutes later, they were

waiting at the bottom of the stairs for

Ilia's taxi to arrive. "It's a nice

building," Ilia said because he hated

the silence. "You don't want to live

here?" "No, but renovations might take a

while, so I'll probably be able to use

it for this for a bit." More silence and

then Hollander said, "You must be

excited for the Olympics in Russia."

"Yes," Ilia was excited, but thinking

about the expectations of his home

country, of his father, made his stomach

hurt and made him want a cigarette.

"Been dreaming of the Olympics my whole

life," Hollander said. "I can't wait for

what? A bronze medal?" "Fuck you." Ilia

laughed. Hey, remember when you shot

your load for like no reason at all?

Hollander rolled his eyes, but Ilia

could tell he was trying not to laugh.

Oh my god. Go to hell. Amazing trick.

Your cab must be out there, right? Ilia

put his hand on the door, but before he

pushed it open, he leaned down and

kissed Hollander quickly on the mouth.

Good night, Hollander. Good night. Ilia

was grinning like an idiot for the

entire cab ride back to his hotel.

Chapter 10. February 2014.

Sochi, Russia.

Shane Hollander.

She nearly jumped at the sound of his

name being bellowed behind him. He spun

around and spotted two familiar faces

approaching him. Carter Vaughn yelling

and Scott Hunter not yelling. Scott was

the captain of team USA's men's hockey

team and Carter was his teammate both

here and in New York where they played

for the Admirals. Shane had been walking

alone on the beach in Sochi. He had the

rest of the day and night off and had

been at a bit of a loss of what to do.

His parents had considered traveling to

Russia, but had ultimately decided

against it. For one thing, the travel

arrangements and accommodations were a

nightmare. Shen had convinced them that

it really wasn't worth the hassle and

pointed out that they'd watched him

compete in international tournaments

since he was a teenager. And maybe he

was being overly cautious, but there had

been a lot of articles leading up to

these games about possible security

concerns, and he wanted to keep his

parents safe. Shane had had no idea what

to expect before he'd arrived in Sochi.

He'd [snorts] never been to Russia

before, and he wasn't sure this

over-the-top spectacle was the best

representation of Rosenoff's homeland.

He found himself wondering often about

the pressure Rosenoff was feeling. Being

in the Olympics at all was thrilling and

stressful enough for Shane without it

being in his country. "What's up, guys?"

he said as Carter and Scott caught up

with him. "Did you know there was going

to be a beach here? What the [ __ ] is

this place, right?" Carter laughed. "No,

there are [ __ ] palm trees here. I

thought Russia in the winter would be

like cold." "Congrats on your win last

night," Scott said. Scott was a super

nice guy. Carter was nice, too. But

Scott was like an angel who was really

good at playing hockey. He looked like

an angel. Blonde hair and blue eyes and

built like a Navy Seal who was also a

model and maybe also a firefighter.

Thanks. It was a pretty easy win, but

I'll take it. These early games are all

easy. Who are we playing next? Scotty

Fiji. Scott frowned at him. Denmark. And

I don't want anyone being cocky about

it. Yes, sir. Carter teased. Carter

looked nothing like Scott with his dark

skin and brown eyes, but he was just as

attractive. The difference was that

Carter knew he was attractive. He was

the kind of guy who took over a room,

but in a good way. Everyone liked him.

[clears throat] "How are you finding the

accommodations?" Shane asked. "Are you

kidding?" Carter asked. "I'm sleeping on

a cot. It's a twin bed." Scott corrected

him. "Whatever. A [ __ ] twin bed

wedged between two other twin beds. One

of them has this [ __ ] oaf snoring

away on it. I don't snore." and the

other is Sully. Eric Sullivan and I

don't even know that kid, but he's even

bigger than Scott. I would like to find

the Sochi Four Seasons. Shane laughed.

I'm rooming with JJ and your teammate

Greg Huff. Well, Huff doesn't take up

much space, Carter said. But JJ is a

giant. He's not a fan of the beds

either. What are your plans for tonight?

Scott asked. I thought I'd watch some of

the speed skating. Scott's face lit up.

Yeah, that would be cool. I saw the

men's figure skating short program is

tonight, too. Oh, right. That's probably

going to be packed. Those [ __ ] guys

are brave to be here, you know. Brave?

Scott [snorts] asked. Carter lowered his

voice and glanced around the beach.

Yeah, like because of the gay thing,

right? Some of these guys are risking

their lives for real here. Brave as

hell.

Right, Scott said. He turned his gaze to

the ocean. Shane knew about Russia's

laws against homosexuality,

but he'd been trying not to think too

much about stuff like that. He just

wanted to enjoy the Olympics, win the

gold medal, and go home. But now he was

thinking about Dev, a guy he trained

with a bit from Ottawa who was on the

men's speed skating team and who Shane

knew was gay. He was here. Was he

terrified? He must be. They should have

beach volleyball at these games, Carter

said cheerfully. Women's beach

volleyball. That's exactly what the

Winter Olympics needs, right? Shane

nodded, but he was still thinking about

Dev and about Rosenoff. Rosenoff could

take care of himself. This was his home

turf. He would know how to keep safe.

You still with us, Hollander? Shane

blinked and looked at Carter and Scott.

Sorry, what did you say? We were going

to check out the McDonald's in the

athletes village. Thought it might be

fun. Want to join us? Um, I think I'm

going to

text Rosenoff.

Try to lay eyes on him. Make sure he's

not been arrested for blowing a ski

jumper or something. Relax a bit in my

room. Still jetlagged. You know, you can

relax in that room. Carter laughed. Good

luck then. You have my number. Yeah, I

have it. I'll see you guys later. Shane

tried not to walk too quickly as he

left, but he was suddenly desperate to

make contact with Rosenoff. The only

problem was he had no idea where to find

him. He sent a text. Having a good time

there. That was cool and casual. Just a

friendly, "Hey, we're both at the

Olympics. Fun, right?" Also, are you in

jail?

He waited all night for a reply, but

none came.

The Olympics were [ __ ] Ilia had

been on edge all week. It had been days

of smiling for the Russian media and

mingling with government officials who

made it skin crawl. Men and women who

supported their country's leader without

question, and who expected Ilia to do

the same. Ilia hadn't had any time to

enjoy himself. He'd barely had time to

focus on his game, and it showed. The

Russian men's hockey team was a mess.

These sorts of international tournaments

were always awkward with players being

tossed together to form a dream team of

superstars who had no idea how to play

with each other. But this team was

especially hopeless. Too many egos, too

much pressure here in their home

country, making tempers run high in the

dressing room and on the ice. Too many

stupid penalties being taken, too few

goals being scored. They were already

out of the running for a medal, and that

was beyond humiliating. Ilia just wanted

it all to be over so he could go home.

Winned started thinking of Boston as

home.

Tonight, Ilia's attendance was

requested, required at a ridiculous

gayla, which was just a chance for the

government to show off to foreign

dignitaries.

It was exactly the sort of event he

couldn't stand. And making it worse was

the fact that his father would be there.

His father, who had only spoken to him

this week to let him know how badly he

had let Russia down, would be parading

his famous son around the ballroom as if

he was proud of him. But first, Ilia was

expected to go to his father's hotel

room. He wished he was strong enough to

refuse. He wasn't. So, we knocked on the

hotel room door 5 minutes before 6:00

because anything past 5 minutes early

was late in his father's eyes. The door

opened and there was Gregori Rosenoff in

all his intimidating glory. He was

wearing his full dress police uniform

and Ilia could see his stern frown even

through the gray beard that covered his

face. He was almost 50 years older than

Ilia. He stepped aside to let Ilia into

the room. He waited for Ilia to remove

his wool overcoat and then the

inspection began. His father's eyes rad

over him while Ilia stood there like a

trembling child who was awaiting

punishment. There was nothing nothing

wrong with Ilia's tuxedo. It was classic

black, perfectly tailored, and his bow

tie was impeccable. He had even given

himself the closest shave he'd had in

years. But his father would find

something.

Do you need a haircut?

Was what Gregori finally settled on.

Ilia had let his hair grow out this past

season, but he'd sllicked it back

tonight. Yes, sir. His father frowned at

his hair for another minute, as if he

could scare it back into Ilia's scalp

before he crossed the room to the bar.

He poured vodka into two tumblers and

handed one to his son. The minister

wants to meet you tonight. The Minister

of Internal Affairs was who he meant.

his boss. I will be honored, Ilia lied.

He wanted to toss back the vodka and

pour himself four or five more. You

should be honored that he would want to

meet you after last night.

Ilia bit down on the inside of his

cheek. To lose to Latvia, his father

continued. How could you have allowed

that to happen? How are you not ashamed?

I am ashamed, father. His father waved a

hand. Not nearly enough. They don't

teach you discipline in the American

League. You are sloppy now. It's a shame

because you had such promise when you

were young. I am only 21. I am one of

the best hockey players in the world. I

am a better player now than I have ever

been. The team just hasn't been working

well together.

Wrong thing to say. You are the captain,

are you not? Whose fault is it if the

team isn't working together?

the coach. Instead of saying anything,

Ila looked at the floor and waited for

his father to change the subject.

Gregori stepped closer, setting his

vodka on a table, and began to

needlessly adjust Ilia's bow tie.

Who died this for you? Your mother? She

doesn't know how to do this properly.

Ilia froze. His breath caught in his

throat and he swallowed hard before

saying as evenly as possible. No father

Mus did remember.

And then Gregori froze and Oilya could

see the confusion in his eyes before he

blinked and shook his head. Yes, of

course I know that. I was thinking of

your stepmother.

And where is Pina tonight? Ilia asked,

ignoring his father's obvious lie. Home?

No further explanation.

Fine. Ilia didn't care anyway. His

father released Ilia's bow tie and

smoothed a hand over his lapels. We

should go, Ilia said. Gregori's brow

furrowed. Yes, to the gayla, Ilia

supplied. For the Olympics, you're going

to introduce me to the minister.

Gregori's head snapped up, eyes blazing.

I know that. He turned away from his son

and threw open the closet door. He

pulled his overcoat off the hanger and

put it on. Ilia didn't like his father,

but he hated watching him deteriorate.

He wondered if it would be easier when

Gregori's brain was fully gone, and he

no longer had to suffer the

embarrassment of drifting in and out of

himself with me, Ilia, and behave

tonight, trying to make up for the shame

you have already brought your country.

He made it hard to feel sorry for him.

Of course, I will. As I followed his

father down the hallway to the

elevators, he felt his phone buzz on his

pocket. He quickly glanced at the

screen. Jane having a good time. He

really did not need Shane's stupid

Hollander to be trying to make contact.

Not here. Not now. He ignored the

message and stuffed his phone back into

his pocket.

Shane saw Rosenoff standing at the top

of the lower bowl of seating during the

Sweden versus Finland game. He was alone

wearing a long black wool coat instead

of his team jacket. His collar was

turned up. His hands were in his

pockets. Shane was wearing his team

Canada jacket and knit hat. At the next

break in play, he left his seat and

walked around the perimeter of the

seating until he was standing next to

Rosenoff. "Hey," Shane said. Rosenoff

looked at him and shook his head. "Not

here," he said tightly. "No, I'm not. I

just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Fine, go. Sit down." Shane frowned.

Rosenoff looked exhausted. He had dark

rings under his eyes, and his face was

very pale. But the most noticeable and

alarming change was in his eyes. The

playful spark that always made

Rosenoff's hazel eyes dance was just

gone, extinguished.

I We are not anything. Not here,

Hollander.

Rosenoff's eyes darted around them as if

searching for threats. It was the first

time that Shane had ever seen Rosenoff

look uncomfortable. "Are you okay?"

Shane asked. He spoke as quietly as he

could over the noise of the arena.

Please go. You didn't answer my text and

I thought suddenly all the way Shane

might finish that sentence seems stupid.

I thought you were in danger. I thought

you were in jail. I thought you were

sad.

No, I didn't answer your boring text.

Now, will you go? Rosenoff was being an

[ __ ] which was nothing new, but he

didn't seem to mean it. In fact, Shane

would bet that Rosenoff would actually

really like him to stay. He looked like

he could use a hug. But obviously, Shane

wasn't going to hug him here, so he just

nodded and walked away. He didn't really

have time to think about Rosenoff

anyway. Canada was going to be playing

in the gold medal game the following

evening against either America or if

Finland lost this game, Sweden.

Rosenoff and his team was done, and

Shane knew that had to feel awful. Team

Russia had just been terrible. It wasn't

Rosenoff's fault, but Shane knew he

would be beating himself up about it.

Hell, Shane would be beating himself up

if it were his team. By the time Shane

returned to his seat, Rosenoff was gone.

Chapter 11. June 2014.

Las Vegas.

At the end of the season, the league

asked Rosenoff and Hollander to present

together at the NHL Awards. Because the

league was cute, they asked him to

present the award for most

sportsmanlike.

Shane was waiting backstage in his

tuxedo alone. No one knew where Rosenoff

was. They were supposed to walk out on

stage together in 3 minutes. Where the

hell is Rosenoff?

A panicked director asked. I don't know,

Shane said. We uh don't exactly talk

much. The director stormed away,

swearing. Shane hadn't been lying. He

hadn't spoken to Rosenoff off the ice

since the brief words they had shared at

the Olympics. The humiliation of not

even making it to the bronze medal game

had seemingly been enough to cause

Rosenoff to not even want to look at

Shane anymore, let alone talk to him,

touch him, kiss him. Shane had felt

sorry for him, but then Rosenoff turned

the shame of losing so horribly in the

Olympics into fuel that propelled him

and the Bears all the way to the Stanley

Cup. Shane had watched that final game

with Hayden and some of the other guys

who had just stuck around Montreal after

their team had been eliminated in the

third round. Shane had been sick with

jealousy, but had also been undeniably

proud when he watched Ilia Rosenoff lift

the cup over his head and roar.

There had been tears streaming down

Rosenoff's face as he hollered and

hollered, and Shane had seen that this

was more than the pride of being the

best player on the best team in the NHL

that year. Rosenoff had proved something

to somebody.

Shane had been shocked to find tears in

his own eyes as he watched the raw

emotion explode out of Rosenoff. It was

as if with every heave of the cup over

his head, Rosenoff was saying, "Fuck

you. [ __ ] you. I did it. [ __ ] you. To

someone. Maybe to Shane, but he didn't

think so. He hoped not. The last time

they had really spoken had been almost 6

months ago before the Olympics, and

Shane hadn't actually done all that much

talking. What he had done was let

Rosenoff push him to his knees in the

middle of his hotel room and [ __ ] his

mouth until Shane's eyes watered. Shane

tugged at his shirt collar now and tried

to will his blush away. "Looking for

me?" A familiar voice drawled behind

him. Shane whipped around and was faced

with Ilia Rosenoff looking so [ __ ]

good in his tux. He'd grown his hair out

over the past season, and that night

he'd been wearing it sllicked back and

tied in a little bun. He looked like a

European fashion model. [ __ ] Rosenoff.

What the [ __ ] We're on in like 5

seconds. 50 seconds. We are fine.

Does it matter to you that everyone

backstage has been having a heart attack

looking for you? Not really. Shane's

hands rolled into fists at his sides.

Where were you anyway? Busy. Oh, yeah.

With who? Rosenoff just smirked. We on.

He stroed out onto the stage, leaving

Shane to stupidly scramble to catch up

with him. [ __ ] him. Not even a text for

five months. And now he's going to be

all sexy and annoying like nothing's

changed. They went to the podium and

recited their dumb banter about the

importance of having respect for your

fellow players. Shane did not have to

pretend at all to hate Rosenoff in that

moment. They got a lot of laughs. The

fact that Shane was practically speaking

through clenched teeth probably only

enhanced the comedy. Hey, Rosenoff said,

"Before we give out the award, can I get

the selfie?" "What?" Shane asked. It was

all part of the script. Just a quick

one. I mean, when will this happen

again? Right. Fine, but hurry up.

Rosenoff wrapped an arm around Shane's

shoulders and pulled him tight against

him. Everyone laughed. Rosenoff held his

phone out and snapped. Shane noticed at

least six quick photos. Give me your

number. I'll send it to you. No chance.

Shane deadbanned. Laughter. Rosenoff was

slow to move his arm from Shane's

shoulders. When he finally did, he let

his fingers brush the back of Shane's

neck, making every hair stand up. Shane

felt his [ __ ] swell a bit and silently

cursed him. They read the nominees, gave

the winner his trophy, and then Shane

left the stage as quickly as possible.

He kept walking until he found a small

bathroom backstage. He entered and left

the door unlocked. Less than 30 seconds

later, Rosenoff slipped inside and

locked the door. He crowded Shane up

against the wall. Shane was seething. He

stared Rosenoff right in the eye and

waited for him to make the first move.

"Well," Rosenoff said. "Well, what?" He

gestured to the floor. Are you not going

to suck my dick? Shane's eyes narrowed.

[ __ ] you. Why don't you suck mine? H. He

traced a finger over Shane's clenched

jaw. So gently, it made Shane close his

eyes and part his lips involuntarily.

Maybe ask nice.

Shane wanted to tell him to go [ __ ]

himself. But instead, to his

mortification, he heard himself say,

"Please."

Rosenoff raised an eyebrow. You want me

to kneel on this dirty bathroom floor?

You have to ask nicer than that,

Hollander.

Please. Shane gritted out. Get on your

knees and suck my dick. Please.

Rosenoff pressed his palm where Shane's

erection strained against his tuxedo

pants, making Shane gasp and tilt his

head back against the wall. Rosenoff

leaned in and brushed his lips over

Shane's ear. No.

He let go of Shane and stepped back.

What? Shane sputtered. No, I will not do

anything to you in here. We will go back

out there and sit in our seats and then

go to the party and then when you have

been waiting all night for it, you will

come to my hotel room and I will maybe

do more than suck your dick. Shane felt

dizzy and angry and kind of impressed by

Rosenoff's English. It had really come a

long way.

You're really going to leave me like

this? Yes, for now. Fine, Shane

grumbled. Aw. Rosenoff couped with mock

sympathy. I will make a deal. If you win

MVP tonight, I will blow you. [ __ ] you.

Whatever you want, Shane swallowed. And

if you win, a wicked smile unfurled

across Rosenoff's face. I will let you

know.

He put his hand on the door handle and

was about to leave when he quickly

turned and grabbed the front of Shane's

jacket. He kissed him roughly, then let

him go. "Good luck tonight," he said,

and then he was gone.

Shane left the party as early as he

could. He wished he had the willpower to

stay later, to make Rosenoff wait. He

wished he had the strength to stand

Rosenoff up. He'd been on edge for

hours, half hard and buzzing with need.

He'd had a few beers, which was a few

more than he usually had, and his brain

was only able to focus on his desire to

get off as soon as possible. He had a

text with Rosenoff's room number, and

he'd seen him slip out of the party a

few minutes ago. They hadn't spoken

since the bathroom backstage. Rosenoff

had won. Of course, he had won. And now

Shane had to find out what exactly he

wanted from him. They had done

everything. Shane was pretty sure they'd

done everything at this point. Glow

jobs, check. Hand jobs, of course.

[ __ ] yes, but only with Shane

bottoming. Shane couldn't see Rosenoff

wanting to change that up. He hoped not

anyway. Shane sent Rosenoff a text as he

approached the door, and he heard it

click open just before he arrived. He

entered quickly.

Rosenoff had an enormous suite booked at

the Las Vegas casino where the awards

ceremony was held. He stood in the

middle of it now, most of his tuxedo

already removed. He was down to just the

sleek black pants with his dress shirt

half unbuttoned. His feet were bare.

Shane had removed his bow tie and

stuffed it in his pocket when he had

unfassened a couple of his own shirt

buttons earlier, but he had some

catching up to do. You're to

congratulate me," Rosenoff said. "I

guess." Rosenoff spread his arms out as

if to say, "Well, congratulations,"

Shane said flatly. "Thank you. Now, take

off your clothes."

Shane had been kind of hoping Rosenoff

would help him with that, but he obeyed,

draping each discarded piece of his suit

carefully over the back of the sofa.

Rosenoff didn't remove any of his own

clothing. He just leaned against a glass

table and crossed his arms, watching

Shane.

Shouldn't we? I mean, there are windows.

There were a lot of windows. We are on

the 16th floor. Yeah, but Rosenoff

pushed himself off the table and flicked

his hand in the air, gesturing for Shane

to follow him to the bedroom. Shane was

down to his briefs. When he reached the

bedroom, Rosenoff was already drawing

the curtains across the windows. "On the

bed," he instructed without looking at

Shane. Shane did his best to appear

comfortable and relaxed on the giant

bed, as if he wasn't nervous as hell

about whatever Rosenoff had planned. He

expected Rosenoff to join him on the

bed, but instead, Rosenoff left the

room. He was gone for an obnoxiously

long time. When he returned, he was

holding a glass of clear liquid. He sat

himself in a chair against the wall at

the end of the bed and took a sip. "I am

impressed with this hotel. This vodka is

not easy to find." "Okay," Shane said

impatiently. "Touch yourself."

"What?

Show off for me. Let me watch you." You

what? It is my special night. Hollander.

I want to watch you. Every inch of Shane

flushed red. I I've never Rosenoff

grinned. I thought maybe not. So, he

gestured with the hand that wasn't

holding the drink. Show me. How do you

touch yourself, Shane Hollander?

[ __ ] Shane wanted to protest, but since

his briefs were not at all concealing

how excited his dick had gotten in the

past minute or so, he felt his argument

would be weak. "Give me some of that

vodka, then," he said. "I'm too sober

for this." Rosenoff shook his head. "No,

the vodka you can have after as reward."

"Fuck you." Rosenoff laughed is good

vodka. Come on, look at your poor dick,

Hollander. Give him some attention. Yes.

Shane glared at him, but Rosenoff only

crossed his long legs and leaned back in

his chair, comfortable as anything.

Close your eyes, he suggested. Pretend

you are alone. How do you start? Shane

exhaled and closed his eyes. He tried to

ignore the smirking Russian in the

corner as he placed a nervous hand on

his own stomach. He rubbed slow patterns

over his skin, letting his nerves wake

up. He heard Rosenoff shifting in his

chair. Shane's lips curled up a bit.

Maybe he still had some power here. His

palm flat, he rubbed his hand over the

bulge in his shorts, slow and

deliberate. He let out a low, shameless

moan and slid his hand lower to cup his

balls. If Rosenoff wanted a show, he was

going to get a [ __ ] show.

He rubbed himself through the fabric of

his briefs for a few minutes, making

sure to emphasize the outline of his

erection. He already found himself

enjoying this. His fear was forgotten.

He opened his eyes and looked directly

at Rosenoff, whose gaze was locked on

Shane's crotch. His lips parted. "Come

on, Hollander," he said in a low rumble.

"Show me." Shane lifted his hips, hooked

his thumbs into his waistband, and

tugged the underwear down to his thighs.

His [ __ ] sprained free hard and

glisteny. "Stroke it," Rosenoff

instructed. "Make yourself come for me."

Shane wrapped his fingers around

himself, but instead of stroking, just

slid his thumb over his slit a couple of

times. "There is lube in the drawer,"

Rosenoff said. "Beside the bed,

get it for me. there. [ __ ] you,

Rosenoff.

Rosenoff stood without protest and

retrieved the bottle of lube. He held it

out to Shane, but when Shane reached for

it, Rosenoff pulled it away. He laughed

at Shane's glare and tossed the bottle

onto the bed. "Would you like to know?"

Rosenoff asked as he settled himself

back into his chair. "How it feels?"

"How what feels?" He leaned forward,

grinning like a shark. the cup. Do you

want to know what it feels like to hold

the Stanley Cup? Oh, [ __ ] you, Rosenoff

laughed. I cannot describe it anyway.

Impossible.

I'll find out for myself soon enough,

Shane grumbled. Of course. Now, show me

how you like it, Hollander. That

request, Shane thought, was almost

sweet. Consider it. He removed his

briefs completely and picked up the

bottle. He made a show of drizzling the

lube directly on his [ __ ] If Rosenoff

thought Shane was going to be chatty

during this thing, he didn't know Shane

very well. Shane would be surprised if

he uttered two words. He stroked himself

with slow, lazy movements. He closed his

eyes again and let pleasure light up

every part of him. With his other hand,

he reached down and played with his

balls. He arched off the bed a bit,

gasping and moaning. He wondered if

Rosenoff was going to start touching

himself, too. He cracked an eye open,

and it seemed that Rosenoff was happy to

just watch, but he was leaning forward

now, and he looked a little flushed.

Shane opened both eyes. He wanted to get

off the bed and crawl on his [ __ ]

knees to where Rosenoff was sitting. He

wanted to nuzzle his [ __ ] through his

pants. He wanted to press his open mouth

to that bulge she could see from here.

The thoughts made Shane's hand speed up.

He let out a broken ah sound and planted

his feet flat on the bed, legs spled,

knees bent. "Open yourself up," Rosenov

said. "Use your fingers." "Oh, fuck."

Shane felt simultaneously mortified and

excited. He reached for the lube. "Yes,

let me see you open yourself for me.

You're going to [ __ ] me." Shane managed

to get out. We'll see. Shane got to

work. It was undeniably humiliating to

be spled out on the bed like this.

Shane's fingers two knuckles deep in his

own ass while Ilia Rosenoff calmly

sipped his vodka and watched everything

like he was going to be tested on it

later. The only thing that could make

the situation more embarrassing would

be, "Please," Shane gasped, begged.

"Please, what? I I need." He could tell

that Rosenoff was starting to lose his

composure. He could see how his Adam's

apple bobbed sharply as he swallowed.

The way he ran his teeth over his bottom

lip. What do you need, Hollander? You

[ __ ] me. Please. Rosenoff sucked in a

breath and then he stood and placed his

glass on the side table. He slowly undid

the last of his buttons and let the

shirt fall to the floor behind him. He

walked to the end of the bed and Shane

crawled to him just like he'd imagined

doing. He crawled along the mattress

until his face met the bulge in

Rosenoff's tuxedo pants. He nuzzled and

mouthed at it, and Rosenoff buried his

fingers in Shane's hair and murmured

something in Russian. Shane didn't know

if Rosenoff was saying something

encouraging or reverent, or maybe he was

calling Shane a [ __ ] Shane felt a

little [ __ ] in that moment. He felt

wild. He wanted Rosenoff's [ __ ] in every

part of him at once. He wanted to come

right away or not for hours. He wanted

to kiss Rosenoff and maybe also punch

him for being such an arrogant [ __ ]

prick. [snorts] And he hated himself for

wanting any of this, but not enough to

stop. Never enough to stop. He opened

Rosenoff's pants and pushed them down to

his ankles along with his underwear. He

wrapped his mouth around Rosenoff's [ __ ]

and moaned with relief. "Fuck all

Indure, you lob it." Shane responded by

turning. He was sure beat red, but he

couldn't deny it. Rosenoff let him suck

for a few blissful minutes before he

shoved Shane down onto the bed. He

twirled his hand in the air. "Thank

did as he was told and raised his ass in

the air far too eagerly. He heard a

rustle of a condom being opened and then

saw the empty wrapper hit the floor when

Rosenoff tossed it aside. Rosenoff was

breathing heavily as he sllicked himself

with lube. And damn, Shane loved it when

Rosenoff lost his ability to stay cool

and collected. Rosenoff [ __ ] him hard

with one strong hand pressing Shane's

shoulder blades, pressing him down to

the mattress. They were both loud, and

if it hadn't been a ridiculously large

Las Vegas hotel suite, Shane would have

been worried about it. But he felt safe

here. So, he let himself go. He cried

out with every thrust, begging for more,

even though that was probably an

impossible thing to ask for. Even though

it was embarrassing to be this desperate

for Ilia Rosenoff, Shane really hoped no

one could hear them. He came so hard

that he actually yelled. There was no

other word for it. And once again, he

had made a mess of some hotel bed

sheets. His ears were still ringing with

his own orgasm when he felt Rosenoff

freeze behind him and cry out. And then

Rosenoff's forehead was pressed against

Shane's back as both men struggled to

catch their breath. "Jesus, Holland,

dear." Rosenoff panted as he flopped to

his back beside him. His hair had fallen

out of its little ponytail and was

clinging to his forehead in a damp

swoop. Shen carefully flipped to his

back, leaving the wet spot on the bed

sheets between them. "How about that

vodka?" Rosenoff laughed. "Yes, give me

a minute." Shane grinned. He knew he'd

be at least a little mortified and

ashamed later when he thought about this

night. But at that moment, he was giddy.

Rosenoff did eventually leave the bed

and after cleaning himself up in the

bathroom, brought Shane a damp washcloth

and an ice cold glass of vodka. He

brought himself a cigarette and a

lighter.

He sat with his back against the

headboard, one leg bent and the other

outstretched, still naked, but for his

gold chain and crucifix. He lit a

cigarette and Shane didn't even have the

energy to lecture him about it,

especially since he looked so godamn

sexy. Instead, Shane sipped his vodka,

which was gross. He really didn't drink

anything beyond beer very often. At

least it was cold against his tongue.

"Are you heading back soon?" Shane

asked, just to make conversation back to

Russia for the summer. Rosenoff exhaled

a long stream of smoke. Yes. Oh. They

were silent a moment, then Shing

couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

Rosenoff shrugged. "It is home." "But do

you like going there?" Rosenoff didn't

answer. He took another drag of his

cigarette and closed his eyes. "I should

sleep," he said finally. "Oh, yeah, I

should. I need to get going anyway. Yes.

Ah, there was that shame Shane had been

expecting. He got cleaned up in the

bathroom, then went to the main room to

retrieve his clothes. He put on the

pants and the shirt and carried the rest

of the tuxedo. Rosenoff didn't leave the

bedroom. "See you," Shane called out.

"Goodbye, Hollander," Rosenoff replied

from the other room. And Shane left. He

realized when he was back in his room

that they hadn't even kissed. He also

realized with horror that he regretted

that.

Part three. Chapter 12.

October 2016.

Philadelphia.

Ilia had a man pinned under the weight

of his body. The man was big, almost as

tall as Ilia, and pressing back against

him aggressively.

Ilia wedged a knee between the man's

thighs, holding him firmly in place.

"Fuck off, asshole!" the man growled.

Ilia leaned on him harder. "All right,

let him go, Rosenoff," the referee said.

"I'll call holding if you don't back off

right now." Ilia released the other

man's jersey, raising his hands

innocently. "Fucker!" the other man

growled. He shoved Ilia before he skated

away from the boards where Ilia had

trapped him. That wasn't nice. Ilia

called after him. Ilia could hear the

booze and taunts from the crowd as he

skated to the bench. [ __ ] you, Rosenoff.

You're a [ __ ] [ __ ] Rosenoff. Go

back to Russia, you piece of [ __ ] etc.

Ilia smiled to himself. He actually

loved this. He loved being on the road

and disappointing home crowds across

North America. He loved the insults, the

booing, and most of all, the sound of a

crowd so gutted by his team's

performance that they couldn't even

bother to boo. A winded, humiliated

crowd. That was Ilia's favorite sound.

The crowd was still loud in

Philadelphia. This was not an easy city

to silence. He would have to work extra

hard tonight to get that glorious,

devastated quiet he craved. He sat on

the bench next to Brad Hammersmith. Brad

was a veteran forward. He was also about

a hundred years old. "Making friends?"

Hammersmith asked. "I'm playing hockey."

Hammersmith snorted. A Philadelphia

defenseman skated by the bench when the

play had stopped. "Keep it up and see

what happens, Rosenoff," he threatened.

"I know what will happen. My team will

win. Suck my dick, Rosenoff. Be the best

below job of your life, sweetheart."

Ilia winged at him. "Faggot!" The other

player grumbled. Ilia shrugged. It was

half true, maybe like 30% true. And at

that moment, the scoreboard screen

showed a highlight from the Montreal

versus Ottawa game that was also

happening that night. Hollander had just

scored a goal, of course. Ilia watched

the footage of Hollander taking a quick

pass and scoring with the impossible

accuracy that he was known for. Ilia

watched him hug his teammates and the

way his face lit up with a wide jubilant

smile. Ilia found himself smiling a bit

too on his bench in Philadelphia. Well,

now he was going to have to score two

goals tonight.

October 2016,

Montreal.

Jackie is pregnant. Shane stopped dead

in his tracks in the middle of the Gulf

of St. Lawrence ecosystem at the

Montreal Bioddome

again," he said. Hayden laughed. "Jesus,

thanks." "Sorry, I mean,

congratulations."

Hayden shot him in amused look. "Yeah,

you sound super happy for me." Shane

gestured to the stroller Hayden was

pushing his one-year-old son in and then

toward the twin three-year-old girls who

were peering into a touch tank. "Well, I

mean, yeah," Hayden sighed. I know, but

Jackie's happy. I mean, she's [ __ ]

bored, right? The nearby parent of a

wobbly toddler glared at them. Sorry,

Hayden said quickly to the offended

party. Then to Shane, he said, "I got to

watch my language. Jackie always says

so." "Hazard of our occupation," Shane

said. "I know I Hey, Jade, sweetie,

don't splash your sister. I need a swear

jar or something at home.

I don't think you can afford that. As a

man without children or a wife, Shane

was in the minority among his teammates.

Most of the guys were married well

before the age of 25. Hayden had married

Jackie at 21 after only dating her for a

year. Shane had been there the night

they'd met. Hayden had dragged Shane and

a couple of other guys out to a club

where Hayden had met his future wife.

And Shane had left to have one of the

most embarrassing sexual encounters of

his life with a very patient woman named

Olivia Oilia.

But Jackie was great. Shane had done

well marrying her, and their kids were

adorable, even if naming the twins Jade

and Ruby was a choice.

Thanks for coming with us," Hayden said,

stooping to pick up the pacifier that

his son Arthur had dropped on the

ground. Hayden gave it a quick swipe on

his shirt and plunged it back into

Arthur's mouth. Shane made a disgusted

face that Hayden didn't see. "Jackie's

sister is visiting and they wanted to go

shopping and shit." "Swear, jar," Shane

said. "Right, shopping and stuff."

Anyway, it's hard going anywhere with

these three monsters, so I appreciate

the help. My pleasure, man. Shane was

sincerely enjoying himself. The biodome

was a good place for him to go without

getting mobbed. People were so

distracted by the animals and by trying

to wrangle their own children that they

weren't bothering to look at the other

adults in the room. Shane was also

wearing a ball cap and a simple black

jacket to try to blend in even better.

So far, it was working. Oh [ __ ] I mean,

shoot. Looks like Ruby is trying to

steal a starfish.

Hayden nudged the stroller handles

towards Shane. Here, you watch Arthur

for a second. Okay. He was darting

toward the touch tank and the twins

before Shane could reply. Shane knelt in

front of the stroller and smiled at the

sleepy little boy. "Hey, buddy," he

said. "You having a good time?" Arthur

reached out and grabbed the front of

Shane's ball cap. "Let's go see some

penguins," Aiden said. He had returned,

carrying one twin under each arm.

"Penguins!"

Both girls squealled at once.

"Penguins!"

Shane said, clapping his hands and

trying to mimic the girl's excitement.

Hayden rolled his eyes. "All right,

children. Follow your big brother,

Shane." He set the girls down, and they

each took one of Shane's hands. Shane's

heart clenched. Their hands were so

tiny. In the Antarctic room, Hayden and

Shane were able to sit on a bench with

the stroller parked next to them while

the twins ran up to the glass to look at

the penguins. "So Jackie has this

friend," Hayden said. "Oh, Jesus. Here

we go again." "No," Shane said. "I know,

but listen, she's gorgeous and she's

cool. She's a yoga instructor. You like

yoga, right? I'm sure she's great, but

I'm really not interested in dating

anyone right now. Why the f I mean, why

on earth not? You're young, you're rich,

you're famous, you look like you. Shane

gave him a flirty look. Hayden, do you

find me attractive? Look, pal, if I was

a woman, I'd be all over you. Shane

laughed. In truth, he could think of

worse scenarios than having Hayden Pike

all over him. But he wasn't going to

tell him that. Besides, Hayden was his

best friend. He'd never had anything but

platonic feelings for him. Blonde hair,

green eyes, and cleft chin aside. So,

this friend, Hayden tried again.

Samantha is her name. I think you would

really like her. Shane buried his face

in his hands, almost knocking his own

ball cap off. Please stop trying to set

me up on dates, Hade. I just want to see

you happy, and I want you to have a

hundred kids so you can know my pain."

Shane scrubbed his hands over his face

and looked up to see Jade and Ruby

shoving each other in front of the

glass. "Fuck it. I got to break this

up." Hayden grumbled, already walking

toward them. Shane sighed. Tell your dad

to lay off my love life. All right,

Arthur. But Arthur had fallen asleep.

Shane imagined telling Hayden that he

was into men. He knew Hayden wouldn't

shun him or anything. He maybe wasn't

the most worldly guy, but he wasn't a

bigot either. At worst, it would

probably make things awkward between

them. Maybe it wouldn't, but Shane

didn't want to risk finding out. There

really wasn't any reason to anyway.

Shane probably would meet a nice girl

someday and settle down, and then his

occasional attraction to men would be

moot. His imagination continued to

wander, conjuring a scenario where he

told Hayden that he'd been hooking up

with Ilia Rosenoff since their rookie

season. The hypothetical look on

Hayden's face made Shane snort out loud.

He quickly covered his mouth and turned

to look at Arthur as if to suggest that

the sleeping toddler had made the weird

noise.

Excuse me, are you Shane Hollander?

Shane looked up and saw two teen girls

gawking at him. Um, he said smoothly. Oh

my god, you are. Can I get a selfie with

you? It's pretty um dark in here, Shane

said. He tried to catch Hayden's eye. If

he started taking selfies with fans

here, it would never end. Please. The

girls were both pouting now. Shane kept

himself from sighing. It wasn't like he

was doing anything else at the moment.

Sure. What's your name? The girls lit

up. Oh my god, thank you. I love you so

much. I'm Emma. I'm Jessica. Nice to

meet you, Emma and Jessica. They

arranged themselves so they would all

fit in the frame of Emma's iPhone

screen. As she was snapping pictures,

Hayden returned. "Uh-oh," he said. It

only took a second for Shane to realize

that Hayden was referring to the dozens

of heads that were now turned in the

direction of this little photo shoot.

Sure enough, as soon as the girls

thanked him and walked away, a man and

his son approached Shane. He ended up

being stuck in the Antarctic room for 20

minutes taking photos with fans and

signing whatever objects they happened

to have on them. When Shane made his

apologetic excuse to leave, he found

Hayden by the exit. "Those assholes,"

Hayden grumbled. "They're fans, Hayden.

They didn't even recognize me." Shane

laughed and slapped him on the back.

I'll take a selfie with you if you want.

I never should have become friends with

you. Shane smiled and held the door for

him so he could push the stroller

through. Seriously, Hayden continued. My

ego can't take it, man. It's like being

friends with a damn son or something.

Wait, do I have all of the kids? How

many kids are here? Three. Ruby is

hiding behind you. Okay. Shane exhaled.

I can't believe we're having another

one. You sure it's just one? Hayden's

eyes were pure terror. Don't even joke,

Hollander.

October 2016, Washington.

Ilia stretched out on his hotel bed and

amused himself by tapping on the various

customization options for the 2017 Audi

Spider. He had a 2015 Spider already, so

it wasn't like he needed a new one. but

he didn't have one in Vegas yellow. The

television was turned to ESPN, but he

wasn't paying much attention to it, at

least not until he heard the name Shane

Hollander. It was just one of these dumb

fluff pieces that the 24-hour sports

networks relied on to fill airtime. A

little glimpse at Hollander's life away

from the rink for the fans. On the

television, Hollander was standing on

some sort of dock, surrounded by the

calm blue waters of an enormous lake.

Thick green forests line the banks. When

the demands of the season are over, this

is where Shane Hollander comes to relax

and recuperate. His 5,000 square ft

lakefront cottage.

Ilia sat up. He had never seen any place

that Hollander called home. "This is my

favorite place on earth," the Hollander

on the television said. "I just finished

building this one a couple of years ago.

My family's cottage, the one I spent

summers at growing up, is just over

there. He pointed off camera to his

right. I was still spending my summers

there until this one was finished.

"A so [ __ ] sweet, Hollander," Ilia

said, rolling his eyes. There was some

footage of Hollander kaying alone on the

lake, looking serene and stupid as he

gazed around at nature. His voice played

over the footage talking about the place

healing his soul or some dumb [ __ ]

There were sweeping shots of some of the

rooms of the cottage, a spacious highse

ceiling living area with a leather

sectional sofa and some very Canadianl

looking plaid throw pillows and

blankets. A modern high-end kitchen with

a large island in the middle. A pool

table and a bar. A gym that had a wall

of Florida ceiling windows that overlook

the lake. Then, without warning, they

cut to a shot of Hollander doing [ __ ]

yoga on the dock. I got into yoga last

year, and I think it's really helped my

focus, and it's definitely increased my

flexibility.

Hollander's voice played over a

lingering shot of him holding some

ridiculous pose. "Jesus Christ, you are

so [ __ ] boring," Ilia muttered.

Hollander did look flexible, though. The

segment went on a little longer.

Hollander talked about how important it

was for him to have a place close to his

parents. How he had offered to build

them a new cottage, too, but they'd

refused. He laughed when he said that,

but when he laughed, his nose crinkled

and Ilia's stomach flipped. Ilia

wondered if Hollander had ever [ __ ]

anyone in that cottage. Probably.

Probably some nice, wholesome girl that

he had met while canoeing or whatever.

Ilia had filmed one of these dumb

things, too. He had taken the camera

crew to the garage where he stored his

collection of European sports cars. The

segment had a decidedly different vibe

from this Hollander one, but that's the

way it had been for over six seasons.

Shane Hollander was the wholesome,

heroic sweetheart, and Ilia Rosenov was

the obnoxious rock star. They were polar

opposites according to any NHL analyst

and therefore destined to clash forever,

neatly dividing hockey fans in the

process. It's the way it should have

been. Shane and Ilia were opposites in

almost every way imaginable. But it was

getting harder for Ilia to deny that

there was something in his core that was

drawn to Hollander. Instead of getting

him out of his system with their

hookups, each one just made him want

more. It was dangerous [ __ ] stuff.

Chapter 13.

November 2016.

Boston.

Heading out? Hayden asked from where he

was watching television on the hotel

bed. Yeah, just for a bit. Meeting a

friend. If you say so? Hayden grinned.

Shane swallowed and tried not to let

anything show on his face. His insides

royiled with shame and fear and

anticipation. "Just a friend," Shane

said. "I won't wait up." "It's not,"

Shane closed his eyes and calmed himself

down. "It's not that type of friend.

I'll be back soon." Hayden studied him a

moment. "Well, that's too bad. You need

to get laid." "I'm fine." Shane tugged

his jacket on and checked himself

quickly in the mirror before leaving the

room. He shouldn't be doing this. They

had arrived in Boston that morning and

had a short practice that afternoon. The

game was tomorrow afternoon, which meant

he had the whole evening free. Rosenoff

lived in a building that was a short cab

ride from the hotel. They had moved

their Boston hookups from hotel rooms to

Rosenoff's penthouse last season. Shane

had been against the idea at the time,

arguing that he didn't want to risk

being spotted entering Rosenoff's

building. He had legitimately been

concerned about that and still was. But

his real objection, the one that he

didn't voice, was that he didn't want to

make what they were doing seemed more

personal.

Meeting in hotel rooms or at Shane's

investment property was one thing. But

every time Shane went to Rosenoff's

actual home, he felt his world tilt a

bit. It was an extra layer of wrongness

thrown on top of the mountain of bad

ideas that had been scaling for 6 years.

When he was on the steps in front of the

building, he sent the text, "I'm here."

The door clicked and he let himself in,

taking the elevator all the way to the

top. He told himself that he would talk

to Rosenoff tonight, that he would end

this thing and that he would go back to

the hotel. He had lost count long ago of

how many times he had broken this

promise to himself over the years.

Rosenoff answered the door wearing

lowslung sweatpants and no shirt. Shane

swore under his breath and thoughts of

just talking to Rosenoff left his mind.

As soon as Shane entered the penthouse,

Rosenoff turned and walked toward the

bedroom. He didn't say a word to him.

Shane removed his shoes, dropped his

coat on the floor, and followed him.

The [ __ ] is this?" Shane asked as he

entered the bedroom. "You're not

speaking to me anymore. Just expect me

to follow you like a dog." "Shh,"

Rosenoff said. He tilted Shane's head up

and kissed him hungrily. Shane

surrendered immediately, pushing his

tongue into the other man's mouth and

slipping his hands into the back of his

sweatpants.

Shane couldn't think of a single reason

why they needed to talk to each other

anyway.

Not anymore. Not when Rosenoff was

sucking on his tongue and sliding

Shane's shirt up his chest. The shirt

came off and Shane shoved Rosenoff down

to the bed, so he was sitting at the end

of it. Shane fell to his knees and

hauled Rosenoff's sweatpants down. He

didn't feel like wasting any time.

Rosenoff wasn't wearing underwear, and

his [ __ ] was half hard already. Shane

took it into his mouth. Jesus.

Hollander, Rosenoff said. He placed a

hand on the side of Shane's face.

Couldn't wait, could you? Shane closed

his eyes. He should have felt

embarrassed, but he loved the feeling of

Rosenoff growing harder against his

tongue. He never felt submissive doing

this. He loved reducing Rosenoff to

whimpers and Russian profanity. And God

help him. He especially loved doing it

here in Rosenoff's home in his bedroom.

Their relationship was weird. Obviously,

Shane knew that nothing about this was

normal. The facts were these. They were

two of the biggest hockey stars in the

world, and for whatever reason, they

both enjoyed [ __ ] each other. The

other thing they were in total agreement

on is that no one could ever know that

they enjoyed [ __ ] each other. It

would be best if no one knew that they

liked to [ __ ] men at all, but it

definitely couldn't get out that the

superstar rivals were very familiar with

each other's dicks. Rosenoff brushed a

thumb over the freckles on Shane's cheek

just under his eye. "Stop," Rosenoff

said in a low voice. "Enough to stop."

Shane pulled off and waited. "I'd like

to look at you tonight. I think you on

top." Rosenoff asked. Okay, Shane said,

but the request made him nervous.

Usually, Rosenoff just took him from

behind on a bed or against a wall. Shane

could pretend or pretend he was

pretending that Rosenoff was someone

else that way. Shane quickly pulled off

the rest of his clothing. Rosenoff took

a moment to raise an eyebrow at Shane's

rigid, untouched [ __ ] Shane blushed.

"Shut up," he muttered. Rosenoff grinned

and scooted back on the bed, naked and

sprawled out with his hands behind his

head. Shane couldn't help but grin back.

This was so [ __ ] weird. But maybe

they could just pretend it wasn't for an

hour or so. Maybe they could just be two

guys who wanted to have sex.

Rosenoff slapped his own thighs, an

invitation, and Shane went to him.

Later, when they were [ __ ] Shane

braced himself with a hand flat on

Rosenoff's chest. Rosenoff covered that

hand with his own, which surprised

Shane. Rosenoff never took his eyes off

his face, except to watch when Shane

started stroking himself. Shane saw the

glazed look in his eyes, and the way his

mouth was hanging open, and he rode him

harder. Fuck," Rosenoff grunted. And

without warning, he flipped them both

over so he was on top, staring down at

Shane as he held his legs and thrust

into him wildly.

His crucifix chain dangled between them,

scraping Shane's chest. When Shane's

orgasm hit him, it was hard and sudden.

His release seemed endless, splashing

his chest and even up to his throat.

Dear, sweetheart, Rosenoff panted, and

Shane didn't even have a chance to be

shocked by the pet name before Rosenoff

was coming, too. When it was over, he

dropped to his elbows over Shane and

kissed him messily. They took turns

getting cleaned up in the bathroom. When

Shane walked back into the bedroom, he

stood stupidly in the middle of the room

near his pile of clothes on the floor.

He should probably go. But Rosenoff was

lounging on his bed and he patted the

mattress next to him. So Shane went. He

[snorts] lay on his back beside

Rosenoff, not touching him, and stared

at the ceiling until Rosenoff rolled to

his side, propped on an elbow, and gazed

down at him. Shane felt the same anxiety

that had flooded him the last time they

had been together. There was something a

little too tender in the way Rosenoff

was looking at him. And there was

something that was far too soothing

about the way Rosenoff's fingers combed

through Shane's short hair and curved

down to trace the bridge of freckles

that stretched across his face. Shane

had always hated his freckles. He had

been surprised to learn when he had

become famous that a lot of women seemed

to find them very sexy, or at least they

found them adorable. He was even more

surprised that Rosenoff seemed to hold

some sort of fascination with them.

Rosenoff leaned in and pressed kisses to

Shane's hair and face and down to his

throat. The kisses weren't seductive or

heated. They were light and sort of

adoring. Shane's eyes fluttered closed,

suddenly very sleepy, and he heard

Rosenoff murmur something to himself in

Russian, and felt the words tickle the

skin under his jaw.

M? Shane asked distantly. You could

stay, Rosenoff said. Stay. Stay here

tonight. Shane's eyes opened. Rosenoff

was looking at him seriously again.

You want me to stay here? Rosenoff

seemed to realize what he had just asked

because his face changed and he

shrugged, forcing a half grin. I'm not

done with you yet.

Oh, that was more familiar. I can't

stay. You know that you could. The game

is tomorrow afternoon. No morning

practice. I told Hayden. Rosenoff rolled

his eyes. Is Hayden your mother? No, but

he's expecting me. I told him I was

meeting a friend. Rosenoff snorted. That

was a lie. Shane laughed at that. Yeah,

well. Rosenoff lowered himself until his

nose was inches from Shane's face.

"Stay!"

Shane couldn't stay. There were probably

a million reasons why he couldn't stay.

"Okay," he said. Rosenoff smiled and

kissed him. They stayed in the bed for a

long time, just making out. Not really

escalating things, and that was new.

Shane really did like kissing Rosenoff,

but this seemed indulgent and dangerous.

Are you hungry? Rosenoff asked. For

food. Shane looked at him and Rosenoff

laughed. He hopped off the bed and onto

his feet. Let's eat something. Rosenoff

put his sweatpants back on and this time

grabbed a t-shirt from his dresser to

throw on with him. Shane retrieved his

own jeans and t-shirt from the floor and

followed him into the kitchen. I got um

ginger ale. You like that [ __ ] right?

Yeah, I do. Shane looked at him oddly.

Shane often abstained from alcohol

because he didn't want to do anything

that might compromise his performance on

the ice. Over the years, he had

developed an affinity for ginger ale as

a substitute for beer. But it wasn't

like he'd ever talked about that to

Rosenoff. Instead of asking Rosenoff how

the hell he knew that he liked ginger

ale or why he cared enough to buy some?

He asked.

You want to order takeout or do you like

tuna melts?

You want to make me a tuna melt?

Rosenoff shrugged. I'm making one for

me. I can make two. Ginger ale is in

fridge. He seemed to really want Shane

to drink the ginger ale. As Shane took

one from the fridge, he wondered if it

might be poisoned.

Rosenoff was setting canned tuna, a

baguette, and cheese slices on the

counter, so Shane leaned back against

the fridge and watched his fellow NHL

superstar make him a sandwich. "You head

down to Florida after this game?"

Rosenoff asked as if he didn't know the

answer. "Yeah, a couple games down

there, then over to Dallas and up to St.

Louis."

Rosenoff nodded. We are in town here for

this week, then out west for a while.

Ginger ale good? Cold enough? Yeah, it's

great. Thanks. He looked pleased. Shane

watched him carefully distribute the

mixture of tuna and mayonnaise and lemon

juice on some baguette slices. It was

weird this domestic scene. It wasn't

anything that they had done before. The

melts went into the oven and Rosenoff

grabbed himself a bottle of Coke out of

the fridge. Shane realized that he knew

that Coke was Rosenoff's beverage of

choice. So maybe they had picked up

things about each other over the years

without really trying. Ready in 10

minutes, Rosenoff said. He left the

kitchen and went to sit on the couch in

the living room. He turned on the

television, which was showing the

Buffalo versus Chicago game. Shane sat

at the opposite end of the couch. He'd

first considered the leather recliner

that was next to the couch. Whatever

they were to each other, they weren't

boyfriends. He knew how to behave around

him when they were naked and pressed

against each other. And he knew how to

play against him on the ice, but just

hanging out with their clothes on was

uncharted territory. "Jesus," Rosenoff

said as they watched a Buffalo player

get hauled to the penalty box. "You know

that guy, Ryan Price? I mean, just from

playing against him and, you know, not

wanting to fight him." Price was huge

and tough as hell. You played with him,

right? Yes. For one season only, he was

not what you would think. What do you

mean? Like quiet. Doesn't make friends

really, but not a bad guy. Just weird.

Sort of. Well, he does seem to get

traded every season. It would be hard to

make friends that way. He is probably

hoping he gets traded again. Buffalo is

terrible. They definitely are. They

watched in silence for another minute

and then Shane asked, "What's your

favorite city to play in?" On the road.

Rosenoff considered it. I like New York

because it's New York. They [ __ ] hate

me there. They hate you everywhere. They

like me in Florida. It's all Boston fans

down there. You I like Ottawa because

it's my hometown. Toronto because of the

history between our teams. And you know,

anywhere warm, I guess. Ela is good.

Beautiful women. Shane noticed Rosenoff

stealing a glance at him as he said

this. "Sure, yeah," Shane said. "There's

beautiful women everywhere. Really?"

"When you are rich and famous?" "Yes."

They were silent a moment. The game went

to commercial. "There was a girl,"

Rosenoff said, "in New York. I used to

see her when I was in town." used to.

She is getting married. Oh. Shane looked

into his ginger ale bottle. Are you

upset about that? What? No. Rosenoff

seemed genuinely surprised and maybe

amused by his question. Was not like

that. Just convenient to have a reliable

woman to sleep with in New York with

three teams to play against there. We

are there a lot. You think she's the

only woman in New York that would be

willing to sleep with you? Shane teased.

Rosenoff smirked. I think I will find

someone. Another silence fell. Shane

wondered if Rosenoff was expecting him

to share a piece of similar information.

He couldn't really, so he said. I find

it hard being so high-profile. You know,

it's hard to just sleep with someone

sometimes. Yes, it is good to have a

reliable person. Shane offered him a

small smile. It is. Rosenoff nodded and

got up to go to the kitchen. Stay, he

said. I bring it here. Shane focused on

the television and not on what they had

just been talking about. Rosenoff

returned with two plates that he seemed

to put some care into arranging tuna

melts, potato chips, and dill pickles

on. "Another drink?" he asked. No, I'm

good. Shane kind of couldn't believe

that Rosenoff had made them both dinner.

He found it, he realized, with some

horror. Adorable. Do you like them?

Rosenoff asked after a minute of silent

eating. What? The tuna melts. No, girls.

Shane was caught off guard. Oh, sure.

Yeah, I like them, of course. This bit

of stammering did not match the answer

that first popped into Shane's head,

which was, "Not really." "Never hear

about you with girls," Rosenoff said

plainly. "Well, it's private." "Right,

private." "I keep a lot of things

private," Shane said. He waved a hand

between the two of them and added,

"Obviously."

Rosenoff didn't reply for a moment. Then

he turned back to the television and

said, "I'd like a girls." "Yeah, no

[ __ ] But I also like you." "Well, Bucky

me," Shane grumbled. "Not as a person,

of course," Rosenoff teased. "But you

have a good mouth." He took a suggestive

bite of his dill pickle. At that moment,

Rosenoff's phone rang. He looked at the

screen and muttered something in

Russian. I have to take this. Sorry.

It's fine, Shane said. Because of course

it was. Rosenoff stood and walked out of

the room, speaking to whoever was

calling in Russian. Shane was left alone

on the couch with his mind reeling. The

truth was that he hadn't ever had what

he would consider to be a successful

relationship with a woman. He'd had a

decent amount of experience with them,

but he couldn't think of any sexual

encounters with women that had actually

been great. He wasn't sure how any of

the girls felt about it. Maybe they had

just been excited to get into bed with a

hockey star, and that was enough to

distract them from how half-hearted his

efforts had been. He didn't like being

the one doing the [ __ ] all that much.

He loved being [ __ ] Women were not

properly equipped to do that, and Shane

was too embarrassed to ask them to use a

dildo on him. So, he more or less forced

himself to endure the act of [ __ ]

women. Once he was aroused enough, he

could kind of get into it. It was a

means to an end, the same end he was

seeking, no matter who he was with or

what they were doing with him. He was

obviously very athletic, which the women

seem to appreciate, and that probably

covered the fact that he wanted it to be

over as quickly as possible.

At least he hoped so. He would hate for

a woman to feel unappreciated.

If he didn't think they were getting

something pleasurable out of being with

him, he would stop altogether. He

preferred [ __ ] When a woman was

sucking his dick, it was easy enough to

close his eyes and imagine anyone with

their lips wrapped around him. The

problem was that he wasn't so keen on

reciprocating.

He would because he wasn't an [ __ ]

but he had to really psych himself up

for it, and he was almost certainly

terrible at it. He'd heard teammates

talk about eating [ __ ] like it was the

closest thing to heaven on earth. Shane

had never gotten it. But maybe he hadn't

met the right girl yet. That was what he

kept telling himself. It made complete

sense to him. Just because he hadn't

really had his mind blown in the bedroom

by a woman yet didn't mean it was

impossible.

There must be a girl out there somewhere

who could make him feel like he did when

he was with Sorry, Rosenoff said again

when he sat back on the couch. My

father. Oh. And Shane knew he should ask

whether or not everything was okay at

home or something. But he was now

consumed by one thought.

No one makes me feel like Ilia Rosenoff

does. And because the terror Shane was

feeling was probably all over his face.

Rosenoff was the one who asked, "Is

everything okay?" "What? Yeah, of

course. Um, is your dad all right?" Yes,

Rosenoff said a little too quickly and

dismissively. Fine, is he? You're not

eating, Rosenoff said, gesturing toward

the mostly untouched plate of food on

the coffee table in front of Shane.

Sorry, it's good. I was just um

distracted by the game. Rosenoff nodded.

They went back to watching the game, and

this time Shane made sure to eat his

food. He kept stealing glances at

Rosenoff while he ate as if seeing him

for the first time. Oh god, what the

[ __ ] The game ended and the feed

switched to a Western Conference game

that was in progress. Rosenoff cleared

their dishes away and when he came back,

wedged himself between Shane and the arm

of the couch. He turned slightly and

wrapped an arm around Shane, guiding him

back to rest against his own chest.

Shane was surprised, but he went

willingly. Very willingly.

Resting against Rosenoff like this in

his home watching hockey, full of the

food he had just made him. This was

exactly what they weren't supposed to be

doing. This was what couples did. But

Rosenoff's chest was so warm and solid,

and Shane could hear his heart beating

where his ear was pressed against it.

Rosenoff's fingers were idly playing

with his hair, making Shane sleepy and

unreasonably happy. Eventually, Rosenoff

moved his other hand to slide up Shane's

thigh and cup him through his jeans. He

massaged him with one big skilled hand,

and Shane's [ __ ] quickly responded. When

the bulge threatened to rip through the

denim, Rosenoff flicked open the button

on his fly and carefully pulled down the

zipper. Shane hadn't bothered putting

his briefs on again, so his [ __ ] popped

out, and Rosenoff started lazily

stroking it at a frustrating pace. Shane

squirmed against Rosenoff, even

thrusting his hips a bit to try to get

him to pick up the pace. He rubbed his

back against the bulge he could fill in

Rosenoff's sweatpants, hoping it would

inspire a little more urgency in the

other man. Rosenoff didn't take the

bait. He was maddeningly gentle and

patient and had even started to press

light kisses to Shane's hair. Shane

wasn't sure why he was letting Rosenoff

drive anyway. He flipped himself around

and kiss Rosenoff hard. At this angle,

Shane was taller than him, and he could

thread his fingers through Rosenoff's

hair, tug his head back, and attack his

mouth with as much force as he wanted.

His sudden aggression drew a satisfying

moan out of Rosenoff, and Shane wanted

more. He wanted to see how many moans

and hisses he could ring from him. He

wedged his knee into the tight space

between the back of the couch and

Rosenoff's hip and pressed himself down

onto Rosenoff's lap. He squeezed him

with his thighs, holding Rosenoff in

place as he ground his [ __ ] against

Rosenoff's stomach. "Why do I need this

so much?" Shane muttered the words

against Rosenoff's lips and hope the

other man hadn't heard them. "Needs

what?" Rosenoff asked as if he didn't

know. Shane didn't answer. Instead, he

raised his hips so he could haul down

Rosenoff's waistband and pull his [ __ ]

out. [ __ ] I'll endure. Rosenoff's head

fell back on the arm of the couch, and

Shane took the opportunity to kiss and

lick and bite his neck. Then he took

both of their [ __ ] in his hand and

started stroking them. "Yes, do that,"

Rosenoff moaned. It was dry and a little

rough, but it was exactly what Shane

wanted. Rosenoff bucked up into his

hand, and Shane knew it was what he

wanted to. He brought their mouths back

together and kissed Rosenoff wildly.

Wait. Rosenoff grabbed Shane's wrist and

stopped his furious stroking. He pulled

Shane's hand to his face and spit in his

hand, which was gross. But instead of

making a face or bitching at him about

it, Shane found it absurdly arousing.

The saliva didn't add a ton of

lubrication, but by then, Shane's [ __ ]

was leaking enough to make up for it. He

stroked faster with his forehead resting

on Rosenoff's shoulder. Shane was very

close, and judging by the way Rosenoff

was thrusting his hips and babbling in

Russian, he wasn't far behind. "You like

that?" he growled. You going to come for

me, Rosenoff?

[ __ ] make me, Hollander. Shane

gasped, and his stroking became frantic

and sloppy, and he was so close. Come

on, he gritted out. Then Rosenoff went

very still and said, "Oh, God, Shane."

and he came in hot bursts, coating

Shane's hand and allowing Shane to use

the slickness to bring himself off

almost immediately with the sound of his

first name being spoken in a breathless

Russian accent still ringing in his

ears. They held each other, both

breathing heavily as they waited for

their hearts to stop racing. But Shane

didn't think his heart would ever stop

racing.

Shane,

he called me Shane.

He pulled back as he could see

Rosenoff's face and was shocked to see

him staring at him with the same

wideeyed terror that Shane felt. "Ilia,"

he said, barely more than a whisper.

"Ila didn't answer. Instead, he crushed

their mouths together and kissed Shane

in a raw, uncontrolled way that felt

like an apology." "Oh no! Oh [ __ ] Oh

no!"

When they broke apart, Ilia rested his

forehead against Shane's and they just

breathed together. Shane held Ilia's

face in his hands and Ilia was stroking

his back. Was Shane supposed to say

something? Nothing had actually been

admitted here? No grand declarations, no

questions asked. Shane untangled himself

from Ilia and stood. I should go. It was

an understatement. Shane needed to get

the [ __ ] out of there immediately. He

clumsily tucked himself back into his

jeans as he staggered backward away from

Ilia. [ __ ] Where did I leave my

underwear? Go. Yeah, I uh I shouldn't

stay. I can't. We can't. This is Ya

shifted on the couch, stretching one arm

across the back and resting his ankle on

his knee. Casual as anything. This is

nothing. Hollander.

Hollander. You called me Shane.

I know. I just team meeting in the

morning. I forgot. That made Oya laugh.

It wasn't warm. You forgot about a team

meeting. Sure. Shane was already at the

door, shoving his feet into his

sneakers. [ __ ] the underwear. He needed

to leave. Thanks for the tuna melt. Um

Ilia sighed loudly and raised himself

off the couch. Shane was frozen in

place, staring in terror as Ilia slowly

walked toward him. When he reached him,

he tugged down on the hem of Shane's

t-shirt, straightening it up for him.

Good night. Then Shane met Ilia's

intense gaze. His eyes were daring him

to stay. And God Shane wanted to take

that dare.

Good night, Shane said barely above a

whisper.

Ilia's eyes lost their heat and his brow

furrowed as if he just realized that

Shane was really leaving. Then, just as

quickly, he schooled his face to its

default expression of cool indifference.

Shane wanted to kiss him, but he opened

the door instead and darted into the

hallway. He stroed past the elevator

straight to the stairwell, not wanting

to linger outside's door. He joged down

the 16 flights of stairs, trying to put

as much distance between himself and

temptation as possible. When he reached

the bottom, he leaned back against the

wall of the stairwell for a moment. What

is happening? This was bad. This was

really [ __ ] bad. Shane's heart was

racing, and it wasn't from taking the

stairs. Every fiber of him wanted to run

right back up those stairs and into

Ilia's arms, to wrap himself around him

and go to bed with him and wake up with

him. And that was why Shane marched

straight out of Ilia's building and

didn't stop walking until he was safely

back in his hotel room. In his panic, he

wasn't careful enough about not waking

Hayden. He wasn't in the room for 10

seconds before the bedside lamp was

turned on. "How'd it go?" Hayden asked,

grinning sleepily. You in love? No. No.

Jesus. I'm going to take a shower. Why?

To wash off the sex you weren't having.

Go [ __ ] yourself, Hayden. Oh, I did a

couple of times. Thanks for the empty

room. Gross. Shane went into the

bathroom to take a shower and freaked

the hell out in private.

Chapter 14. November 2016.

Montreal.

Hold in there. What the [ __ ] are you

doing right now?

Shane frowned into his phone. It was his

teammate JJ Boou calling. JJ who always

called and never texted. Nothing. Why?

[ __ ] that. Get your ass downtown. My

buddy Franuis, you know the shift? He's

having a little after hours party at his

restaurant. And gets this, the cast of

the [ __ ] X squad movies they're

filming here is going to be there.

All of them? I don't [ __ ] know.

Enough of them. There are some [ __ ]

hot chicks in that movie, man. Get the

[ __ ] in your car. You know the

restaurant, right? Jean Jeh. Oh, sure.

You took me there once, right? Shane's

first instinct was to thank JJ for the

invitation, but to tell him that he was

going to stay in, but he knew from past

experience that saying no to JJ would

result in hourly calls for the rest of

the evening to let him know what he was

missing. Besides, it wasn't like Shane

had anything better to do. Nothing

besides watching the end of a Boston

hockey game on television and quietly

panicking about the freshly unearthed

feelings he was harboring for Ilia

Rosenoff. He could definitely use a

distraction.

He put on some nicer clothes and drove

himself to my end. It was late on a

Tuesday night and the streets were

quiet. He found a parking spot near the

restaurant and stepped out of his SUV

into the cold. Most things on the street

were closed or closing, but he could see

the lights on in the hip Haitian

inspired restaurant on the corner. The

sign on the door said the restaurant was

closed, but [snorts] the door opened for

him before Shane even reached it.

Inside, there was music and laughter and

warmth. The small space was crowded and

something smelled delicious. Helen, yes,

[ __ ] get over here. JJ towered over

everyone in the room. He was 6' 7 in and

over 250 lbs of pure muscle. He had very

dark skin and a thick French accent. The

contrast between JJ and Shane physically

was almost comical. Shane stood a full

10 in shorter than him and weighed about

70 lb less. JJ was also loud and he

loved to talk. He held court no matter

what room he was in. He was French and

fashionable and loved food and wine. the

perfect Montreal celebrity. Everyone

loved him. Aside from a couple of his

teammates, Shane didn't know anyone at

the party, but he certainly recognized a

few movie stars in the crowd. Shane was

pretty famous, extremely so on the

hockey scale. But even he was a little

starruck in this company. He made his

way to the bar where the bartender

seemed to have no problem serving people

well. After closing, the slim,

attractive, dark-skinned man was making

elaborate cocktails for the all-star

guests. "Can I get a beer?" Shane asked

him in French. "Whatever you have on tap

is fine." "Shane Hollander can have

whatever he wants here," the man said

with a sexy little smile. He poured

Shane a beer and rested it on a coaster

in front of him. "Thanks," Shane said.

He slid a $10 bill across the bar. The

bartender held up his hands and said,

"On the house." "Oh, well, you keep it

then." The man shook his head, smiling.

"It's an honor." Shane smiled back and

stuck out his hand. "Shane," he said.

"Please,

Maxim," the man said, shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Maxim. Are you having

a good night?" "This crowd? Are you

kidding? Rose Lendry is here, man."

"Seriously?" Shane asked. He looked over

his shoulder almost involuntarily,

searching the crowd for the famous

actress. He quickly turned back to Maxim

when he realized what he was doing.

Maxim was grinning. Shane shrugged and

grinned back. He loved to catch a

glimpse of Rose Landry, but he was sort

of enjoying looking at Maxim. He decided

to put some space between them before

the fact became obvious. He spent the

night mingling, letting JJ pull him

around the room. He stood in small

circles of people and laughed at their

jokes. He didn't make many of his own.

He avoided the bar and eventually found

an empty table in one corner. He was

ready to leave, but he just wanted to

sit for a moment.

Please tell me you're hungry. A woman's

voice said. Shane looked up and saw a

slim woman with dark, glossy hair and a

very expensive looking top draped over

equally expensive looking jeans.

Roseandry.

The chef just handed me these fritters

and they look delicious, but I can't

possibly eat them all, she said, sliding

into the booth next to Shane. She set a

plate on the table that was piled high

with Haitian salt cod fritters. She

smiled at him, took one, and popped it

into her mouth. Her eyes went wide with

surprise. Oh my god, these are so good.

You have to eat some. She belatedly

raised her hand to cover her mouth as

she spoke. Then she laughed at herself.

Sorry, she said after she swallowed. I'm

a pig. I'm Rose, by the way, she said,

holding out her perfectly manicured

hand. Shane smiled and shook it. Shane,

he said. Nice to meet you. I'm a fan.

Well, she said, leaning in a bit. Would

you be surprised to know I'm a big fan

of yours?

You like hockey? Shane asked. I was born

and raised in Michigan, she said. Damn

right I like hockey.

Oh, well, thanks. You're welcome. Eat a

fritter, Shane Hollander.

Shane lost track of time as they sat in

the booth and talked over delicious cod

fritters. Rose was easy to talk to,

surprisingly so. They bonded over

descriptions of the lakeside cottages

where they had each spent childhood

summers. She had an older brother who

had played hockey in college and then he

became an engineer. Her parents like

Shane's worked in government. Have you

been to Montreal before? Shane asked.

I was shooting a role in a super

terrible FBI versus terrorist whatever

movie. I can't even remember what it was

called. Underdark. Oh my god. Shut up.

You saw it? Shane shrugged and grinned.

It really had been terrible. I fly a

lot, watch a lot of movies. Thankfully,

it was only a small roll, but I was only

in Montreal for a week that time, and it

was summer.

It's a little different here in the

winter. She leaned in and said in a hush

tone that was playfully conspiratorial,

"Mission, remember? Winter can't scare

me." Something fluttery happened in his

stomach. He felt his cheeks heat a bit

and then he asked as smoothly as

possible. "So, you going to be in town

for a while this time?" Her smile let

him know she knew exactly what he was

really asking. At the end of the night,

they exchanged contact info and made

loose plans to meet for dinner whenever

both of their schedules permitted. Shane

left the restaurant with a little spring

in his step. It had easily been the best

connection he had made with a woman

ever. He liked Rose. He wanted to get to

know her better. He was excited by the

idea of spending more time with her. And

she was very pretty, obviously.

But mostly Shane just loved talking to

her. She was funny and she asked a lot

of questions, but none of them had made

Shane uncomfortable.

Shane liked a girl. In the car driving

home, he laughed at how ridiculously

high his standards were.

December 2016, Detroit.

Ilia woke alone in his hotel room in

Detroit. Yes, he was in Detroit. He

glanced over at his roommate's abandoned

bed and then at the clock. 8:30. He

exhaled and scrubbed his eyes before he

sat up. It was no surprise that

Carmichael was already up and out of the

room. The guy was such a morning person,

it was gross. Ilia threw on some sweats

and made his way to the Starbucks in the

hotel lobby for some coffee and a

breakfast sandwich. Two of his

teammates, Cliff Marlo and Victor St.

Simon, were sitting at a table. "Ros,

you got to see this. You'll [ __ ] man."

Cliff called out. Ila couldn't imagine

what the hell would be that interesting

to him. He made his way over to the

table and Victor held out his phone for

him to see. There was a headline that

read, "Is Rose Landry dating NHL star

Shane Hollander?" "No," was Ilia's

immediate reaction. He hoped it sounded

more dismissive to his teammates than

shocked. "Right," Cliff laughed. "She's

like a super giant movie star. How the

[ __ ] did he even meet her during the

hockey season? She's been filming a

movie in Montreal," Victor read. They

met at a mutual friend's party,

according to unnamed sources. Ilia

snorted. There are pictures. Victor

said, "Look."

He held his phone out again, and Ilia

grabbed it. He scrolled through four

paparazzi shoots of Shane having dinner

with the gorgeous, dark-haired movie

star, and one of them, Shane was

laughing. Ilia scouled and handed the

phone back to Victor. "Probably

nothing," he said.

January 2017,

Boston.

It wasn't nothing. As the weeks went on,

more and more paparazzi photos of Shane

and Rose Landry together were hitting

the internet. Photos of the two of them

walking together, smiling at each other,

leaving restaurants together, kissing

each other. On the cheek, just on the

cheek, it could still be nothing. Ilia

turned up the resistance on his

stationary bike. What did he care

anyway? Why shouldn't Hollander be

dating a beautiful woman? Rosenoff had

slept with a beautiful woman two nights

ago and another one the night before

that. The thing was Hollander didn't do

that. Rosenoff assumed Hollander must

have sex with people who weren't him,

but there was no evidence of it. He

didn't want to think about it too much

either way. He had definitely never

known Hollander to go on consecutive

dates with a woman. To be seen with the

woman often enough for the press to

notice. Hollander had a girlfriend.

Maybe Hollander was in love. Ilia pushed

himself on the bike until his thighs

screamed in protest. He stopped and took

a long haul from his water bottle. He

knew this ridiculous thing between them

wasn't going to last forever. It was

just convenient. So maybe it was over

now. So what?

Boston was playing in Montreal next

week. The week after that was the

All-Star game. Would Hollander just

ignore him? As I was exiting the team

gym, he stubbed his toe on one of the

other bikes. He bellowed a string of

Russian profanity and hurled his water

bottle at the wall. He tried to control

his breathing as he watched the water

seep into the black and gold carpet.

Jesus," Cliff said as he stepped off his

treadmill. "What the [ __ ] wrong with

you?" "Nothing," Yoya growled, stubbed

my toe. He left the room in a hurry, not

bothering to pick up the water bottle.

"Haley," he thought to himself. He would

text Haley and see if she was doing

anything tonight. He liked Haley. She

was fun and she had dark hair and

freckles.

One week later, Montreal.

When Shane's phone buzzed an hour after

the game against Boston ended, he had

expected it to be Ilia. It was Rose.

Come out with us tonight. We'll be at

Ultraviolet.

Shane felt a confusing mixture of

anxiety and relief sweep over him. He

hadn't been sure what to say to Ilia if

he had texted him, if he had wanted to

see him, because Shane had a girlfriend

now. sort of. And his girlfriend wanted

him to come to a club with her and her

friends. Shane hated nightclubs. He

never allowed himself to have more than

a couple of drinks, which was not nearly

enough for him to be comfortable on a

dance floor. But his girlfriend, his

[snorts] gorgeous movie star girlfriend,

wanted him to go out dancing with her.

And that was a thing that boyfriends

did, right? And if he had to endure his

teammates teasing him about dating her,

last week Shane had found a giant

bouquet of about 60 roses in his locker

room stall, which was a very expensive

and stupid prank. Then he should at

least try to enjoy himself. Okay, he

texted back. What time?

Ilia was absolutely not going to text

Hollander. Not a chance. What he was

going to do instead, apparently, was

sulk around his hotel room and snap at

his roommate for no reason at all.

"Hey," Ryan Carmichael said after the

eenth undeservedly [ __ ] comment from

Ilia. "Fuck you. What's your problem

anyway?" Ilia sighed and set himself on

the end of his bed. "Nothing. [ __ ] this.

I need to get late. Let's go out."

"Ohere."

Ilia swept his hand in the direction of

the large window. We're in [ __ ]

Montreal. We find the club. Come on.

Carmichael blinked at him, then smiled.

[ __ ] right, man. I'm going to text

Victor and Cliff.

After six very successful NHL seasons,

Shane had gained a reputation for two

things. One, being a natural leader and

an outstanding playmaker. and two being

absolutely no fun at all. Shane felt the

second accusation was unfair. He was

plenty fun. He could relax with a beer

and joke around. He was social. He He

hated clubs. That was something he

couldn't deny. He didn't dance. He

didn't like crowds. And he didn't like

the pressure to pick up women. At least

tonight, he didn't have to worry about

that last thing. He found Rose and her

friends in a VIP area at the club. She

stood up and kissed him quickly in

greeting. He recognized most of the

people there. Two of them were her

co-stars from the X Squad movie, Miles

and Jia. Miles was a young actor with a

massive fan base due to his work as a

teenager on a popular television drama.

He was extremely attractive with light

brown skin, perfectly groomed stubble,

and the most incredible eyes Shane had

ever seen. They were gray, so pale they

were almost silver. He was looking

effortlessly gorgeous in a long-sleeve

black top, slim fitting dark gray pants,

and a black knit hat. Shane nodded at

him awkwardly and received a slow,

absurdly sexy smile in return. Shane

looked away quickly and moved to sit

next to Rose. "Good game tonight," Rose

said. "Oh, thanks. You watched." She

smiled apologetically. I wish. We just

finished filming for the day a couple of

hours ago. I was checking the score on

my phone, though. She took his hand and

squeezed it, then pulled it over to rest

on her knee. It was probably as natural

as anything for her, but Shane felt like

everyone was just staring at their

joined hands. What is wrong with me? A

server appeared, and Shane ordered a

beer. Everyone else seemed to be

drinking vodka. He was definitely not

going to get into that [ __ ] tonight.

They sat and dranked and talked for over

an hour as the club filled in. Rose's

voice was noticeably from shouting over

the music. Shane had barely said 10

words. He just enjoyed listening to

everyone else and laughing when someone

made a joke. When he couldn't follow the

conversation, he sipped his second beer,

[clears throat] watched the dance floor,

and stole a few glances at Miles, which

was dumb because Shane was here with

Rose Landry. "Come dance with me," Rose

exclaimed suddenly. She stood up and

tried to pull Shane with her. "Oh,"

Shane said. "No, I uh come on, I never

get to dance." "That is a lie." Miles

laughed. Well, I want to dance with

Shane. Shane heard Miles say something

that sounded a lot like that makes two

of us, but he couldn't be sure over the

music. Shane surrendered and put his

beer bottle on the table. He stood and

allowed Rose to lead him to the dance

floor. Shane really, really needed to up

his fashion game. Hanging out with Rose

and her friends made him feel like a

slob, and being on the dance floor only

emphasized how uninspired his wardrobe

was. He had made an effort tonight, but

his deep plum polo and dark blue pants

seemed kind of basic. His sneakers were

nice, though. Rose put her arms around

his neck and they danced, or at least

she danced. She was stunning, and she

moved to the music with so much carefree

joy. Shane was mesmerized.

Most of the girls on the dance floor

seemed more like Rosenoff's type, or at

least what he was pretty sure Rosenoff

was into, based on photos that Shane had

seen on the internet completely by

accident, and not because he sometimes

did image searches for Ilia Rosenoff.

He could easily imagine Ilia flirting

with one or two of the array of blonde

tanned girls with dark eyelashes and

shimmery lips. He wondered what Ilia was

doing tonight. Had he been disappointed

that they hadn't hooked up? Was Shane

disappointed? Rose flicked her dark hair

around and laughed. "I love this song,"

she yelled. Shane smiled back. He had no

idea what song it was. He kept his

fingers on Rose's waist, barely touching

as she closed her eyes and slid a hand

down his chest. Shane understood what

was supposed to be happening here. He

was supposed to be escalating things,

touching her, teasing her, making her

want him, and then they would kiss and

press closer together. And so why wasn't

he?

Ilia headed straight for the dance floor

as soon as they entered the club. It was

late and the place was packed. A quick

scan of the place told him that there

were plenty of good options, plenty of

gorgeous girls who could take his mind

off Shane's stupid Hollander.

Wait. It was impossible not to spot Rose

Landry on the dance floor. Even in this

crowd, she stood out. And it only took

him a second longer to realized the man

she had her arms around who had his

hands on her waist was Shane Hollander.

[ __ ] it. Ilia moved purposely to the

other side of the dance floor. He found

a girl inside a minute who was happy to

press her body against his. By the next

song, she had her tongue in his mouth.

He wondered if Hollander saw him.

Miles joined them on the dance floor and

Shane dropped his hands from Rose's

waist. Rose turned and smiled at Miles

and danced with him for a while. Miles

kept looking over his shoulder at Shane.

There almost seemed to be a hint of

invitation in his eyes. Shane looked

away uncomfortably. He stood on the

dance floor just barely swaying with his

arms hanging limp at his sides. Now that

Miles was here, he could probably slip

away, go back to the VIP area, maybe

even go home. His eyes landed on a man

he was sure was Victor St. Simon, a

player from Boston. He was smiling at a

girl he was dancing with. Shane frowned

and glanced around. He spotted Ryan

Carmichael and Cliff Marlo and Ilia

Rosenoff.

Ilia was dancing with a girl. His head

and shoulders towered over most of the

crowd. Shane moved through the sea of

dancers toward him without even

realizing he was doing it. He got close

enough to see the way the heat of the

room was causing Ilia's damp hair to

curl even tighter than usual. And the

way his skin glistened the same way it

had during the game. But the games

didn't have lighting like this. At the

games, the music wasn't pounding and

Ilia's body wasn't writhing and the

whole room didn't scream sex. Ilia had

on a V-neck t-shirt that was almost

transparent. Despite being a dark color,

sometimes a light would hit him just

right, and Shane could see the outline

of his bear tattoo and the glint of his

gold chain. The girl he was dancing with

had her back to him, and she seemed to

be grinding her ass into his crotch.

Ilia was watching her, eyes hooded, lips

parted. Shane watched as he bit down on

his lower lip and closed his eyes before

bending his head to kiss her neck.

She turned and leaned up and kissed him.

It was a wild, filthy kiss. She had her

hands up the front of his shirt and

Shane felt sick. He needed to leave. He

realized suddenly, as if waking from a

dream, that he was standing alone in the

middle of a dance floor, not dancing,

just staring at Ilia.

He couldn't let Ilia notice him. Ilia

pulled away from the kiss and smiled at

his very welling partner. She was a good

kisser. She had a tongue piercing. He'd

like that. He glanced around the club,

wondering where the best dark corner was

to Holy [ __ ] When his gaze landed on

Shane Hollander, Shane's eyes went wide.

Had Shane just been watching it. Ilia

couldn't resist pushing it. He gave him

what he believed to be his sexiest smile

and bent down to whisper in the girl's

ear. Should we take this somewhere else?

He never took his eyes off Shane.

"Sorry," she said, surprising him. "Not

tonight, babe. I'm here with my

boyfriend. He likes to watch me. It

turns him on. But I'm leaving with him."

The [ __ ] Your boyfriend? He looked

around nervously. She laughed. "Relax.

He's not going to hit you. He likes it."

Like I said, she kissed his cheek,

turned, and left him. and Shane was

gone. Furious and now even more

desperately in need of release than he

had been before he'd left the hotel,

Ilia stormed off the dance floor and

grabbed Victor by the arm. I'm leaving

with that girl. Right on, man. Ilia

didn't answer him.

Back at the hotel, Ilia jerked off in

the shower before throwing himself

angrily onto his bed. He couldn't sleep.

He curled on his side and watched the

minutes tick by on the alarm clock

beside the bed. Stupid [ __ ] Shane

Hollander. Stupid Rose Landry. Oh god,

what was wrong with him? Why did he

care? Ilia had been ready to let that

weird girl with the kinky boyfriend do

whatever she wanted to with him. What

did it matter what Shane was doing when

Ilia didn't require him? Except Shane

had been watching him make out with that

girl. And Shane had looked so [ __ ]

good. Not like clothes-wise. Shane's

wardrobe was as boring as he was. But

something about seeing Shane Hollander

in that environment had been

exhilarating.

What if Ilia had been able to get closer

to him? Would Shane have danced with him

right there in that packed Montreal

nightclub? Would he have let Ilia push

that stupid polo up and run his hands

over the hard lines of his abs? Would he

have tilted his head back and sucked in

a breath when Ilia kissed his neck? No,

it would never have happened. Shane was

with Rose now, and he and Ilia couldn't

even appear to be friendly with each

other, let alone be spotted grinding

against each other in a club. He pinched

the cross that hung around his neck and

rubbed it with his thumb as he scouled

into the dark room. He had never in his

life been angry about someone sleeping

with someone else. He was largely

indifferent to most things. Was it just

that Ilia liked his sex with a generous

helping of danger and Shane provided

both? Or was he just being childish

about having to share his favorite toy

with a gorgeous movie star? Somewhere

buried deep in his brain, there was a

third reason that was screaming for

attention.

Ilia ignored it.

Chapter 15. One week later. Montreal.

Shane liked Rose Landry. He did. She was

easy to talk to and she had a warmth

about her that drew people in. She was a

bigger celebrity than he was, but she

handled it so easily. She laughed a lot

and when she asked people questions,

which was often, she genuinely seemed to

care about their answers. Maybe it was

because she was an actress, but she

always seemed very interested in people,

always observing, and she remembered

every detail. They had slept together a

couple of times. It had been fine,

better than usual, really, except Shane

knew she wouldn't be so dazzled by his

stardom that she would be able to

overlook his performance. And that had

made him nervous, which had made it more

difficult for him to perform.

But she had been patient and helpful,

and he'd completed the task both times.

He may have noticed some surprise on her

part that it seemed to be such a chore

for him, especially the second time. He

was sure she wasn't used to that.

Tonight, Shane was alone with her at a

private table in a wine bar in Old

Montreal.

He had actually been surprised when he'd

arrived and found her alone there. He'd

been expecting the usual crowd of Rose's

friends and co-workers.

I thought it would be nice to have some

time to talk, she explained. Just the

two of us. Sure, Shane had nodded. Yeah,

you're right. It's nice. They talked for

a long time over wine and shakuderie.

At one point, Rose laughed at some dumb

joke Shane made. You're so cute, she

said. Have I told you how cute you are?

No, Shane said, blushing a little.

You are. I'll tell you, she said,

leaning in. Miles is extremely jealous.

Of me? She laughed. No, silly. Of me?

Oh. Shane let that sink in.

Oh. Rose's eyes bugged out a bit. Wait,

did you not notice that Miles is gay?

Um, I guess I really hadn't thought

about it. Shane lied. Well, he is. And

he's low-key in love with you.

Oh. Shane knew he was beat red. He hoped

the dim lighting hit it. Are you

surprised that a young actor is gay,

Shane?

No, I mean, no. She leaned back in her

chair. Are there like gay hockey

players? She asked. I [snorts] mean,

obviously, yes, there are, right? But

are there any openly gay hockey players?

No, Shane said. I mean, yes, there are

gay hockey players, by players,

whatever. I'm sure there must be. Yeah,

but no one has ever come out publicly.

Why is she asking me about this?

H, she said. What? She gave him a small

smile. He wasn't sure what it meant. I'm

sorry. I'm going about this the wrong

way.

Going about what? And suddenly Shane

felt like he was staring down a

slapshot. He braced himself for impact.

She reached out and put her hands on

his.

Shane, I really like you, but I'm

getting the vibe that maybe I'm not

doing it for you.

You are. You do. I like you a lot, too.

You like talking to me. Yeah.

Do you like kissing me? Sure. She

laughed. Wow. Oh god. Shane was [ __ ]

this up. I mean, yes, of course I do.

It's okay, Shane. I just get the

impression that maybe you would be

rather kissing just for example,

Miles.

Shane didn't know what to say. He had

never encountered a direct accusation

like this before.

Except it wasn't really an accusation.

Rose wasn't judging him. She was just

trying to understand him. He stared into

his wine glass. He knew he had taken too

long to reply already. The jig was up.

It's okay, she said again, her voice

soft and warm, her fingers brushed over

his hand reassuringly.

I like you, Shane said quietly. I like

being with you. I like talking to you,

but the sex part, I know it's a problem.

[clears throat] It's not a problem, she

said. A problem is something you can

solve. We're like a square peg in a

round hole. She scrunched her nose. Ew,

no, gross. Forget I said that. Shane

laughed. I get it. We just aren't

supposed to fit together, and that's

fine, but we can't keep trying." Shane

nodded. "For the record, I'm not sure

that I'm like Miles exactly."

When he met her eyes, she smiled. "Well,

it's nothing that you need to figure out

today." She took a sip of her wine,

possibly for courage, because the next

words out of her mouth were, "Have you

ever been with a man?" For whatever

reason, Shane didn't feel like lying.

He'd made it this far.

Yes.

And was it different? Of course. I mean,

was it better? [clears throat] Shane's

memory supplied him with flashes of

golden brown curls and sparkling hazel

eyes and a playful smile and hard

muscles, and of strong hands holding him

down as he was entered and filled. And

yeah, Shane said softly. Yeah, it was

better. He cleared his throat. The thing

is, I kind of prefer to be the hole than

the peg.

Rose threw her head back in delight.

Shane laughed, too. He felt lighter

suddenly. Later, before they left the

bar, Rose gave him a mischievous look

over the rim of her wine glass and said,

"So, should I give Miles your number?"

"No, thank you, but no, I need to figure

some stuff out." I know. I was just

joking mostly. They waited outside for

her driver, and she said, "Let's be

friends." And I don't mean in an I hope

we can still be friends [ __ ] way.

I mean it. Let's be friends. Let's be

best friends because I really do care

about you a lot, Shane. And I feel like

you might not have anyone else to talk

to about certain things.

I'd like that. You're right. I don't.

And I care about you, too. We'll be

friends. You have my number. Text me.

Text me all the time. Please. Whenever

we're in the same city, we'll hang out.

I promise.

She hugged him as her driver pulled up.

He hugged her back and kissed the top of

her head. He was surprised to feel tears

in his eyes.

The same night, Boston,

Svetana was his favorite. Ilia watched

her now, perched on the end of his bed,

naked, flipping through channels,

searching for the Vancouver versus

Colorado hockey game. When she found it,

she slapped the remote down on the

mattress and shimmyed back until she was

beside Ilia against the headboard. She

pulled the cigarette from between his

lips and took a drag. "I thought you

quit," she teased. She had vivid blue

eyes and long straight hair that was so

blonde it almost had no color at all.

She couldn't have looked less like, "Why

is Mat still on the Power Play line?"

She complained at the television in

Russian.

It's [ __ ] He's been horrible all

season. They should put Bogra in. "Why

don't you coach Colorado then?" Ilia

asked, snatching back his cigarette.

"They would be lucky to have me." Ilia

laughed. He had first met Setilana 3

years ago when she'd worked for the

Lamborghini dealership in Boston. He had

been surprised to learn after he'd slept

with her the first time that she was the

daughter of a retired Russian Boston

Bears star player. She possibly knew

more about hockey than Ilia did. "What

was that shot?" she asked the

television. "He should have gone high."

"It is a little harder when you are the

one who is actually doing it." She waved

her hand dismissively. "What would you

know?" she said. Then she smiled and

they both laughed. Despite her fierce

love of hockey, she never treated Ilia

with any reverence. Maybe it was being

the daughter of a former superstar that

made her unable to put Ilia on a

pedestal. She seemed to want exactly

what Ilia wanted, a no expectations hook

up from time to time. They had fun

together, and she was incredibly

beautiful. The fact that Ilia could

speak to her in Russian was a bonus.

Uggh. Mat again. He's terrible.

Why do you even care about Colorado? I

care about all teams. I don't like good

Russian players being put on the second

line so a no talent Canadian can hog the

spotlight. No talent. No talent? None.

You can tell him next time you see him.

I will. Good. You tell him Vrova says he

is terrible. I'll see him next week at

the All-Star game. I can't believe Mat

is an all-star. It makes no sense. He is

beloved. He is terrible. Ilia rolled his

eyes and smiled. "You are playing with

Shane Hollander this year, right?" "In

the All-Star game?" Svet Lana asked as

if she didn't know the answer. "Yes, is

he also terrible." "No, no, Hollander is

amazing. I love Shane Hollander." She

sort of purred the last few words.

Traitor. He's a beautiful skater. Such

talented hands and so cute. Now you're

trying to make me angry. You can't argue

those facts, Ilia. No, Ilia said,

grinding the butt of his cigarette into

a small plate he was using as a

makeshift ashtray. I can't argue them.

He is very good and cute, if you say so.

She pulled her knees to her chest. Are

we going to [ __ ] again or should I get

dressed? I'm cold.

Ilia considered her question, then

shrugged. I'm hungry. You should get

dressed. She looked momentarily

surprised. Then her features changed to

match his own cool indifference. All

right. She stood up and began retrieving

her clothes from the floor. Ilia watched

her, but his mind wasn't on her slim,

perfect body. Would he have shrugged if

Shane had asked him if they were going

to [ __ ] again? Would he have turned down

his chance to enjoy his body as many

times as he possibly could? Don't you

dare put your clothes on, Hollander. I'm

not done with you yet. The truth, the

truth that he tried so very hard to

ignore was that no one set him on fire

like Shane Hollander. All of these

women, they were gorgeous, fun, very

sexy, but he didn't think about them

after they were gone. He didn't long for

them. With them, he could be sated.

He grimaced at himself as Svet Lana

pulled her shirt back on. Shane

Hollander was not an option. He wasn't

ever an option. Not really. This thing

between them needed to stop. It was bad

for both of them. And Ilia knew they

should end it. What scared Ilia was how

desperately he wanted to continue, but

not enough to embarrass himself, which

was why he hadn't even bothered texting

Shane when their teams had played

against each other in Montreal last

week. He had no interest in being

rejected by Shane Hollander. He'd also

had no interest in seeing Shane

Hollander with his hands all over Rose

[ __ ] Landry in a nightclub. But fate

seemed determined to rub Hollander in

his face. a [ __ ] nightclub. If he

couldn't be safe from Hollander there,

then where?

Ilia wondered if Rose Landry would be

joining Shane in Florida for the

All-Star game. He wondered if Rose

Landry would be accompanying Shane to

everything from now on. Maybe they would

get married. For the first time ever,

Ilia was not looking forward to the

All-Star game.

Chapter 16.

January 2017, Tampa Bay.

Shane was nervous. After six and a half

seasons, he was used to his [ __ ] up

arrangement with Rosenoff, but something

felt different now. Maybe it was because

he had finally spoken aloud to someone

about his possible preference. Or maybe

it was because of the weird way things

were left the last time he and Rosenoff

had been together in Ilia's apartment.

Or maybe Shane just felt sure of what he

wanted now after walking away from a

relationship that had been almost

perfect.

Almost. He wanted to see Rosenoff this

weekend. He wanted to be with him alone

behind closed doors. He was tired of

lying to himself about it. This year,

finally, Shane would know what it felt

like to play with Ilia Rosenov.

Six all-star games, and this was the

first time they had been placed on the

same team.

injuries and weird gimmicky team

arrangements that the league kept coming

up with had prevented it from happening

before. He wasn't the only one who was

excited about him being Ilia's teammate.

The press was having a field day writing

about this monumental event where Shane

and Ilia would have to put aside their

supposed animosity and learn to work

together. Was it even possible? They

wondered. Shane smiled to himself as he

hung up his suit in the hotel room

closet.

if they only knew.

But truthfully, if he only knew what

Ilia was thinking these days, he wasn't

sure if Ilia wanted to end things or if

he wanted to push things further. He

really had no idea what to expect from

his temporary teammate this weekend. He

glanced at his watch. The team meetup

downstairs was starting in a few

minutes. Shane blew out of breath, then

checked himself in the mirror. Let's do

this.

Ilia hadn't texted Hollander in over two

months. Not that they had ever regularly

contacted each other before, but this

silence had been particularly deafening.

The past few weeks had been the first

time that Ilia felt sure that if he

texted him, Shane wouldn't reply. Shane

would probably show the text to his

movie star girlfriend, and they would

laugh at how pathetic Ilia was. No, that

wouldn't happen. Of course, Shane

wouldn't do that. Maybe Ilia fumbled his

package of nicotine gum out of his

pocket and popped a piece in his mouth.

Had Shane brought his girlfriend to

All-Star Weekend. Would he introduce her

to Ilia?

God. Ilia ran out of time to fret

because at that moment, Hollander walked

into the bar. Every head turned. Some

guys actually stood up for [ __ ] sake.

Ilia leaned against the bar and watched

Shane shake hands and clap guys on the

back. He watched him smile and laugh

with everyone. He looked relaxed and

confident, like a man who had gotten his

life together, like a man who didn't

question himself anymore. He looked

Christ, he looked so [ __ ] good.

Maybe Rose had taken him shopping or

something. Suddenly, he was dressing

like the millionaire he was. He had on a

white button-up linen shirt open at the

collar with the sleeves rolled up. They

were in Florida after all. It was tucked

into slate blue pants that fit him

perfectly. The outfit was finished with

a woven belt and some stylish gray

sneakers with no socks. Ilia was wearing

shorts and a shirt that was covered in

palm trees because he'd thought it would

be funny. Now he felt like a [ __ ]

idiot. He ordered another drink just so

he'd stop staring at Shane. He cursed

himself for feeling so gloomy. It should

be a fun weekend. The hotel was a

[ __ ] beach resort. Someone moved into

the space next to him at the bar.

Without looking, Ilia knew it was

Hollander.

"Hey teammate," Shane said. "Hello,

Captain." Ilia said, because Shane had

been selected as the captain of their

all-star team, of course. Shane flagged

the bartender down, and Ilia noticed the

expensive watch on his wrist. A gift

from Rose, maybe. So, this should be

fun, huh? Shane said, "Always wondered

what it would be like to play on the

same team. Have you?" Nice that it's in

Florida this year, eh?

Shane's beer arrived. Dilia watched him

take a long haul off the bottle. He

watched his throat work as he swallowed.

He couldn't take it anymore. "Did you

bring anyone with you?" I asked. Shane

shook his head. "No, I mean, my parents

thought about it, but they've been to so

many of these things, and they're

already going to Mexico next month, so

ah!" Rose Landry must be busy filming

somewhere. Shane's tongue darted out to

lick his upper lip. Ilia could have

sworn it happened in slow motion. "Nice

shirt," Shane said with a grin. "Thought

I'd get in the spirit. You know, you can

pull it off." He rad his eyes over

Ilia's body, and Ilia's heart sped up.

"Looks good." Ilia probably could have

said something similar in return, but he

was too busy staring at the hollow of

Shane's throat. "Jesus, look at this

[ __ ] beautiful."

A pair of giant arms landed heavily

across the shoulders of Ilia and Shane.

The intruder, Mike Brophy, a huge

defenseman from New Jersey, pulled

Ilia's and Shane's heads together. This

is what it's all about. [ __ ]

Hollander and Rosenoff working together.

Love it. Shane had managed to pull his

head from Brophy's bicep and gave the

big man a weary smile. Should be fun.

Yeah, he said. Don't listen to a word

this [ __ ] says though, Brophie said,

elbowing Ilia roughly. Can't trust this

[ __ ] Whatever he tells you, he's

probably [ __ ] with you. I'll keep

that in mind, Shane said. Broofphy left

with departing arm punches to both of

them. I think we can expect a lot of

that kind of thing this weekend, Shane

said. He turned so he was leaning back

against the bar on his elbows.

They should give us a chance to get to

know each other, Ilia said. He leaned in

and dropped his voice. We might even

have something in common. Shane smiled

at the floor, the color rising in his

cheeks. You look good, too. Ilia said,

"Someone take you shopping?" Shane

looked at him. "If I tell you something,

do you promise not to tell anyone or

make fun of me?" Ilia felt an icy stab

of dread in his stomach. He braced

himself and said, "Sure,

I uh" Ilia waited for the words. "I'm

seeing someone. I'm engaged. I don't

need you anymore.

I hired a personal stylist." For a

moment, there was silence. Dilia burst

out laughing. "Fuck off," he said,

delighted. "I shouldn't have told you.

No, I love it." got tired of looking

like [ __ ] I didn't Shane was trying to

look angry, but Elia could tell he was

fighting a smile. I just mostly wore,

you know, athletic stuff. I guess track

pants and t-shirts and stuff. Some guys

in the league are so fashionable and I

just thought I could use some help. This

has nothing to do with Rose Landry.

What? No, I mean, yeah. Her friends were

all really well-dressed all the time. I

guess maybe I felt like a slob when we

went out together. I never really cared

about clothes and I thought, I don't

know, I just want to present myself

better. Not always dressed like I'm

heading to the gym. Ilia didn't miss the

past tense of what Shane was saying

about going out with Rose, even with his

imperfect English. Are you and her not?

Shane shook his head. We're not. No, it

was just a short thing. She's great. We

just weren't um compatible.

[clears throat]

He looked seriously at Ilia then. Ilia

wanted to kiss him. Anyway, Shane said,

gesturing toward the room with his beer

bottle. I should say hi to everyone. He

stepped away from the bar, right? Ilia

put his hand over his mouth to hide his

ridiculous smile.

It was a fun weekend. Everyone had a lot

of free time on Saturday before the

skills competition that night. A lot of

the guys lounged around the pool soaking

up the Florida sun or headed to the

beach. Shane spent some of the afternoon

by the pool. The league had asked the

fans to vote for the All-Star team

captains this year and they had chosen

him. Shane felt a little embarrassed

about it because even though he had been

the captain of the Voyagures for two and

a half seasons now, and this was his

sixth All-Star game, the [snorts] honor

of being named All-Star team captain

normally went to one of the most senior

players on the team. Shane was only 25.

But being named captain over Rosenoff

had felt pretty sweet. Rosenoff was in

the pool with a couple of other players

and their kids being loud and goofing

around. Shane was sitting on a deck

chair with a bottle of water, shaking

his head and smiling as he watched him

challenge the kids to a swimming race.

He would lose every time and then he

would act outraged and accuse the kids

of cheating. The kids were laughing so

hard Shane was worried they might drown.

Last race, I announced championship

match. Winner takes all. No other races

count. No way. One of the kids yelled at

him. Come on. One more race. If I lose,

I will buy you candy bars from the

machine. That was enough to get the kids

to line up across one end of the pool.

Hey, I'll end here. Yoya called

suddenly. Shane nodded at him. You got

to watch. Okay. Ia said. Make sure none

of these cheaters cheats. Okay. You kids

know who that guy is? I asked. Shane

Hollander. Most of them said at once.

Really? Ilia said, figning shock. You've

heard of that guy. They laughed. One of

the braver ones said, "He's the best

player in the league." "Okay, you're out

of the race, out of the pool, out of

Florida. Goodbye. Where's your dad?" The

kids laughed more. Shane laughed, too.

He wondered if Ilia ever thought about

having kids. He was good with them.

Finally, the race began. Ilia took an

early lead, then pretended to have been

attacked by a shark. "You got to buy us

candy bars?" One of the kids said, "Oh,

damn. Hey, Hollinger. I need like 10

bucks." Shane almost flipped him off,

but then remembered the kids. "Did

Boston stop paying you or something?" He

grinned. "I forgot my wallet." "Of

course you did." Ilia hoisted himself

out of the pool. Shane's breath caught a

little as he watched him make his way

over to his chair. His wet swimsuit

clung to his thighs and his crotch, and

water ran in little rivullets down his

chest. When he reached Shane's chair, he

shook his head violently so water flew

all over Shane's dry clothing.

Ah, f. Shane stopped himself. Knock it

off. Instead, Ilia swooped down and

wrapped his arms around him. Shane's

eyes went wide. Get off. What the? He

was shocked that Ilia would do something

this public. Shocked and a little

thrilled. But to everyone watching, this

was just typical Rosenoff being a

playful [ __ ] Everyone was laughing

as Shane squirmed in a half-hearted

attempt to free himself. When he finally

let go, Shane shoved him and tried to

look annoyed, but he knew his face was

flushed, and he couldn't help grinning.

Ilia straightened up to full height,

looming over Shane with the sun behind

him. Every inch of him was glistening

gold. It took every ounce of Shane's

willpower to stop himself from reaching

out for him. He looked magnificent.

He was looking right back at Shane with

his wet hair falling into his eyes. And

Shane followed his gaze down to his own

chest. His shirt was wet and clinging to

him. It was a white and blue gingham

check shirt and parts of it were

transparent now. You wrecked my shirt,

Shane said. Sorry, Ila said. He didn't

sound sorry. Shane licked his bottom

lip. Ilia quickly turned away from him.

They bro, I need 10 bucks. Hollinger's a

cheapkate.

Ilia moved from center to right wing for

the All-Star game so he could play on a

line with Hollander. He was happy to do

it. He'd been waiting a long time for an

opportunity to play with Shane, and

playing with him was everything he had

imagined it would be. He actually felt

bad for their left-wing mindmate,

Carson, because as far as Ilia was

concerned, there was no one else on the

ice. Hollander could actually keep up

with Ilia. And it was like they were

reading each other's minds when they

passed the puck. They had barely had any

time to practice together. They just

clicked in a way Ilia never had with any

other player.

It was exhilarating.

Ilia took a pass from one of the

defensemen and he took off. When he

glanced to his left, he saw that Shane

was right there with him. He crossed the

blue line, fired the puck over to Shane.

Shane knocked it back to him and Ilia

returned it at the last second. Shane

shot it cleanly into the top corner of

the net for his fourth goal of the game.

Shane raised his arms in celebration and

he just looked so happy. He was beaming

and his eyes were crinkled and his

cheeks were flushed. Ilia embraced him

and Shane wrapped both of his arms tight

around him. Ilia felt a puff of Shane's

hot breath on his neck and he could see

the glisten of sweat on his skin and

Ilia kissed him hard on the cheek. He

was sure to the crowd that it looked

like Ilia's usual obnoxious shenanigans,

that the kiss was just another way of

annoying Hollander, but the truth was he

simply couldn't help himself. He had

seen an opportunity and he had taken it.

"What the fuck?" Shane laughed. Ilia

felt his own cheeks flush, which was a

rare and uncomfortable feeling. "Nice

school," he said. "Nice assist," Shane

said, shooting him a weird look. Ilia

grinned and shrugged. He thumped Shane

on the back in an overly macho way and

skated toward the bench. On Sunday night

after the game, a bunch of the guys went

to a Mexican restaurant that one of the

Tampa Bay players claimed had the best

food in town. A few others just drank at

the hotel bar. There were several room

parties happening, too. Shane was

sitting on the beach alone. It was dark,

but there were still quite a few people

out walking in the moonlight. He suppose

that was exactly what you came to

Florida for. He just needed an hour or

so to himself. The weekend had been

challenging for a lot of reasons. He had

tried to keep some distance between

himself and Ilia, both because he

couldn't trust himself not to touch him

in some telling way, and also because

the media was so obsessed with the two

of them playing together despite hating

each other that he didn't want to give

them any fuel. And he supposed

to change the narrative either. The

rivalry was good for the league, good

for their careers, and most importantly,

it was a very good cover for the truth.

He dug his toes into the cool sand. He

listened to the waves that he could just

barely see in the darkness. This was

nice. So much of his life was spent

indoors. Arenas and gyms and hotel rooms

and airports and planes.

Someone sat beside him a few inches

away. He didn't even need to look.

Found you, said Ilia. You were looking

for me. Of course not. They sat in

silence for a while. Ilia planted his

hands behind him next to Shane's in the

sand and stretched his long legs out.

His feet were bare like Shane's. I

looked up the word. Ilia said

compatible.

What? I thought I knew what it meant,

but I wanted to check. Shane thought for

a moment, then realized what Ilia was

referring to. Oh, you and Rose Landry.

Yeah, not compatible. Not in that way,

anyway. Ilia was quiet. Shane [snorts]

looked around to see if anyone was close

enough to hear them. They seemed to be

alone. It was very dark.

When do you fly out? The early, Ilia

said. Me, too. Columbus. Toronto. When

Ilia said it, he rolled the R slightly

and pronounced the second T. Shane

smiled. Without warning, Ilia moved his

hand until it was right next to Shane's,

and then he hooked their thumbs

together. Shane's first instinct was to

pull away, but he resisted. Instead, he

closed his eyes and tried not to hope

for impossible things. He also resisted

the urge to rest his head on Ilia's

shoulder. "What room are you in?" Shane

whispered. 1217.

I'd like to talk somewhere private. Ilia

pulled his thumb away. Shane wanted to

grab it back. Ilia stood and said, "See

you soon." before walking back toward

the hotel.

Chapter 17.

Ilia stood in the middle of his hotel

room. Did Shane actually want to talk to

him? Was talking code for something else

like it always had been before? Had

Shane felt the shift in their

relationship that Ilia had the last time

they were together? If so, was he

looking into breaking things off and run

away or lean into it? Or maybe he didn't

know what he wanted because Ilia sure as

[ __ ] didn't. He also knew that what they

both wanted probably didn't matter

anyway. Ilia wished they could go for a

walk or something, a moonlight stroll on

the beach. He was tired of hotel rooms.

His phone buzzed. I'm here. He opened

the door immediately. Shane slipped in.

His clothes were rumpled in a little

sandy from the beach. His hair had been

tussled by the ocean breeze. He crossed

the room without speaking and sat on the

end of the bed. He clasped his hands

together and looked at the floor.

"Whoa," Ilia said. "This looks serious."

"It's not. I mean, sort of. Just shut up

a second. All right. Ilia set himself on

the dresser directly across from the end

of the bed and waited. It's Shane

grimaced. It's not just me, right? Not

just you. I mean, you feel it, too,

don't you? Feel what?

God, [ __ ] you. You know what I mean. The

last time we were together, it was

different. Ilia shrugged and looked

away. He knew it was the wrong reaction,

but he felt a horrifying swell of

emotion that he couldn't let Shane see.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm

talking about," Shane said angrily.

"This is hard enough without you being

an asshole."

Ilia turned back to him, his face

carefully hiding everything he was

feeling. "What do you want, Hollander?"

I Shane didn't seem to have any idea of

what to say next.

We get together and we [ __ ] Is simple?

Ilia said simple? Shane grumbled. Right.

Ilia shrugged again. Is simple for me.

[ __ ] Ilia rolled his eyes. Why was

Hollander saying any of this? Why now? I

think I'm gay. Shane blurted out. Ilia

looked at him startled for a moment.

Then he laughed. Oh yeah. What gives you

that idea? Shen glared at him, which

made Ilia laugh more. The last time my

dick was in your mouth, I thought you

might be a little gay, Ilia teased. [ __ ]

off, you're not gay. No, I said serious

again. Not completely.

Well, I think I might be completely.

Ila studied him a moment, then said,

"You okay? So, you are gay. So what?

Well, it's sort of a big deal to me at

least. Sorry if I'm boring you. Ilia

slid off the dresser and went to the

mini fridge. He pulled out a can of Coke

and a can of ginger ale. He handed the

ginger ale to Shane as he sat beside him

on the bed. "Why are you telling me that

you are gay?" I asked quietly. Shane

laughed humorously.

Who else am I going to tell? Ilia took a

sip of his coke. You are not the only

gay NHL player. Probably. I know. So

Shane sighed. It's not just being gay,

he said awkwardly as if he was still

getting used to the word. It's you. You

and me. Being gay is one thing. Hooking

up with your arch [ __ ] rival is

another. That's why it is a secret.

I know that, but Shane ran a hand

through his own hair in exasperation.

Last time we were together, it was nice,

he said quietly. Ilia was silent a

moment, then admitted it was. It felt

like we were more. We can't be more,

Hollander. Shane turned his head sharply

to look at Ilia. Would you want to be if

we could? We can't. That's not what I

asked. Ilia stood up and set his coke

down hard on the dresser. It doesn't

[ __ ] matter. Shane flinched and

fiddled with a can of ginger ale that he

hadn't even opened.

I can't keep pretending I don't like

you, he said finally. You don't like me,

Ilia argued. I do. I I maybe like you

too much. Ilia's heart clenched. Don't,

he groaned. Don't [ __ ] do this,

Hollander. I'm not worth it. Yoya glared

at him. Gay. I'm not gay and I can't be

anything close to it. Okay. Shane

laughed. Well, you're doing a shitty job

of that. Not in public. I can't. I would

not be able to go home. Your family.

Russia. I could not go home to Russia.

Shane looked horrified.

What would happen to you? I do not want

to find out. He seemed to consider this.

Would your parents help? Ilia shook his

head and set himself on the floor

against the wall. My father is a cop.

Oh, said Shane. Jesus, my brother is a

cop. What about your mother? Did I'm

sorry. I was young, Ila said, waving a

hand as if his mother's death was of no

consequence to him. Which was far from

the truth. I have a stepmother. She is

very young for my father, he snorted. My

mother was very young for my father.

Oh, Ilia exhaled slowly. My father was

not ever an easy man to live with. He is

very set in old ways, very strict. My

brother Andre is much like him. But now

my father is sick.

Sick? Like cancer? Ilia shook his head.

No, Alzheimer's.

Oh [ __ ] I'm sorry. Ilia nodded. There.

Now someone new. He must be proud of

you, though. You're a superstar. Ilia

almost laughed at that. He did not want

me to leave. wanted me to stay in

Russia.

Neither man said anything for a while. I

love my country, Ilia said. But I could

not stay there. Would have made my life

a whole lot easier, Shane joked. They

both laughed. Shane shook his head and

looked at the ceiling and Ilia just

stared at him at this oddly insecure

superstar who was so beautiful and

sweet. And here you look really [ __ ]

good, Ilia said. Shane stood and placed

his ginger ale on the dresser next to

Ilia's abandoned coke. He sank to the

floor, straddling Ilia's outstretched

legs. "Hey," Shane said softly. Ilia

gave in and reached for him. As soon as

he had Shane in his arms, he was done

for. He leaned forward and took his

mouth. It felt different this time. As

he wrapped his arms around Shane's back

and pulled him close against his body,

Shane's hands cradled Ilia's face as he

kissed him with the force of everything

they had almost said out loud.

It was late and Shane knew he needed to

go back to his own room. But he was in

bed with Ilia. Not just in bed, but

cuddled together with Ilia gently

stroking his hair. Shane was rolling

Ilia's crucifix between his thumb and

his finger. "Are you religious?" Shane

asked. "Or do you just wear this?" "I

don't go to church anymore." "But you

believe in God." "Yes, I think so."

Shane didn't reply. He just considered

this information. "You think that is

silly?" Yoya asked. "No, no, I'm just

surprised, I guess." Ya laughed softly.

What? Shane asked. You don't believe in

God, but you believe if you put right

skate on before left, you will play a

terrible game.

Shane shook his head and smiled. That's

different. That's science. Ila snorted

and kissed the top of his head. It was

my mother's.

Oh. He stopped twirling the cross and

rested it gently against Ilia's chest.

Do you want to talk about anything? Your

family? No, Ilia said. Not tonight.

You can though, you know. Talk to me.

For a moment, Ilia was very still. Thank

you, he said. Shane wondered if I felt

it too. The heaviness of the aftermath

of their encounters, the impossibility

of everything. Shane felt it every time.

The whole point of their hookups was to

provide release, but Shane only felt

more tangled up each time. I should

probably go, Shane said. Ilia didn't

reply, so Shane moved to get out of the

bed. Ilia pulled him back and Shane

found himself on top of him and then

being kissed by him and then he was

under him. Stay, Ilia said. Can't. But

he loved that Ilia was asking. No one

will even [ __ ] notice. This weekend

is chaos. Too risky. Ilia shook his

head. When will I have you? For as long

as I want. Shane's heart leapt. I don't

know. As soon as possible. Yes. Ilrya

leaned in and kissed him. After I win

the Stanley Cup this year, we should go

somewhere. Shane rolled his eyes. You're

not winning that cup. And where on earth

would we go? I don't know. Somewhere no

one knows us. What? Like the moon? No,

like Fiji. Nope. All it takes is one

Canadian tourist with an iPhone. We'll

climb a mountain, find a cave. Shane

smiled sadly. They weren't going

anywhere together, and they both knew

it. You're going back to Russia this

summer? Yes. Well, then where will you

go? To my cottage, mostly, Shane said.

Sounds nice. It is. It's my favorite

place on earth. Although this bed was

providing some strong competition. He

indulged in one last kiss, shifting so

he covered Ilia's body with his own as

he drank him in. I have to go. He

brushed curls out of Ilia's eyes, and

Ilia grabbed his wrist, then pulled

Shane's hand to his lips. He lightly

kissed the tips of Shane's fingers, and

Shane's breath caught. Do you? Yoya

asked. God. His voice was sexy when he

was sleepy, all frayed and throaty. He

pressed a kiss to Shane's palm. Shane

closed his eyes just to relieve one of

his overstimulated senses. It would be

so easy just to give in. "Yeah," he

said. "I do." With a lot of effort, he

left the bed and gathered his clothing

from the floor. Sand spilled out of the

cuffs of his pants on the hotel carpet

as he dressed. Ilia stayed on the bed,

possibly watching him. Shane couldn't

bring himself to look at him, afraid

that he'd end up back in his arms if he

so much as glanced in his direction.

When he was at the door, he finally

allowed himself to look back at Ilia. He

was sitting up, the white bed sheet

covering his bent knees. He was chewing

his lip as if he was considering whether

or not to say something.

There was a long tense silence between

them and then Ilia said, "Good night,

Shane." A jolt of pleasure zipped

through Shane's body every time Ilia

called him by his first name. "Good

night, Ilia."

He checked to make sure the hallway was

empty, then slipped out of Ilia's room.

Because the hall was empty, no one saw

the smile that nearly split Shane's face

in half.

Chapter 18.

February 2017,

Montreal.

Two weeks after All-Star weekend, Shane

received a text from Lily. Could you

believe that [ __ ] was Zulo?

Frank Zulo was a defenseman for the New

York Admirals, who was known to be a hot

mess. He had gotten arrested the

previous night for bar fighting or

something, and now he was off the team.

Shane. Yeah, it's wild. I can't believe

they put him on waivers. Lily, I [ __ ]

hate that guy. Shane always seemed like

an [ __ ] Yeah, he could recall a few

times when Zulo had called him a

[ __ ] or a [ __ ] or some other nice

thing. [ __ ] him. Scott Hunter must be

happy. Shane. Oh, yeah. You could tell

he always hated him. Lily, one less

homophobe.

Shane. Yeah. Like 1 million to go

though. He was in the middle of making

his postrun smoothie. He turned on the

blender and watched his phone for the

next text. This was new. He wondered why

they hadn't thought to do this before.

Talk to each other about hockey, even if

it was mostly gossip. In the past, they

had only texted each other to discreetly

arrange their hookups. He wondered what

had inspired Ilia to engage him this

time. Lily, where are you? Home. Shane.

Yeah, just got back from a run. Lily,

nice. All sweaty. Sticking tongue out.

Emoji. Shane laughed. About to take a

shower. Lily, we should Skype while you

do that. Video phone. Shane, my phone

would get wet. Lily, why have we never

Skyped before? Shane was surprised by

this. You'd want to? Maybe. would you?

He assumed Ilia was talking about like

phone sex or video sex or whatever.

Shane had never done anything like that

with anyone before, but it was a

possibility for them. If neither of them

saved the call, it would be safe, right?

Shane changed the subject. Nice go last

night, Lily. Yeah, well, you know, then

Lily, I have to tell you this story

Hammersmith told us last night. They

texted back and forth for most of an

hour. By the end of it, Shane was

stretched out on his couch, his thumbs

flying over his phone's keyboard, and

frequently laughing into the empty room.

He eventually reminded Ilia that he

really did need to take a shower. He was

surprised at how hard it was to end

their conversation. He had the

embarrassing urge to write, "Wish you

were here," or something. He resisted.

Instead, he wrote, "Later," and

punctuated it with the emoji of a smiley

face wearing sunglasses.

Ilia signed off with the emoji of a

kissy face.

"Boston."

Ilia had been texting Shane one-handed.

He hadn't told Shane that he had [ __ ]

up his elbow during the game last night.

It had just got caught a weird way

against the boards and now it hurt to

straighten it. He had been ordered to

rest and he was bored. He told himself

boredom was the only reason he had

texted Shane because of his injury and

the fact that it was like 9 in the

morning. He had been mostly kidding when

he had suggested phone sex, but he

wondered if Shane would actually do it

someday. He couldn't imagine. Or maybe

he could imagine because suddenly he was

quite vividly. He could just see it.

Shane with his determined little face

pretending not to be terrified. Where

would he be? On his bed? On his actual

bed? The one that Ilia had never shared

because he had never been to Shane's

real home. Ilia closed his eyes and sank

into the pillows on his own bed. What

was Shane's room like? Boring, probably

white walls. Probably a framed photo of

his parents on his nightstand.

Ilia quickly changed it to a framed

photo of himself, an autographed one.

Shane probably had house plans. His

bedroom probably had a lot of natural

light. There was probably a small

bookshelf with some dull motivational

books and some sports biographies.

His bed sheets were probably blue.

He probably wore like full pajamas to

bed, the kind with buttons. But maybe he

didn't always button them up. Maybe he

just lounged in bed with his pajama

shirt open and the pants riding a little

low. His bedside lamp would be on so he

could read his boring book. And then

when he got tired of reading, he would

put the book down neatly on his

nightstand, then yawn and stretch

himself out. The shirt would fall open a

little more and maybe Shane's eyes would

close and he would let his hand travel

lazily down his chest and over his abs.

He'd brush it over his thighs and sigh

as the bulge in his pajama pants grew.

Ilia was not doing a good job of

resting. Stupid elbow injury. Why did it

have to be his right one? This Skype

thing needed to happen. He would coax

some dirty talk out of that pretty

little mouth of Shane's. He would force

Shane out of his comfort zone. He could

make it a challenge. Shane couldn't

resist a challenge. He gripped himself

awkwardly with his left hand and gave

himself a slow stroke. He wanted a whole

day with Shane, a weekend, a week. He

wanted to be somewhere that no one could

possibly interrupt them. Maybe that

would be all he would need. Just the

opportunity to get Shane Hollander out

of his system. He needed to drink his

fill and walk away because he would have

to walk away. This thing was already

getting too complicated.

March 2017, Boston.

It was full speed ahead now. Boston and

Montreal were neck andneck for the top

spot in their division, and the playoffs

were only a month away.

Shane wanted a third championship ring

as much as Ilia wanted a second one.

Winning the Stanley Cup the past two

seasons hadn't lessened his drive at

all. There was always a bigger goal to

reach for. The record for most Stanley

Cup wins by a single player was 11.

Sheay [snorts] knew that number might be

a little lofty since that record came

from a time when there were far fewer

teams in the league. But winning six

would put him with some of the repeat

champions of the '9s. So that was his

secret goal.

No, his [snorts] actual secret goal was

seven. Shane was focused. He had been

playing very well all season and was

leading the league in scoring by a

narrow margin over Rosenoff. He knew

that must be bothering the [ __ ] out of

Ilia. Shane had been trying not to think

about Rosenoff too much. Usually that

was their unspoken agreement this late

into a season. They would fool around

whenever they were in the same city up

until March or so. Then they both

focused on hating each other until next

season, which was why Shane had been

surprised to get a text from Ilia that

morning. Lily, what time do you fly out

tomorrow?

Shane stared at his phone, dumbfounded.

He certainly hadn't expected to be

seeing Ilia before or after the game

tonight. Shane, early why? No reply.

Shane felt kind of bad about the why.

That was needlessly [ __ ] He knew why.

A few minutes later, Ilia wrote back.

What are you doing now?

Now? Now was 1:00 in the afternoon on a

game day against Boston. Shane, nothing.

I'm in my hotel room. He stopped himself

from writing Y again. Lily, come over.

Shane's heart stopped. Come over. Come

over now. Shane, I can't. Don't be

stupid. Lily, come over. Not for long.

An hour. Shane [snorts] actually let out

a surprised laugh. Shane, no. Come on.

We both know that's a bad idea, Lily.

Everything we do is a bad idea. Come

over.

When Shane didn't reply, Ilia added, "It

will be worth it. I promise." Winky

face.

Shane shook his head. There was no way

he was going to go over there. He could

list a million reasons why he couldn't

go over there. And he ran them through

his head as he grabbed his jacket and

left the hotel room.

I thought you were not coming. Ilia said

with an annoying little smirk.

Yeah, well,

Ilia's smirk grew into a genuine warm

smile. Shane's heart lurched, and then

they were kissing and pulling at

clothing and stumbling toward the

bedroom, not breaking contact. They had

to be quick. Shane had only needed to

leave soon. He shouldn't even have been

there in the first place. Ilia pushed

him down on the bed and went to work on

him with his mouth. Shane watched him as

he licked and sucked his [ __ ] and

allowed himself a moment to wonder at

Ilia's desperate need for this before a

game. Why was he so hungry for Shane

that he had broken their sacred rule?

God, he was good with his mouth.

Something is wrong with Ilia. The

thought hit Shane suddenly. He should

ask him about it after. For now, Shane

reached a hand down and caressed Ilia's

face. He let his fingers drift into his

soft hair. He played with it gently, and

Ilia looked up at him. His eyes were

dark, but there was more than lust

there. Shane nodded at him, and Ilia

turned his gaze down and focused on

getting Shane off. Shane came quickly,

and Ilia swallowed it all with an

encouraging hum. When he was done, he

kissed his way up Shane's body until he

reached his mouth. Shane kissed him

hungrily, and then he flipped them both

over and slid down to return the favor.

In the wake of his own release, Shane

could feel himself starting to panic.

This was weird and bad and weird.

They should a,000% not be doing this,

which was like 1% more than the usual

amount that they should not be [ __ ]

doing this.

Except Ilia was breathing Shane's name,

his first name, like a prayer and gazing

at him like he was just as close as

Shane was to saying something truly

embarrassing and stupid and definite.

Shane dug his fingers into the hard

muscle of Ilia's thighs as he took his

[ __ ] deeper into his mouth. If he kept

his mouth busy, he wouldn't be able to

use it to ruin everything. Ilia warned

him because he knew Shane didn't always

like to take it in his mouth. But this

time, Shane did want it, and he sucked

harder until Ilia cried out in a mixture

of Russian and English and came down

Shane's throat. Shane flopped beside

Ilia on the bed. Ilia started laughing.

"What?" Shane asked. "Fuck."

Shane didn't reply, but he felt the same

way. "I have to go," he said after a

quiet minute. "Yes."

Shane set up and moved to leave the bed

when he remembered. "Hey, um are you all

right?" "M are you okay? I mean, I know

we don't really talk, but if you need

to, I'm fine," Ilia said. He said it

calmly and easily. Shane didn't buy it.

"Is it is your dad?" Ilia sighed heavily

and scrubbed a hand over his face. "My

father is dying, but that is not the

problem." "Oh,

it is Paulina, my stepmother. She is."

He twisted his hand around in the air,

searching for the word.

Sad? Shang guessed. Ila laughed darkly.

No, she is planning for her future. My

father does not have any money left.

Oh, she has been calling me.

Ah, Shane understood now. She wants

money. They all want money. my brother,

my father before he Shane reached over

and took Ilia's hand. Will you give them

any? I already have plenty of it. They

want more. He laughed again. They don't

give a [ __ ] about me or my career. They

just know I make a lot of money.

I'm sorry. Shane brushed a thumb over

Ilia's knuckles. The last time I talked

to my father on the phone was a couple

of weeks ago. He asked if I could pick

up some bread on the way home.

Shane didn't know what to say. It was

truly heartbreaking.

The worst part is, Ilia said quietly, I

like talking to him better like this. He

was a real [ __ ] [ __ ] when he was

himself.

Are you going back to Russia this

summer? I shrugged. Yes.

Do you have to? You should leave, Ilia

said abruptly. He didn't sound annoyed

or angry, just tired and maybe a little

sad. He pulled his fingers away from

Shane's.

I know, but go. I didn't ask you to come

over to talk. Well, you can if you ever

want to. I mean, you can just call me or

text. Or if we're in the same city and

you just want to talk instead of Ilia

cracked a crooked grin at that. Instead

of as well as I like that better. He

leaned forward and kissed Shane. It was

as soft and sweet a kiss as Shane had

ever received from anyone.

I apologize in advance for tonight.

Shane murmured. We're going to destroy

you guys. Dream on. Hollander.

Ilia made sure that Boston won the game.

Not a trouncing, but a respectable

twogoal lead when the final siren rang

to end the game. Ilia scored twice.

Shane had scored once. Ilia's favorite

kind of game. He had every intention of

meeting up with Hollander tonight. Even

though they'd already stolen an hour

together that afternoon, he still knew

in the back of his mind that this thing

with Shane needed to end. that it

couldn't be more than sex. But somehow

it had just evolved on its own. And

suddenly he no longer worried about

looking too eager. He could admit to

himself that he wanted to see Shane as

much as possible. And he found that he

wasn't worried about letting Shane know

it anymore. For now, at least.

The day would come when they would have

to end it. But for now, Ilia was happy

to steal as many moments as possible.

He said good night to his remaining

teammates and left the arena. He was

looking at his phone as he walked out of

the player's entrance, trying to decide

what obnoxious jab he should text to

Hollander. When the phone started

ringing, it was his brother. Ilia almost

didn't answer, but he could think of one

reason why his brother might be calling

that had nothing to do with money.

He answered.

Shane had been expecting a text from

Ilia. He was sitting alone in his hotel

room. Hayden had left to call his wife,

trying not to let the mistakes of that

night's game haunt him. "He's not going

to text," he told himself. "You already

saw him today. Why would you see him

again?"

But he thought maybe Ilia felt the same

way about their well, not relationship,

but arrangement.

That maybe Ilia liked spending time with

Shane. that they weren't just doing this

because it was in its own complicated

way convenient or dirty or wrong or

irresistibly hot. That maybe I's stomach

fluttered with excitement too every time

their teams were scheduled to meet. That

maybe Ilia was also sometimes randomly

struck by a memory of a teasing remark

or a smile or of gentle fingers stroking

his hair and would have to hide his

giddy little smile.

that maybe he watched Shane's games and

was secretly proud when Shane did well

because that's how Shane felt when Ilia

had a good night, which was ridiculous.

Shane waited until midnight and Ilia

still didn't text him. He thought about

being the one to make contact, but

decided against it. Wanting to hook up

with Ilia twice in one day was nuts, and

it was way too late at night now anyway.

They were flying to Detroit in the

morning.

Shane lay awake for a while, staring

into the darkness, wondering if it was

that Ilia hadn't wanted to see him

again, or if maybe something had

happened that had kept Ilia from

texting.

He decided that he was making a big deal

out of nothing and eventually fell

asleep.

Chapter 19.

The next day, Detroit.

Did you hear about Rosenoff?

Shane stopped tying a skate and looked

at the bench across from him where

Gilbert Como and JJ were chatting in

French. "What about Rosenoff?" Shane

asked, also in French. They both looked

at him, surprised, no doubt by the

slight panic in his voice. Ko shrugged.

"He didn't fly to Nashville with the

rest of his team today." He flew

separately, Shane asked stupidly. No, Ko

said, looking at Shane like he was a

little bit dumb. He isn't in Nashville.

He didn't get hurt last night, JJ said.

Not that anyone noticed, right?

I don't think so, Shane said quickly

playing the last few minutes of the

game. I had seemed fine. He hadn't left

the ice in pain at any point during the

game. Maybe he's sick, Ko said. I'm sure

we'll find out. Right now, ESPN is just

saying that he didn't go to Nashville.

Right, Shane said quietly. He ran

through a number of alarming scenarios

in his head before he finally stood up

and grabbed his phone off the shelf

above his head. "Are you okay?" he

texted. He didn't get a reply. There was

still no reply by the time the team left

the dressing room to go warm up. When he

returned to the dressing room afterward,

he quickly checked his phone. Still

nothing. "Forget about it," he ordered

himself. "It's game time." He [snorts]

probably learned what had happened after

the game. He was sure it would be

mentioned during the broadcast of the

Boston versus Nashville game. Shane did

not play the best game of his life,

probably one of the worst games of the

season for him, but his team managed to

win anyway. Shane couldn't remember ever

being so eager for a game to be over.

When they got back to the dressing room,

he shucked his gloves off and

immediately checked his phone.

Nothing.

Shane sat down hard on the bench,

staring at his phone. He opened his web

browser and searched Ilia Rosenoff

Nashville to see if any more information

had been released.

He found fans speculating on social

media and he saw an official ESPN story

that just said undisclosed reasons and

that there was no word whether Rosenoff

would be joining his team in Tampa Bay

for their game in 2 days time.

This whole thing was very strange. Shane

couldn't sneeze in public without the

hockey sites reporting that he was

deathly ill and how that should affect

your sports betting. Ilia Rosenoff, one

of the biggest stars in the league, just

disappeared with no explanation and no

reporter seemed to be digging very hard

or offering possible reasons,

which meant they must know the reason,

and they were respecting Boston's likely

request for discretion,

which meant absolutely nothing good that

Shane could think of. Shane got showered

and changed faster than he ever had in

his life. He found a private corner of

the hallway outside the dressing room

and did something he'd never done

before.

He called Ilia Rosenoff.

He wasn't expecting him to answer, but

he wanted the missed call to at least be

recorded on Ilia's phone. He wanted Ilia

to know he was concerned.

But Ila did answer. Paulinger.

Yeah. Hi.

There was a long silence.

Are you okay?

Shane asked finally. He heard Ilia huff

out a humorless laugh. I don't know.

Where are you? Home. In Boston? Are you

sick? No. Home. In Moscow.

Shane wasn't expecting that.

Moscow. Did something happen? Oh [ __ ]

Your father? Yes. Did I? What are people

saying about me? Nothing. The media has

been very secretive about it. The bears

must have. Good. I will be back by end

of week, he said stiffly. You should

take more time. Ilia snorted. You'd like

that, wouldn't you? Stop. I'm being

serious. More silence. I'm so sorry,

Ilia. He didn't know what else to say.

Ilia didn't reply, but Shane could hear

a sharp sniff and then a tight throaty

noise.

Ilia, I will be back in a few days. I

should go. All right. Goodbye,

Hollander.

Wait, Shane said way too loudly. I

waited.

Just call me. All right. If you need to

talk or text me, whatever, but I'll

listen. I want to help if I can.

Ilia was silent for a moment. You did.

Thank you. He ended the call. Shane

leaned back against the wall and blew

out of breath.

2 days later, Buffalo.

Shane hadn't really been expecting to

hear Familia again. He was surprised

when after his game in Buffalo, he

received a text.

Lily, are you alone?

Shane stood up, mumbled a hasty reason

for leaving to Hayden, and went out to

the stairwell. Shane, yes. Lily, can I

call you? Shane, yes. His phone rang and

Shane answered it immediately. The

stairwell was silent and empty. He

leaned against the wall of the landing

below his floor.

"How are you doing?" he asked, not even

bothering with hello. I feel like I

don't know. Bad.

How's your family treating you? Ilrya

gave a dark laugh. Like I should not be

here. That's ridiculous. It was your

father. Yes. Well, there was a pause and

Shane waited. I am paying for

everything, so that makes me of use.

How's your I mean how's his wife upset

but not about my father? Everybody

thinks so but no she is scared for

herself

because there's no money. Yes, that what

about you? Are you upset?

Ilia sighed. I don't know. Maybe about

the wrong thing.

You wish things could have been

different? Shang gasped.

I wish I wanted him to. I don't know. He

sighed again. English is too hard today.

I'm sorry. I wish I spoke Russian.

You could probably learn it in a week.

Ilia grumbled. Perfect. No accent. Shane

laughed. I don't think so.

He was about to ask if I had anyone

there in Moscow that he could talk to,

but it was pretty obvious that he

didn't. Why else would he be calling

Shane? "Where are you right now?" he

asked instead. "Walking a park. I needed

to get out." "Cold? [ __ ] freezing."

Shane was suddenly struck by a

ridiculous idea. Or maybe it was a

brilliant idea. He decided to share it

before his brain had a chance to figure

out which. "Tell me everything you want

to say," he said in Russian. "I won't

understand, but maybe it will help."

There was a silence that was long enough

for Shane to physically cringe at

himself. He was about to take it back

when he heard Ilia quietly say, "You

okay?"

The next several minutes were filled

with Ilia's voice, sounding more

animated and flustered than Shane had

ever heard him. He was used to Ilia

saying more with a teasing smile or a

calculating look than with actual words.

But now it was like a damn had burst,

and Shane set himself on the stairs and

let it wash over him. Without the

ability to translate any of it, Shane

could just enjoy the sound of Ilia's

voice. which he barely recognized now.

The words were so quick and confident,

unrestricted by Ilia having to carefully

piece together his sentences like when

he spoke English. It felt intimate, like

they were somehow sharing a bigger

secret now than when they slept

together. And there was something

undeniably sexy about hearing Ilia speak

so fluidly in his mother tongue. When he

was finished, Ilia gave an embarrassed

sounding little laugh and said, "I am

done."

It was jarring to hear him switch

suddenly back to English. Shane felt his

head clear like he was waking from a

dream. "Feel better?" he asked. "Yes,

thank you." Shane lowered his voice and

said,

"Maybe you could teach me Russian

someday.

Only useful phrases, Ilia said. Shane

could practically hear his crooked

smile. Then Ilia purred something in

Russian.

What does that mean? Shane asked. Get on

your knees.

Oh. Shane quickly scanned the stairwell

again to make sure he was still alone.

He was already more aroused than he

should be after listening to Ilia pour

his heart out.

And what other useful phrases could you

teach me? Yoya laughed. I can think of

many, Hollander.

Shane shifted on the stairs. I wish you

were here now.

Shane couldn't believe he had actually

allowed himself to say that out loud.

They didn't wish to be together. They

reluctantly hooked up when they were in

the same city because it was something

to do.

He felt his mortification melt away when

Ilia said in a low voice, "Me too,

Moscow."

Something occurred to Ilia after he

ended the call with Shane. Maybe Shane

had recorded that call and was going to

run it through some sort of translating

app later. But Shane wouldn't do that,

would he?

Ila stopped into a coffee shop and

ordered a cappuccino.

While he waited for it, he tried not to

imagine scenarios where Shane would

somehow translate every word that Ilia

had just said.

Mostly, he had just been ranting about

his family, but he had included an

admission that he'd wish things could

have been different with his father,

that he had stupidly always hoped that

his father might tell him that he was

proud of him. That admission would have

been embarrassing enough, but Ilia had

also slipped in and and on top of

everything. I'm pretty sure I'm in love

with you and I don't know what to do

about it."

It was saying those words out loud, even

more than venting his frustrations about

his family that had it truly made Ilia

feel bit lighter.

It was a secret he had been carrying for

far too long, locked away so deep inside

that he had even been keeping it from

himself.

But as soon as he let himself

acknowledge it and now say it, he felt

relieved. Not because he could do

anything about these feelings, but at

least he had allowed himself to accept

them. And he had in the most cowardly

way possible said them aloud to Shane.

Shane wouldn't translate anything. That

wasn't why he had asked Ilia to unload

on him in Russian. He was being a

friend.

A friend.

Sure, Ilia could admit that he and Shane

were friends. Now, he had certainly been

the only person Ilia could think of when

he decided he needed to talk to someone

today. He walked out of the shop with

his cappuccino and reluctantly headed in

the direction of his father's house. The

funeral was the next morning. After

that, he could leave what was left of

his godamn family behind.

The next day, Montreal,

Shane had barely gotten in the door of

his apartment before he texted Ilia. He

had been thinking about him all day.

Shane, how are you doing? He wasn't sure

if Ilia would reply or not. He might be

busy. His father's funeral had been that

morning. It was late in Moscow now,

after 10:00 at night. Lily, fantastic.

Shane waited. Lily, a little bit drunk,

actually.

Shane, can I call you? Lily? Yes.

When Shane heard Ilia's voice, he

sounded more exhausted than drunk. Call

in dear. How are you holding up, Ilia?

Great. Wonderful.

Shane heard him sigh. It's quiet here.

Are you alone? Where are you? My condo.

I have one here in Moscow for the

summers, you know. Right. Shane didn't

like the idea of Ilia being alone right

now.

If you are wondering if I will be back

in time for our game in Montreal, I

don't give a [ __ ] about that. Ia, you

know that's not why I'm calling.

Another sigh.

Should you really be alone right now?

Shane asked. I am not alone. Ilia said.

You are here now. Yes.

Shane's hand flew to his chest to make

sure his heart was still beating. He

could have sworn it had just melted into

a gooey puddle. He wished he could warp

to Moscow.

just instantly appear in Ilia's

apartment and hold him and tell him it

was all right to be conflicted about his

father's death, that he didn't owe his

family anything, that he should leave

them all behind because they made him

miserable and he doesn't need them

anyway.

Instead, he said, "Yeah, I'm here." "And

where else are you?" Yoya asked. "I'm

home now." "Montreal."

Shane heard mattress springs squeak as

Ilia presumably settled himself on his

bed. Tell me about your home, Hollander,

he said in a tired voice. What does it

look like? I try to imagine it. You do.

You will not let me see it. That's not

Shane grimaced. It's not because I don't

want you here. You know that. I know

nothing. What does it look like? It's I

don't know.

It has big windows. What can you see out

of them? Buildings mostly. A bit of the

water. Fancy kitchen. Shane laughed.

Yeah, too fancy probably. I barely use

it. I could probably get by with a

toaster and a blender. What is your

favorite thing about your home?

I don't know. It's close to the practice

rink. Ilia snorted. Figures.

It's private. Good security. Hey, I made

a donation to the Alzheimer Society of

Canada for your father. Ilia was quiet a

moment. That is nice of you. Might be

good for me. Can be what is the word?

Passed on.

Hereditary? Yes. Hereditary?

Neither man said anything for a moment.

Listen, Ilia, what's about your bedroom?

What is it like?

Shane didn't want to talk about his

stupid bedroom, but he understood what

Ilia was doing. He left his living room

and headed for the bedroom.

It's nice. Pretty basic. I mean, it's

enormous. Big windows, but not much in

it. What color is your bed? The blanket.

Blue. Like navy blue. I knew it.

Shane smiled and sat on the bed.

Do you have books in your room? A few.

What are you reading? What one is beside

your bed? A book about the 1972 Canada

Russia series. Actually, Ilia laughed.

Do you read books that are not about

hockey?

Sometimes, Shane said. I mean, no, not

very often. You are obsessed.

Of course I am. Aren't you? Maybe in a

different way. Shane picked up the book

and flicked the end of the bookmark with

his finger. It had been nestled between

pages 41 and 42 for over a month. Hockey

has always been everything to me for as

long as I can remember. It has been for

me as well, but more as like an escape.

Is that right? You say my brain is not

good right now.

Yes, Shane said quietly. An escape.

That's right. It was never an escape for

me. It was just what I love to do. I

love it also. Ilia said, "Hokei is fun

and I am very good at it." Shane laughed

and Ilia laughed.

Is wild how much money they pay me to

play this game. Ilia said, "Tell me

about it." Shane agreed. "I don't want

to come back here." Shane was confused

by the sudden topic change. To Russia,

you mean? Da I want to become American

or Canadian, but I am in America. Soul.

In that moment, Shane wished like hell

that Ilia played for a Canadian team.

You should, Shane said. Have you looked

into we should get married? Ila said

what? Shane flushed right down to his

toes. Not to each other, Ilia said. Then

he started laughing and couldn't stop.

I knew you didn't mean to each other,

Shane lied. When Ilia finally stopped

laughing, he said, "I can marry an

American girl. You should get married,

Hollinger. You want children?" Yes, I've

already told you I don't want to marry

anyone. There is a nice Russian girl in

Boston. American, I mean, but from

Russia, Svetalana. I like her. I could

marry her, I think. Oh, she is what his

word sensible.

Marriage would be like business deal.

Yes. Just until I am citizen.

You don't love her then. No.

Ila said quietly. He sounded like he was

falling asleep. Not sure. No.

Shane knew he should end the call. Let I

get some sleep. But instead, he blurted

out, "You should come to the cottage

this summer." "Cottage? What are you

talking about, Hollander?"

"My cottage in Ontario.

You're not going back to Russia, so come

to my cottage with me. It's quiet and

beautiful and private.

For a moment, Ilia didn't say anything,

and Shane thought he really had fallen

asleep. I will think about it, Ilia said

finally. Okay, I am tired.

Yeah, I can tell. Get some sleep. All

right. Yes. Good night, Hollander. They

ended the call and Shane sat on his bed

for a while after, not moving. It

occurred to him that they just had an

entire conversation that hadn't been

about sex at all and was barely about

hockey.

It also occurred to him that his heart

was beating like he was in the middle of

a run and his mouth was dry. He had

actually just invited Ilia to his

cottage. The fact that he had even done

that was absurd. But what if Ilia

actually accepted? What if he had had

Ilia all to himself at Shane's favorite

place in the world? If there was no one

to interrupt them, no one to hide from,

no one to remind them of all the reasons

they shouldn't want each other.

It would be too much. Shane would never

be able to hold back everything he had

been trying to pretend he didn't feel.

He would blurt something out that he

would never ever be able to take back.

He's never going to be your boyfriend,

Shane.

Oh god. That was what Shane wanted,

wasn't it? He didn't just want to be

Ilia's dirty secret. He didn't want

their relationship to be nothing but

sex. He wanted to comfort Ilia when he

was sad and talk to him on the phone and

snuggle together on the couch and watch

movies. He would take the short phone

call they had just shared over any of

their sexual encounters.

Well, almost any of their sexual

encounters.

Shane groaned and fell back on his bed,

covering his face with his hands. He was

super [ __ ]

Chapter 20. The next day, Moscow.

Ilia would fly back to Boston tomorrow.

Andre was the executive of their

father's estate. What little of it there

was. And Ilia had fulfilled his duties

as a son. He was done. He'd realized

over the past few days that he truly had

no reason to return to Russia. He

probably would someday, but he couldn't

see spending another summer here. Any

obligation he had felt had died with his

father. He had made an impulsive

decision to give his Moscow condo to his

brother. Andre could sell it or meet his

mistresses there. Ilia couldn't care

less. He just didn't want to deal with

selling it. There wasn't even anything

in it that he wanted. He sat on his bed

in that condo. It would be his last

night sleeping there. He could think of

one thing he would like to do to

commemorate the occasion.

Ilia, are you home? The reply was

immediate. Jane. Yes. Ilia smiled and

wrote, "Skype?"

He waited and wondered if Jane

understood what Ilia was suggesting.

Okay. Shane texted back. Just a sec.

Ilia decided to make things a little

clearer for Shane just in case he didn't

get it. He pulled his t-shirt off and

dropped it on the floor, then stacked

some pillows in front of the headboard

and settled himself on the mattress. He

sent Shane a video call request. Shane

accepted. And then there he was filling

the screen of Ilia's iPad. He was

wearing a hoodie and glasses.

Holy [ __ ] Hollander. Do you wear

glasses?

Oh. Shane reached up and touched the

frames of his glasses as if he didn't

believe Ilia. Just when I read, it's um

new, he pulled them off. No, Ilia said,

grinning. I like them.

Well, Shane said, and damn if he wasn't

blushing already. I can see you a lot

better if I leave them on. He slid the

thick black frames back into place.

"What?" he asked because Ilia couldn't

stop smiling. "What were you reading?"

"Your boring hockey book." Shane's eyes

narrowed behind the glasses. "Are you

just calling to make fun of me?" "No,

not only that." He watched Shane bite

his bottom lip. "God, he's cute. Were

you thinking we could, you know, do

stuff?" Shane asked nervously. "Yes, but

first, show me your bedroom. I am dying

to see it." "Really?

All right." Shane tapped on the screen

and flipped the camera. Suddenly, Yoya

was looking at a king-siz bed with a

navy blue comforter. "That's the bed,"

he heard Shane say off camera. "Oh, is

it? [ __ ] you. You asked for this. Here's

the dresser and the bathroom is over

there and the closet. And here's the

view. Ilia decided he didn't care about

the view or the bedroom anymore. It was

as boring as he had been expecting. It

could have been a hotel room. Why don't

you get on the bed? He suggested.

So much for small talk, I guess. And

take your shirt off. Bossy.

Ilia waited as Shane put his tablet or

whatever down causing the screen to go

black. He heard rustling noises and then

Ilia was looking at the end of Shane's

bed. Better? Shane asked. No. Turn the

camera around.

Oh [ __ ] Here. And now a shirtless Shane

Hollander's face and shoulders and

glasses filled the screen. Better. How

are you? I've been thinking about you.

Ilia's heart flipped. He hoped it didn't

show on his face. I am okay. I might not

come back here after today. Is that

scary? Ilrya shrugged. Right now it

feels good. Like um a weight has been

lifted. Yes, maybe like that. Is there a

way I can see more of you? Oh, yeah.

Maybe I can. Just a sec.

Ilia propped his own iPad up on his

nightstand and stretched out with his

hands behind his head. When Shane

reappeared on the screen, it seemed he

had done something similar because now

Ilia could see from the top of his head

to the waistband of his sweatpants. Ilia

wanted more than anything to be able to

cover Shane's body with his own to kiss

his way down his chest and stomach.

Shane smiled. It's good to see you

again. I'd like to see you wearing

nothing but those glasses, Ilia said. I

don't think my camera can show that much

at once. Next time we are together then.

Yeah, next time. Ilgia let his head sink

into the pillows. He kept it turned

facing the camera. Do you remember after

the NHL awards in What year was it?

2014, Shane said quickly. Yeah, I do. I

I think about that night a lot. Do you?

It was memorable. It was. Yoya agreed.

You put on a show for me. I can't

believe you talked me into that. I think

you like to be told what to do,

Hollinger. Shane sucked in a breath.

Maybe a little. And you're a little

showoff. I am not. You are. You love

praise. You want everyone to see how

good you are.

Yeah, well, so do you. No, I know I am

good. I don't care what people say.

Shane leaned forward and pointed an

accusing finger at the camera. [ __ ]

You love the awards, the good press, the

fans. You love beating me. I love

beating everyone, but yes, you the most.

Why? Ilia shrugged. Because you are the

best. I'm not. What about Scott Hunter?

You like to beat him, too. You're always

talking [ __ ] about that guy. Ilia waved

a hand dismissively. Hunter is a million

years old, and he's terrible this year.

He's like 3 years older than us, and

he's been on fire lately. What'sever, I

don't want to talk about Scott Hunter. I

think you just have a fetish for good

boys. Ilia laughed. Is that what you

are? That's what you say, Shane said.

What everyone says? H. But I know the

truth about you. I was the one in that

hotel room in Vegas with you. Yes. No

one else. Yeah. Shane breathed. Just

you. Are you hard right now, Hollander?

What do you think? Ilia smirked. Show

me. Get on your knees. Face the camera.

Show me. Shane obeyed immediately, which

I found incredibly hot. His head went

out of the frame, but I could see his

abs and the way his sweatpants pulled

tight against his obvious bulge when

Shane spread his knees wide on the

mattress. "You, too," Shane said off

camera. "I want to see." Ilia copied

Shane's position, showing Shane exactly

how aroused he was already. "Fuck, he

wished they were together somewhere." "I

wish you were here," Shane said before

Ilia could. Yes. What would you do? I

take those pants off. Ila smiled, though

Shane couldn't see it now. He tucked his

thumbs into the waistband of his track

pants and slid them down off his hips.

When he looked up, he saw Shane stroking

himself through the fabric of his

sweatpants. "No underwear," Shane

observed. "You were planning for this?

Maybe." He wrapped his hand around his

[ __ ] and stroked it slowly. My pants are

off. What would you do now? Shane dipped

down into the frame. His head was cocked

and his hair flopped to the side. It was

[ __ ] adorable. He smiled at Ilia. I

think you know exactly what I do after

all these years. Still want to hear it.

Shane's face left the screen. He gripped

himself harder through his sweatpants

and moaned. I'd take you in my mouth.

I'd suck you all the way down. [ __ ] I I

wish I could right now.

Me too. Love your mouth, Hollander.

He loved a lot of things about him.

Would you want me to [ __ ] your mouth or

just keep still and let you do the work?

Keep still. I'd do it. Make you feel so

good. And now Ilia moaned. Shane yanked

his pants and briefs down so they were

stretched wide across his spread thighs.

He stroked himself, slanting his thumb

over his slit. Ilia knew it must be wet.

Shane always leaked like a fountain.

They both stroked themselves without

talking for a minute or two, and then

Ilia saw Shane's hand pause and drop to

his side.

Hey, um, Ilia. Yes. He watched Shane's

hand lift out of the frame, probably so

Shane could run it nervously through his

hair. Ilia steilledled his own hand.

Something wrong?" he asked. "No, but I

think I'd rather see your face." Ilia

was grateful that Shane couldn't see his

face at that exact moment because

[snorts] he was pretty sure it had the

world's sappiest expression. "Sure,

haunting dear," he said gently. Shane

laid himself back down on the bed with

his head nestled on one of his pillows.

He reached and pulled his tablet closer

to his face and smiled shily. Ilia

melted a little more and positioned

himself the same way on his bed, pulling

his own iPad close. I forgot about the

glasses, Ilia said. Already?

You really like them, huh? Yeah, I do.

Shane beamed at him. Ilia couldn't stop

himself from smiling back. It felt like

they were really in bed together, facing

each other, talking at the end of a long

day. Shane's eyes fluttered closed and

Ilen knew he was touching himself again.

And Shane had been right. This was

better. Watching Shane's face so closely

as he pleasured himself was far more

intimate than if Ilia had been watching

his hand on his [ __ ] Not being able to

see what Shane was doing to make himself

sigh and moan was intensely arousing.

"You are very beautiful," Ilia said.

Shane smiled without opening his eyes.

Come on. Is the truth. Your freckles.

Ilia grazed a fingertip over his own

cheek. I am nuts about them. I have no

idea why. I hate them. No. Ilia moaned.

Shaller. They are stunning.

Stunning. Yes. Am I not using that word

right? Very beautiful. Um, take my

breath. Wow. All right.

The skin under Shane's freckles turned

very, very pink. The first time I met

you, those freckles.

The first time? You mean at the World

Juniors in Saskatchewan?

Yes. Shane huffed out a surprise to

laugh. You were such a dick to me. I did

not like you. Just your freckles.

Shane shook his head a little on the

pillow. Thanks, I guess. I told you.

Ilia grinned. You love praise. When

Shane didn't reply, Ila said, "And you

like to hug it all for yourself, you

asshole."

Shane laughed and his nose crinkled. The

freckles got all bunched up under his

glasses and Ilia nearly died. "You're

very attractive, Ilia," Shane said in an

exaggerated, placating tone. "No, it's

good enough. I want details."

Shane [snorts] opened his eyes and

rolled them, but he said, "That crooked

[ __ ] smile of yours. I can't even

tell you that smile haunts me. Haunts

you like a ghost. That doesn't sound

like a good thing." It is. And your

eyes. I love your eyes. So romantic,

Hollander. [ __ ] you. You asked for

compliments. Are you even doing anything

down there, or am I the only one doing

any work? Ilia laughed. You're not the

only one. Good. Off camera, Ilia hauled

his pants the rest of the way down and

off. Hold on, Shane said. I need to grab

the lube. Ilia took the opportunity to

do the same. Surprised you'd even need

it, he said. You get so wet. Shane

snorted as if. They were quiet for a

minute, just gazing at each other as

they stroke themselves with sllicked

fingers. [snorts] Do you ever think of

me? Shane asked. When you're doing this

alone, he blushed furiously as soon as

he said it. Cute as hell. Yes. I do too.

A lot. All the time. Maybe every time,

honestly. Ilia raised an eyebrow. every

time. He saw Shane's shoulder lift in a

tiny shrug. I've never had anything like

this with anyone else. You have not been

with another man. Ilia may have held his

breath as he waited for the answer. I

have. I exhaled. Of course he had. Who?

He hadn't meant to blurt that out, but

it was too late to take it back. Shane

pressed his lips together. No one. Stop

distracting me. But now Ilia was

curious. Shane was so careful. Who would

he risk having sex with? Tell me. Was it

another player? No. Ilia decided the

only way to get this information out of

Shane was to make it sexy. Did you go to

a bar? Did you see someone you could not

resist?

I went [ __ ] I went to Mexico with

Hayden and a couple of the other guys a

few ah god years ago. We went out one

night and yeah, I was terrified, but

[ __ ] it had been so long. You don't let

yourself have release enough, Hollander.

I don't know how you do it. Shane

laughed a little darkly. I haven't come

since I saw you last. You know that?

Ilia inhaled sharply and sped up his

hand. It occurred to him that he hadn't

had an orgasm in a couple of days

himself, which was an epic drought for

him. Tell me about this man in Mexico.

There's not much to tell. He was big. He

looked like he was, you know, what I was

looking for. A big strong top. Shane

looked so embarrassed. Ilia took pity.

Was he what you needed? No. I mean, sort

of. But did he hurt you? No, he just

wasn't. Ilia needed to hear it. Wasn't

what? Shane clinched his eyes shut and

said, "You.

He wasn't you."

Ilia damn near lost it. Shane was going

to ruin him saying things like that. Was

he the only one? Ilia couldn't stop the

questions from falling out of his mouth.

Now, there was a guy in LA at a club. I

went out by myself. I was desperate. And

we sucked each other off. I was nervous

the whole time. Aw. And that was it. Two

guys and you. God. Mexico top Hollywood

[ __ ] guy and me. Shane laughed. Yeah.

And a bunch of disappointed women. A

bunch. A few. Anyway, I'm trying to jerk

off here, so Yoya laughed. They both

went back to the task at hand. Yay. Y I

said. He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

Do you think you can beat me? It took

Shane a second, then he laughed. You

want to race? Come on, Hollander. Let's

see what you got. Shane shook his head,

but he was grinning. You're an idiot, he

said affectionately. Fine, [snorts]

bring it.

And those words of challenge caused a

bolt of desire to rocket through Ilu. He

should have no problem winning this

battle. I think, Shane said, his voice

strained already. I think the winner

should be whoever holds it out the

longest. More impressive. No way. You

would cheat. I would not. Cheat how? I

can't see your hand. You could just

stop. I won't. Ilia shrugged. Fine. You

always shoot off so fast anyway. We'll

be an easy win for me. Shane scowlled at

him, but then something caused his eyes

to squeeze shut and he let out a quiet

little gasp. Ila chuckled. [ __ ]

hopeless, he said. Then Shane opened his

eyes and there was definitely something

dangerous in them. You know the night of

the draft in that hotel gym? Ila

groaned. [ __ ] I wanted to pin you to

the floor, he confessed. I could not

stop staring at your mouth. I thought

you would notice. I didn't. I was too

busy trying to stop myself from

straddling you, kissing you. [ __ ]

Shane. I couldn't believe how much I

wanted to. It terrified me. I had never

never wanted a man. Yoy yaed. No, at

least I didn't think I did. But you,

God, Ilia. I went right back to my room

and jerked off thinking about you. Now

Ilia squeezed his eyes shut. He stroked

himself harder faster. He suddenly

couldn't care less about winning this

dumb contest. He gasped out. "Me, too."

Shane [snorts] groaned, and they both

worked themselves roughly as the room

filled with the sounds of their

breathing. "I can't wait to touch you

again," Shane murmured. Then he sucked

in a breath and let out a high manic

sound. And Ilia knew if he just held on

for another minute, he would win because

Shane was definitely about to come. "Ah,

[ __ ] Damn it. I'm so close," Shane

gasped. Ilia couldn't even respond. He

[snorts] forced his eyes open so he

could lock his gaze with Shane's. "Oh,

fuck," Shane said quietly. "I'm coming."

And normally Ilia would went to see it,

but in that moment he couldn't imagine

anything sexier than Shane Hollander's

face as he came. Ilia felt pleasure

flood every part of him as he climaxed

hard, covering his fist in his stomach

with his release. "Holy fuck," Shane

panted. "That was huge. I'm a mess over

here." Ilia flopped onto his back and

stared up at the ceiling. I'm fucked,"

he murmured in Russian. "I am so [ __ ]

in love, and it's horrible."

When he looked back at the screen, he

could see Shane's sex drunk eyes gazing

longingly at him from behind his

glasses.

It's sexy when you speak Russian. You

know that? Because I don't sound

ridiculous, like with my accent.

Tell you a secret, your accent doesn't

sound ridiculous at all. No, you like

it. I do. And I want to learn Russian. I

wasn't kidding about that. I'll teach

you. Shane smiled so wide and bright,

Ilia almost had to look away. I should

let you sleep, Shane said. Da. Yes.

Okay. And then Shane kissed the tips of

two fingers and reached out and touched

them to the screen. Anilia's heart

[ __ ] stopped.

Good night, Ilia. Ilia felt an awful

lump in his throat. He had buried his

father yesterday, but he hadn't cried.

He hadn't cried in over 10 years, but he

knew in that moment that he had to end

this thing with Shane. It was never

supposed to have gotten to this point.

He was never supposed to have fallen in

love with Shane Hollander. He should

have ended it long before because now it

was going to hurt so [ __ ] much.

What on earth else could they do? If

they kept this up, it was only a matter

of time before they got caught, and that

would be a [ __ ] disaster.

Ilia didn't think the NHL had an

official rule about being romantically

involved with a rival player, but only

because the league couldn't possibly

imagine one being necessary.

That's how shocking a revelation this

would be if Ilia and Shane were found

out. Ilia's deepest fear was that he

would be kicked out of the NHL or at

least not be offered a spot on any team

and then he might have to go back to

Russia and he didn't want to think about

what would happen to him then. Ilia's

stakes were higher, but he knew their

relationship would only negatively

impact Shane's career, too. And despite

what the hockey world believed, Ilia

didn't want that. Good night, Shane," he

said, keeping his voice as steady as

possible. As soon as he closed the

window, he covered his face in his hands

and released all of his anguish and

frustration and fear into the lonely

apartment.

Chapter 21.

April 2017,

Montreal.

Shane could see Ilia standing near the

center line as their two teams warmed up

before their final match of the season.

He was talking to one of his teammates,

helmet off, his hair still soft and dry

around his face. Shane hadn't seen him,

hadn't talked to him since Ilia's team

had arrived in Montreal. They had texted

a few times after Ilia had returned from

Moscow, but he hadn't seen him face to

face after their memorable Skype call,

if that counted. He was on the ice now,

standing on the edge of the center line

that served as a barrier between the

teams during warm-ups.

Shane watched the toe of Ilia's skate

swivel onto the wide red line on the

ice. It looked like a dare or an

invitation.

Shane [snorts] skated the perimeter of

Montreal's half of the ice and came to a

slow stop in front of Ilia. Hi. Ilia

glanced at him and nodded. All in, dear.

Shane flipped his stick around so he

could pretend to be inspecting the tape

on his blade. We still on for tonight

after Ilia nodded again, his gaze fixed

on the corner of the arena. Same place?

Yeah. Shane could see a tightening in

Ilia's jaw. "Hey," he said as quietly as

possible. "You all right?" Ilia turned

and met Shane's eyes, and Shane felt a

stab of longing in his heart. They were

so close, but they couldn't be more

under the microscope than they were

right now. We'll talk later, Shane

promised. Yes, later.

Ilia skated away. Shane watched after

him and then he felt Hayden's elbow

bumping his arm. What did Rosenoff want?

Nothing, Shane said, blinking and

turning to face Hayden. I was just

offering my condolences, you know.

The news had gotten around that

Rosenoff's father had died. Shane hoped

the press wouldn't ask Ilia too many

questions about it. "Oh yeah, that's

nice of you," Hayden said. "I should

have thought to do that. It's just

Rosenoff, you know." "He's not a bad

guy," Shane said a little daringly.

"It's mostly [snorts] an act. Pretty

convincing one." "Yeah, well." Shane

almost said, "We all have secrets." But

he stopped himself. Instead, he said,

"Let's just make sure we win this one."

All right. [ __ ] right.

Ila loved playing against Hollander

almost as much as he loved [ __ ] him.

He was in the corner with him now,

battling for the puck, and this was his

favorite part of any game. Hollander won

and skated away with his prize. Ilia

smiled to himself and raced off after

him. Shane was a better stick handler,

but Ilia was a faster skater, and he

caught up with him and poked the puck

off his blade from behind. Ilia had the

puck for all of three seconds before

Shane forced him into the boards and

stole it back. Then he took off again

with a challenging and somewhat flirty

glance back at Ilia. Ilia grinned and

launched himself after him, but this

time, Shane was flying, and Ilia was

struggling to close the gap. And then,

oh god, no. It happened so fast Ilia

could barely process it. One second

Shane was racing down the ice and the

next he was slamming against the boards

after colliding hard with Cliff Marlo.

And then he was crumpled and motionless

on the ice and Ilia didn't know what to

do.

Shane blurry bright shapes and

screeching noise. Don't move. All right,

just stay still. We're going to take you

off the ice. Ice

Holland Deere a different voice. Oh

yeah. Did I say that? Shane heard his

own voice, but had he moved his lips? He

blinked, trying to get his eyes to

focus. Is he all right? That was Ilia's

voice for sure. It sounded different,

though. It was unsteady, panicked.

Okay, Shane murmured. He had no idea if

it was true, but he didn't want to hear

the worry in Ilia's voice anymore.

We're going to move you onto the spinal

board, chain. Keep your head still,

please. Spinal board? Ilia, please stand

back, the authoritative voice said, and

the dark blur that had been looming over

Shane disappeared.

We're not alone, Shane slurred. Yoya,

they can see us. He felt hands on his

arms and legs. He felt straps securing

him to a board. Is he all right? Ilia's

voice again. No one answered him. Tell

him, Shane said. Tell him I'm fine. He

wanted to turn his head to look at Ilia,

but he couldn't now. Suddenly, he was in

the air. He watched the lights and the

rafters and the banners that hung from

them pass in front of his eyes as he was

carried off the ice. He heard applause.

Oh god, what if I'm not okay? What if I

never walk again? What happened? He

gritted out. You took a blow to the

head. You went into the boards. [ __ ]

There's an ambulance waiting. Shane

pressed his lips together. His eyes were

stinging. He was scared. "My parents,"

he said. "They're at the game." He

watched the paramedics share a look.

Then one of them nodded. We'll make sure

they know where we're taking you. Shane

closed his eyes because keeping them

open was too difficult. We need you to

stay awake, Shane. All right. Yeah,

sure, Shane said. As the confusion

started to clear, he was able to focus

on the pain that shot through him. He

felt cool air on his feet as someone

removed his skates.

Can you move your toes? [ __ ] He really,

really hoped so. Feeling the cold air

had to be a good sign, right? Good, the

paramedic said, because apparently Shane

had successfully wiggled his toes.

"Thank God. Thank God. Thank God." The

paramedics did things around him and

talked to each other and reminded Shane

to stay awake every time his eyelids

closed. Shane thought of his parents.

They must be so worried. He thought of

Ilia. He wished he could text him. He

wished he could tell him he wiggled his

toes. He wondered who had hit him. He

had no memory of it. They must be

showing the footage of the hit over and

over again on television. This had never

happened to Shane before. Somehow, in

all his years of playing, he'd never

been laid out cold. It only takes one

time. His vision was blurry again, but

this time it was because of the tears

that had formed in his eyes. The game

had been almost over, right? Shane

couldn't remember, but he was sure it

had been the third period. Montreal had

been winning. What if I can't play in

the playoffs?

He was two goals ahead of Ilia in the

scoring race with one week left of the

regular season. He could kiss that lead

goodbye. Shane, we need you to keep your

eyes open. Okay. Sorry.

Ilia had to wait until morning before he

could go to the hospital. His team was

leaving for the airport in 2 hours. He

was the team captain. It wasn't unheard

of for the opposing team captain to

check to make sure the player his

teammate had taken out was all right.

[ __ ] Marlo. He knew Cliff felt bad.

He hadn't meant to hit Shane so hard or

at such an awkward angle, but Ila still

wanted to kill him. He was given Shane's

room number by an overly interested

woman working behind a desk at the

hospital.

She [snorts] seemed to be impressed at

Ilia's display of sportsmanship.

The door was open to crack, so Ilia

gently pushed it open. Hollander was

elevated a bit by the hospital bed into

an almost sitting position. The room

was, to Ilya's relief, otherwise empty.

Ilia, Shane exclaimed. He had his left

arm in a sling. Hi, Ilia said awkwardly.

I just needed Are you I'm okay, Shane

said. He smiled shily. Anilia knew he

was happy to see him. I mean, I have a

concussion and a fractured collar bone.

I'm out for the playoffs, but could have

been worse. Yeah, Marlo is he feels bad,

Ilia said stupidly. He was very angry at

himself, and I am mad at him as well.

Shane snorted. It's part of the game. I

know he's not a vicious player. We all

get our bell rung eventually, right?

Shane must have been on some good drugs.

He was actually grinning.

He probably doesn't want to meet my mom

in a dark alley, though. He joked. She's

out for blood. I will warn him. Ilia

wanted to touch him and know that he was

really, really okay. He had barely slept

last night. He'd spent the whole night

sick with worry and refreshing sports

sites looking for news of Shane's

injuries. He couldn't close his eyes

without seeing Shane's unmoving body on

the ice. It must have shown in Ilia's

eyes because Shane extended his good

hand and said in a soft voice, "Hey."

Ilenged the door closed and crossed the

room until he was right next to Shane's

bed. He gently brushed his fingers over

Shane's face as Shane gazed up at him

and smiled. "You scared me?" Yoya

admitted. "Scared myself." "But [snorts]

you will be okay." "Yeah, I'll be okay.

I wanted to tell you last night. I wish

I could have texted you. I was sh."

Shane's eyes fluttered closed as Ilia's

fingers trailed into his hair. "I had

been looking forward to last night,"

Shane murmured. Yes. I'm mostly mad at

Marlo for [ __ ] that up, Ilia laughed.

When will we get a chance again? Shane

asked. And so help him. In that moment,

Ilia wanted to tell him he would stay

with him, that he would move into his

apartment and help him with his recovery

and make him sandwiches and watch the

playoffs with him and read him his

boring hockey book. But of course, he

couldn't. I will be busy winning the

Stanley Cup. Ila said with a forced

smirk. Shane grimaced. I'm sorry, Ila

said, and he meant it. Shane closed his

eyes again. It sucks. I know. I wanted

to talk to you last night before this

happened. Ilia had wanted to talk, too.

But he was sure Shane wouldn't have

liked what he had planned to say. He had

convinced himself that the only sensible

thing to do was to end this thing

between them entirely. No good could

possibly come of it. Ilia's heart had

entered into it and that changed

everything. It wasn't thrilling or fun

anymore. It was torture. He was going to

tell Shane as much last night, but now

Shane, he sighed. Shane reached his hand

up and took Ilas, tangling their fingers

together and holding tight. Will you

come to the cottage? I I don't know. No.

No. Oh, there was no way Ilia could do

that. He couldn't possibly spend that

much time alone with Shane. Not if he

ever wanted to be free of this.

We could have a week or two, Ilia, Shane

said. Haven't you ever wanted more time?

Ilia's stomach clenched. He should just

say no. Let Shane believe that he didn't

want any more from him than the hour or

two they stole a few times each season.

but instead he brushed his thumb over

the back of Shane's hand and said, "Of

course. Then come to the cottage,

please. It will just be the two of us,

completely alone for as long as you want

to stay." And God, that sounded so

perfect. And Shane was looking at him

like his heart would shatter if I said

no. So [snorts] Ilia took the coward's

way out. Maybe. Shane beamed at him like

he wasn't a man who was in a hospital

bed with serious injuries. The door

handle turned and Shane quickly released

his hand. Ilia jumped back and turned to

face the nurse who entered the room.

"Uh-oh," she said with a smile. "You're

not trying to smother him with a pillow,

are you, Mr. Rosenoff?" "No," Ilia said,

giving her a shaky smile in return. "I

was just leaving, actually.

Thank you for coming, Shane said. All

business. I appreciate it. Ilia nodded.

Get well soon, Hollander. He quickly

left the hospital room of the man he

loved and forced himself to focus on

winning the Stanley Cup.

Chapter 22.

May 2017.

Ottawa.

Rosenoff is heard. Shane turned his head

from where he was lying on the couch to

look at his mother. "What makes you say

that?" he asked. "He's protecting his

ribs. You can tell by the way he was

angled." "Look," she said, pointing at a

slow-mo replay on their television.

"Right there." He turns away from the

hit. He could have taken Hunter off the

puck there, but he chickenened out. Mom

was right. Of course, Shane already knew

that Ilia was secretly playing the

second round of the playoffs with

bruised ribs. Montreal [snorts] had been

knocked out in the first round by

Detroit, and Shane felt terrible about

that. Detroit had just squeaked into the

playoffs, and it should have been an

easy round for Montreal.

But Shane hadn't been able to play, and

their goalender had gotten some sort of

flu, so the team had struggled and

ultimately lost. Shane should have been

there helping his team.

but [snorts] instead he was recovering

at his parents' house in Ottawa. His

headaches were getting better, but he

was still very tired. His collarbone was

mostly healed. He hadn't heard Familia

as often as he would have liked, but he

knew he was busy, focused. I think New

York is going to win the cup, his mother

said. New York, eh? Yes. Scott Hunter is

determined. You can see it. Nine seasons

without a cup. He'll make sure he gets

this one. You know Hollander was rarely

wrong about these things. Well, his

father said cheerfully. At least we

won't have to watch Rosenoff lift the

cup. Shane grimaced. In truth, he would

love to see Rosenoff lift the cup. It

was nice of him to visit Shane in the

hospital, though. Mom pointed out. He

gets points for that. Dad made a noise

of agreement. Shane wished he could

remember the details of that hospital

visit. His brain had been muddled by the

injury and more muddled by the drugs. He

could remember Ilia's gentle fingers on

his face and in his hair. He remembered

being so happy to see him. Even now,

just knowing that Ilia had made the trip

to the hospital filled Shane with a

tingly warmth. Shane was so completely

in love with him. He would hit his head

all over again just to be alone in that

quiet hospital room with those careful

fingers and those concerned eyes. He was

in love with him. And he could never

ever tell him that. But maybe maybe he

could at least tell his parents. Part of

the truth. Jesus. But how? Just blurt it

out. How did people do this? Not while

watching hockey together, surely. Have

you heard from Rose Landry lately? his

mother asked completely out of nowhere.

And wasn't that a [ __ ] sign? Yeah,

she texted me when I was in the

hospital. She saw that I got hurt. His

mother looked pleased by that. Well, no

time like the present.

We're not We're just friends, Mom. I

know. Your schedules would make a

relationship very difficult, but other

players do it. Look at Carter Vaughn and

that Gloria, what's her name from TV?

No, it's Shane set up a little and

winced at the pain in his head. It's not

our schedules. I mean, yeah, that would

make it hard. But that's not the reason.

His mother looked at him

sympathetically.

When the right one comes along, you'll

know, she said, and Shane chickenened

out because he couldn't tell him that

the right one had come along. And it was

the pissed-off Russian man who was

currently heading to the penalty box on

their television.

Yeah, he said, "I know." He had the most

ridiculous urge to send Ilia a text that

just said, "I love you." He had those

words trapped inside of him, filling

every part of him, and the strain of

keeping them from slipping out was

getting harder to endure. Instead, he

texted Rose. Shane, my mom is wondering

when we're getting back together.

She replied a few minutes later, "Ha."

Then, Rose, sorry, it's not really

funny. How are you? How's your head?

Shane, getting better. I can watch TV

without sunglasses now, Rose. But

watching TV with sunglasses on is cool.

Shane replied with the sunglasses face

emoji. Rose, do you have a hotmail nurse

taking care of you? Shane laughed, which

caused both of his parents to look at

him. Shane, no. I meant my parents'

house. Rose, that's a shame. Shane,

maybe I could ask them to hire me a hot

male nurse. Is that a good way to come

out? Rose, I legit lolled Shane. Shane

laughed too. Who are you texting? His

mother asked. No one, Shane said

quickly. Hayden. [snorts]

Lies upon lies.

How's the baby? Baby? Oh, great. You

know, Hayden and Jackie are totally in

love with her. Probably.

You shouldn't be looking at your phone

so much. It's not good for your

concussion. I know, Mom. Shane snapped.

She threw her hands up dramatically.

Sorry for caring about the health of

your brain. He rolled his eyes. Trust

me, plenty of people are concerned about

the health of my brain. He'd been

staying with his parents since leaving

the hospital, and it was starting to

wear on him. He was lucky to have them,

and he couldn't imagine having to suffer

through this recovery on his own, but he

was craving his independence.

Although there was one person he

wouldn't mind having around, but that

person was looking frustrated as hell on

his television. Sexy, too, though. Ilia

had a thick playoff beard, the kind that

Shane had always been envious of. Even

when Shane had played all the way to the

Stanley Cup finals, the best he'd been

able to manage was a few pathetic toughs

of hair spaced out like islands on his

face. Ilia [snorts] had a full dark

beard that framed his plush lips. And oh

god, now all Shane could think about was

wanting to feel that beard rub against

his thighs. The [snorts] thing that he

had been trying not to worry about too

much because his situation was

depressing enough was that he wasn't

entirely confident that he would feel

any part of Ilia rubbing against him

ever again. And wouldn't that be the

world's saddest joke? As soon as Shane

finally admitted to himself that he

wanted to be with Ilia, their weird

arrangement might be permanently off the

table. Not that either of them had said

anything specific about ending things.

They hadn't said much of anything to

each other since the day Ilia had left

Shane's hospital room. Shane just had a

sense that maybe this whole thing had

become too much. It had become more

difficult to contain or to pretend it

didn't mean anything. The only safe

option was to walk away. Shane was

expecting Ilia to tell him as much as

soon as the playoffs were over. And it

was looking as the final minutes of the

game ticked away, like the playoffs

would be over for Ilia tonight. The

stupid part of Shane wanted to fight for

Ilia, for them. The sensible part, the

part that was in control of most things

in Shane's life, knew there couldn't

possibly be a future with Ilia. There

couldn't be a present with Ilia. They

needed to end things quickly and cleanly

and never look back. The other path led

to nothing but heartache and scandal and

misery and soft Russian words being

breathed against Shane's skin. It led to

falling asleep with strong arms wrapped

around him and waking up to a lazy

crooked smile and playful kisses.

It led to homemade tuna melts and the

precious times when Ilia would offer

Shane the tiny pieces of himself that he

usually kept so carefully guarded. The

game ended. Ila's season was over. It

was only a matter of time before

everything would be over. And Shane

didn't know what he could do to prevent

it, but he knew he wanted to.

June 2017, Boston.

Jane,

I can't believe New York is finally

going to win the cup. Ilia couldn't

believe it either. Scott [ __ ] Hunter

was going to be a Stanley Cup champion

in about 40 seconds. Ilia, I hate

Hunter. Jane, no you don't. Ilia, I do.

Jane, stop. I'll get jealous if you keep

talking like that. Yoya laughed alone in

his penthouse in Boston. He laughed. The

final seconds of the final game of the

final series of the playoffs ticked

down. And then the game was over. The

ice filled with excited men in blue

jerseys, and Ilia turned his full

attention to his phone so he wouldn't

feel the sting of envy too sharply. He

was bored. The [snorts] playoffs had

ended for him weeks ago. At a loss for

what to do or where to go, he'd hold up

in Boston. It was his only home now,

though he had no real friends in the

city.

There were teammates who stayed for the

summers, but none he was close to. But

his car collection was here, and that

wasn't nothing. Though the last time he

had visited his garage 3 days ago, it

[snorts] had kind of felt like nothing.

He wasn't inviting Svet Lana over

anymore because, just because.

So, he was watching hockey alone and

texting the man he desperately wished he

could be sharing a summer with. Ilia, do

you think Hunter is going to drink tea

out of the cup? Jane, caffeine? No way.

Hunter isn't that hardcore. Ilia laughed

again. Ilia, milk then. Jane, warm milk.

And then straight to bed. Ilia glanced

up at the television and saw the Stanley

cup being handed to a beaming Scott

Hunter. Jane, I'm happy for him. Ilia,

of course you are.

He'd had every intention of ending

things with Shane. He hadn't been able

to do that. Not yet. For now, they could

text each other and tease each other and

pretend they were just friends or

whatever. Shane's invitation for Ilia to

come to his cottage still existed. Shane

wasn't pushing it, and Ilia wasn't

acknowledging it, but it was there. If

it weren't the worst idea in the world,

Ilia would be on his way to wherever the

[ __ ] Ontario already. Players on the

television were kissing their wives and

holding their children. It would be

nice, Ilia thought, to have someone to

kiss after winning the cup. Maybe that

should be his goal for next year. Forget

about Shane and find himself a woman he

could like enough to keep around until

the end of the playoffs. Ilia reached

for the remote and was about to turn off

the television when Holy [ __ ]

Holy [ __ ]

Scott [ __ ] Hunter was kissing a man.

Not like one of his teammates on the

cheek in an I love you bro kind of way.

Scott Hunter was kissing a man wearing

street clothes full on the [ __ ]

mouth. It looked like tongues were

involved. Ilia's phone buzzed. Jane.

Holy [ __ ]

Jane, are you seeing this? Jane, what

the [ __ ] Is that his boyfriend?

Ilia just stared at the television at

Scott Hunter and his probable boyfriend.

Or Scott Hunter and the random cute man

he had pulled out of the crowd. Ilia

couldn't process what he was seeing. How

could it possibly be real? But there

Hunter was smiling at this mystery man

like he was the only thing that mattered

in the world and holding his face as he

leaned in to kiss him again. Ilia felt

like he was watching all the worst

things about his life getting sucked up

by a tornado. Then the cameras cut away

and Ilia looked at his phone. Jane, what

is happening? Did he really just do

that? Ilia stabbed the call button.

There was only one ring before. Holy

[ __ ] Ilia. Can you believe I'm coming

to the cottage?

Part 4. Chapter 23.

July 2017.

Ottawa.

Shane drummed his fingers anxiously on

the steering wheel. He wished he could

have gone into the airport to greet Ilia

properly, but one of them alone in the

airport would turn enough heads. The two

of them together would be pandemonium.

He pulled his ball cap down lower and

watched the rear view mirror. He was

still in shock that Ilia had accepted

his invitation, though he supposed he

had Scott Hunter to thank for that.

Hunter had come out very publicly the

night he had won the Stanley Cup. He had

also spoken about it openly in

interviews that night and even more

openly in his speech at the NHL Awards

last week. Shane had watched that speech

a few times. He wished he could have

been at the awards to see it in person,

but it seemed like an unnecessary burden

on his freshly healed body to fly to Las

Vegas. But still, he would have liked to

have shaken Hunter's hand. Instead, he

had sent him an email. He had written

several drafts of the email before

sending one that simply acknowledged

Hunter's bravery. He had chosen his

words carefully because he didn't have

Hunter's courage. Not yet, anyway.

But maybe Hunter would figure out what

Shane was actually trying to say anyway.

Having an NHL player come out as gay for

the first time was exciting. But a

player on every team in the league could

come out and it still wouldn't help

Shane's situation.

Being gay or whatever was not really the

thing that would create a scandal.

[ __ ] your biggest rival over the

course of your entire NHL career was

something that no one would understand.

Not one person. Shane felt that even

Scott Hunter, the NHL's new poster boy

for acceptance and tolerance, would be

alarmed if he knew what he'd been up to

with Ilia. They would be a joke. If the

world found out about them, that was all

they would be. The depraved hockey

players who secretly [ __ ] each other.

And Shane didn't want to be that at all.

He wanted to be the best hockey player

in the world. and he wanted to be in a

relationship with the man he could

finally admit he was in love with

without shame or fear. But he couldn't.

All he could have were these two weeks

alone with Ilia, hiding where no one

would find them. He [snorts] heard the

wheels of the rolling duffel bag before

he saw Ilia in the mirror crossing the

parking garage. Shen considered getting

out of the car, but decided to stay

where he was. Once they were at the

cottage, they would be safe. But there

was no point in blowing it now. He just

needed to make it out of Ottawa without

anyone noticing that Shane Hollander and

Ilia Rosenoff were hanging out together

in July. As I got closer, Shane saw that

he too had his ball cap pulled low and

was wearing large aviator sunglasses.

Shane wondered if anyone had recognized

him inside the airport. He popped the

back of the SUV so Ilia could load his

bag in. They didn't say a word to each

other until Ilia slid into the passenger

seat. What the [ __ ] are you driving,

Hollander? A Jeep Cherokee? Ilia

snorted. What? It's practical. You're a

millionaire. What's wrong with the

Cherokee? Shane asked, starting the

engine. It's good in the snow. It holds

lots of stuff. It's a good car. is good

if you are a dad in the suburbs.

Better than a stupid sports car where my

knees are over my damn head. H

They didn't talk again until Shane had

exited the parking garage. Good flight?

He asked. Sure. It takes about 2 hours

to get to the cottage. You okay? Are you

hungry or anything? We could stop and

one of us could. Ilia shrugged. I think

you'll like the cottage. Shane said,

"It's really relaxing."

"Is that what we are going to do?" Ilia

asked. "Relax?" Shane swallowed. He

turned onto the on-ramp for the highway.

"I hope so," he said finally. "I would

like to relax with you for once." He

glanced over for a second. Ilia was

looking out the passenger side window.

"I stocked up on groceries yesterday,"

Shane said. We shouldn't need to leave

very often. They drove in silence for a

few minutes. Shane wondered if I was as

panicked as he suddenly was. Two weeks

alone together, possibly constantly

alone together. What the hell had he

been thinking when he'd suggested this?

Thank you, Yoya said suddenly, for

inviting me. Shane felt his panic

subside. I'm glad you're here. I am also

glad but terrified, right? Shane

laughed, relieved. Yeah, me too. They

both knew this was a point of no return,

more so even than the first time they

had kissed or [ __ ] This was a new

frontier, a new level of intimacy. Did

anyone recognize you in the airport? No,

I don't think so. Shane nodded. The

cottage is way down a private road.

We'll be totally alone there. No family

coming to visit. No, I uh I told them I

need a couple of weeks of solitude. I

told them it was u I don't know,

psychological thing, like a mental

training meditation thing. So sneaky. We

won't be bothered. He noticed Ilia

chewing on his thumbnail.

I've um I've been looking forward to

this, Shane said. Yes, me too.

Shane smiled and took one hand off the

steering wheel. He reached over and Ilia

quickly tangled their fingers together

and squeezed. Two weeks. For two weeks,

they could pretend that their situation

wasn't impossible.

Ilia was hit with a sudden wave of holy

[ __ ] this is really happening. When

Shane parked the car in front of the

large lakehouse that Ilia had seen

profiled on television,

Ilia was pretty sure a cottage was

usually a lot smaller than this giant

stonefront house. But it was certainly,

as Shane had promised, remote. He

[snorts] didn't think he had ever been

anywhere quite like this before,

somewhere that he could truly let his

guard down and not worry about being

recognized. No wonder Hollander loved

it. Hollander, he realized, had removed

Ilia's bag from the trunk and was

carrying it toward the house as if Ilia

was his visiting aunt or something. "I

can carry my own bag." Shane just kept

walking. "How are your ribs?" he asked.

"My ribs are fine. I can carry the bag.

I can't believe you played with those

bruised ribs." "You can't?"

Shane shot him a grin over his shoulder.

I guess I can.

He opened the door and they stepped

inside. It truly was a spectacular

house. [snorts] It was all wide open and

spacious with high ceilings and exposed

beams. The opposite wall was floor to

ceiling windows overlooking the lake.

Ilia could see an enormous deck with a

pool and a hot tub. Beyond that, there

was a dock and a boat house. "Make

yourself at home," Shane said. Ilia

sauntered into the living room. He

removed his sunglasses and hooked them

on the front of his t-shirt. And here

was everything he had seen on that

television show. The leather sectional

sofa, the spectacular view, and the

ridiculously Canadianl looking plaid

throw pillows and blankets. Jesus

Christ. He was in Shane Hollander's

home.

"So, I could give you a tour if you'd

like," Shane said. or if you're hungry.

Like I said, I stocked up on groceries.

There's a beer fridge in the games room

next to the pool table. Shane was

standing a good 6 ft behind Ilia. Ilia

turned away from the view of the lake to

face him. "The tap water here is

actually excellent," Shane continued. He

was so obviously nervous. "There's a

natural spring nearby, and Ila closed

the distance between them in slow,

deliberate steps.

Shane tilted his head up to face him,

and Ilia could see him swallow. They

stood for a moment, silently, staring at

each other, waiting for whatever was

going to happen next. Finally, Ilia

reached a hand up and brushed the backs

of his fingers against Shane's cheek.

Shane unconsciously licked his lip, and

Ilia moved in to kiss him. The moment

Shane's mouth opened under his,

everything made sense. All of Ilia's

nerves left him, and he grabbed at

Shane's t-shirt and pulled him closer.

Shane made a little moaning sound and

plunged his fingers under Ilia's ball

cap, knocking it to the floor. He

tangled his fingers in Ilia's hair and

began walking him backward to the

leather sofa. They hadn't been together

for months. The ridiculous thing was

Ilia hadn't been with anyone in all that

time. For the first time in his life, he

hadn't wanted to be with anyone else.

But now he felt like he was going to

burst if Shane didn't touch him the way

he'd not been able to stop thinking

about. He went willingly down to the

sofa when Shane shoved him. He kept a

firm grip on Shane's t-shirt, so the

other man immediately tumbled on top of

him. Ilia winced as his sunglasses were

pressed into his chest. Then he pulled

them off and threw them, clattering to

the floor.

Ilia kissed Shane wildly, jerking his

hips up to get more friction on his [ __ ]

and was delighted to feel that Shane was

as hard as he was. He pulled Shane's

shirt off over his head and slid his

hands down to open Shane's fly. "Fuck,"

Shane panted. "I'm It's been kind of a

while. I might not last long." "Yes,

same. But we have two weeks, right?"

Shane laughed. Right then. Wait. Same.

H.

You said same. You haven't been with

anyone lately? Yoya grimaced. He

probably shouldn't have admitted that,

but no.

Like, not since. No. Not since. Can we

please get back to really? Shane pulled

back so he could look Ilia directly in

the eyes. He looks stunned and way way

too happy. It's not a big deal,

Hollander. Relax.

It's been like months. Yes. Which is why

I would really like to. I haven't

either, Shane said quickly. Not since

the last time we were together in

Boston. Wheelled in, Ilia said, moving

[snorts] his hand to continue to work

his way into Shane's pants. But Shane

didn't go back to grinding his hips or

attacking Ilia's mouth with filthy,

desperate kisses. Instead, he reached up

and gently brushed a lock of hair out of

Ilia's face. "Ila could only stare,

mesmerized at Shane's face as he looked

down at him with so much tenderness."

"I have an idea," Shane said. He was

brushing his thumb over Ilia's bottom

lip as he said it. "What?" Yoya asked

with more bravery than he felt. Let's be

honest with each other for these two

weeks. Let's just say what we're

actually thinking. Maybe say how we

really feel. I can't. Ilia wanted to say

I can't because if I do, you'll think

I'm pathetic or worse. You'll say it

back and then what the [ __ ] are we

supposed to do? I will try, he said

instead.

Will you? Shane asked skeptically. Yes,

I will do anything if it will make you

touch my dick right now. Shane laughed

and rolled his eyes, but then he slid

down Ilia's body and hauled down Ilia's

shorts. And thank Christ. Shane took him

into his mouth, and everything was

simple again. Ilia felt a wave of

pleasure mingle with a wave of relief,

and he was able to relax and enjoy the

determined way Shane almost always

approached sucking him off. Ilia cheated

and murmured. "I would stay here forever

if I could," in Russian. He felt Shane's

sigh around him, but it sounded more

dreamy than exasperated.

Maybe he understood what he meant. Maybe

some feelings couldn't be hidden behind

foreign words.

As expected, Ilia didn't last long.

Neither did Shane, when Ilia immediately

returned the favor. But the surprising

thing was that the [ __ ] were not the

best part of the afternoon. Afterward,

now that they had taken the edge off,

they just relaxed against each other on

the sofa. The clothing that had stayed

on their bodies was rumpled and

unfassened. Their hair was messy. They

talked quietly to each other as they

there was no other word for it. cuddled

for over an hour. Shane was twisting

strands of Ilia's hair around his

fingers and gently releasing them. Ilia

was tracing his fingertips over Shane's

freckles. Every now and again, Ilia

would kiss Shane's jaw or his throat or

one time the tip of his nose. Ilia

couldn't believe what he had been

reduced to. He was infatuated.

It was disgusting.

But it was hard to care when Shane was

lying on top of him. His smooth chest

and stomach touching every inch of

Ilia's own. His bangs hanging down to

brush Ilia's nose. His dark eyes and his

freckles and his smile. Shane looked so

happy. Somehow Ilia made him happy.

Iluya wanted to always make him happy.

Ilia wasn't at all surprised to learn

that Shane had a complete indoor hockey

training facility at his cottage. Shane

had excitedly led him to the one-story

building beside the main cottage and

open the door to reveal a large

synthetic plastic rink. A net with

shooting targets, passing targets, and a

whole bunch of exercise equipment. The

wall facing the lake was all windows. So

now they were on the ice and sneakers

passing a puck back and forth. I didn't

tell you. Ilia said about after the NHL

awards.

After? Yes. I went out with Scott

Hunter. Shane missed the next pass. What

do you mean? There was a club having a

Scott Hunter night. Whatever the [ __ ]

that means.

A club? Like a gay club? Yes. So, I

thought I would go. I'm sorry. You went

to a gay club in Las Vegas with Scott

Hunter and his boyfriend. Yes, nice guy.

Shane's brow pinched. Why didn't you

tell me this before? Ilia shrugged. I

forgot. Which wasn't true at all. He

just wanted to see this exact expression

on Shane's face. Ilia privately thought

of it as his scrunched confusion face.

Was it? What was it like? was fine. A

little boring, but you know, Scott

Hunter, what can you expect?

Ila snatched a new puck from the pile

beside him with his stick blade and sent

it over to Shane. This time, Shane

caught it on his stick easily.

So, does Hunter know your I did not say

anything. He may have guessed something,

he grinned. There were some very hot men

there. And now Shane's face changed to

the expression Ilia called clenched

disapproval.

"I'm glad you had a nice time," Shane

said turslingly. "Point is I went to a

gay bar with NHL players and it was

exciting, you know." Shane nodded and

returned the puck to Ilia. I'll bet I

give Hunter [ __ ] but what he did was

brave kissing his boyfriend on TV like

that and the speech at the awards. It

was It really made me hopeful that

things might be changing. Ilia shot the

puck back to Shane. It made me jealous,

he admitted. Shane laughed. You want to

kiss me on television? Yes, after I win

the Stanley Cup. Shane spread his arms

out. Oh, so in this romantic scenario,

you've just defeated me. Yes, sorry.

I'm not going to be in the mood to kiss

you if I've just lost the Stanley Cup,

Rosenoff.

But you would be so proud of me. Shane

rolled his eyes. You are the most

obnoxious person on earth. I have no

idea why I He stopped himself just in

time. Why I put up with you. Ilia pushed

against the ice with his sneakers and

slid over to Shane. When he reached him,

he kissed him [clears throat] loudly on

the cheek. "I'm hungry," Shane grumbled.

"Come on, let's see what's in the

fridge."

"Are you going to show me to my room

or?"

Ilia was leaning against a pillar in the

middle of the living room, wearing that

[ __ ] crooked smile that always made

Shane lose his mind. Well, I have four

guest rooms, Shane said, playing along.

Would you like one with a view? I need

one with a king-size bed. Shane walked

toward Dillia and grinned. They all have

king-size beds. And an on suite

bathroom. Oh. Shane said with mock

concern. I'm afraid there's only one

room with an on suite bathroom. I have

very specific needs. I'll try to be

accommodating.

He breathed the last words against

Ilia's lips and then kissed him. It was

slow and wonderful. "I want to sleep in

your bed," Shane Hollander, Ilia

murmured. "I want to do lots of things

in my bed. Show me. Take me to bed."

Shane led him to the room that took up

half of the second floor. The sun had

set, but in the morning, they would see

the view of the lake through the windows

that wrapped around two of the walls. He

watched Ilia take the room in. He

watched him examine the pictures on the

walls and the items on his dresser.

"This is your room," Ilia said, more to

himself, maybe, than to Shane. "Yeah,

probably even more so than my room back

in Montreal." "This place is home."

"This is your parents," Ilia said,

pointing to a framed photo sitting on

the dresser. Yep. With a playful little

grin, Ilia flipped the photo so it lay

face down. Do not want to shock them, he

said. Shane laughed. Ilia moved to the

bed and sat on the end of it. Shane sat

beside him. It's kind of surreal having

you here. Yes. Bad or good? Good, Shane

said quickly. He took Ilia's hand and

squeezed. Really good. Good. Then

without warning, Ilia turned and pounced

on him, pushing him down on his back on

the mattress. Shane didn't have time to

be surprised before Ilia's mouth was on

his. Shane moaned helplessly and arched

his body against Ilyas. He wrapped a leg

around Ilia's thighs and pulled him

closer. The kiss felt weird, and Shane

realized it was because neither of them

could stop smiling.

"You're here," he murmured. "Yes. Now

take off your clothes.

Shane laughed and quickly removed his

clothing. He fired each garment in the

general direction of his laundry hamper,

then sprawled out on his back and

watched Ilia peel his own shirt off.

Ilia slid a hand down his own bare chest

like a stripper. He paused at the button

on his shorts and raised an eyebrow at

Shane. "What's this magic mic shit?"

Shane asked, grinning. Ilia responded by

pushing both hands into his own hair and

tilting his head back dramatically. He

thrust his crotch out and Shane cracked

up. "Here, let me help you." He crawled

on his knees on the bed until he could

press his mouth against Ilia's stomach.

He licked along the lines of Ilia's

muscles, and he heard Ilia let out a

shaky breath. "Don't tease me," Ilia

said. "I have waited too long for this."

H [sighs] Shane opened the front of

Ilia's shorts and playfully nipped at

his chest. Months?

Years? Ilia sighed. Years I have wanted

to have you in your real bed. Shane

froze.

Years.

Ilia wrapped long fingers around Shane's

jaw and tilted his head up to meet his

gaze. Yes. Shane swallowed. Get those

shorts off. He managed to scrape out.

Ilia had barely slipped the last of his

clothing off before Shane reached for

him. He needed to feel his weight on

him. He needed to kiss him and touch him

and feel him grow hard against him.

Although it looked like he was a little

late for that. Ilia was here and Shane

would finally know what it was like to

be with him when they had all the time

they wanted. Ilia had promised him two

weeks and Shane was giddy with the

vastness of time that was spread before

him.

Ilia kissed him slowly and greedily. His

erection brushed against Shane's belly,

and Shane wriggled against it to give

Ilia as much friction as possible. Ilia

responded by gripping both of Shane's

wrists and pinning them to the mattress.

"Oh," Shane gasped. He shamelessly

tipped his head back to give Ilia better

access to his throat. Ilia took

advantage of his generous offer by

sucking the sensitive spot just under

the hinge of Shane's jaw. Ilia was going

to leave a mark, a hickey, if he kept

sucking at Shane's neck. But Shane

realized that it didn't matter. For the

first time ever, they didn't have to

worry about evidence, about anything. No

one would ever know what happened here.

Harder, Shane said. I want to see it

later. Ilia growled and pressed his

mouth harder to Shane's skin. He sucked

hard enough that for a hysterical

second, Shane wondered if he might

actually be a vampire. Are there Russian

vampires?

No, dummy. Vampires aren't real. Just as

the pain was crossing over to

uncomfortable, Ilia pulled away. Shane

was flooded with relief and the

delicious burn that pulsed from the spot

where Ilia had marked him. Ilia gently

licked the spot and Shane squirmed

happily. Mine. Ilia's breath tickled

Shane's skin when he spoke the single

word.

Yours, Shane said dreily. All of this

for 2 weeks is mine.

Forever, Shane wanted to say. Forever,

if you ask. He knew it was impossible.

But in that moment, he would do anything

to make it work. There had to be a

solution to their problem. But for now,

he just said, "Fuck me, please."

Ilia sat up and then flipped Shane to

his stomach. He laid a light kiss

between Shane's shoulder blades. Oh,

God. Shane wanted this. He wanted to

thrust his ass into the air and to

command Ilia to hurry the [ __ ] up. But

Ilia was making a slow journey down

Shane's body, placing a soft kiss on

each notch of his spine. He was in no

hurry at all. Gorgeous. Ilia sighed

between kisses. The word in his accent

was dark and lush. It slid over Shane's

skin, and in that moment, he felt

gorgeous. Ilia reached the base of

Shane's spine, and Shane expected him to

pull away, maybe grab the lube, but

instead, Ilia did something he had never

done before. He kept going. His tongue

[snorts] slipped into the crease of

Shane's ass as his big hands pulled his

cheeks apart. Shane held his breath. He

couldn't believe Ilia was actually going

to, "Oh, God, Ilia."

Shane felt the wet heat of Ilia's tongue

lapping at his hole, and he had never

experienced anything like it. It was

impossibly intimate. It was so bold and

fearless and so Ilia. His tongue paused

a moment, and Ilia said, "Good.

[ __ ] great." He heard Ilia chuckle

behind him, and then the lapping

continued. Shane's eyes rolled back and

he groaned. How could something be so

relaxing and so exciting at the same

time? He was almost angry that Ilia had

been holding out on him all this time.

But that wouldn't be fair. Shane

appreciated this for the gift it was. He

was wild with need. His [ __ ] was rigid

against the mattress, and it took all of

his willpower not to start humping the

bed. He didn't want to move at all

because that might make Ilia stop. And

Shane wasn't sure how much longer Ilia

could keep doing this. But oh, Ilia's

tongue was inside him. Warm and slippery

and intrusive.

It was somewhere it definitely was not

supposed to be. But it felt so so so

good.

[ __ ] [ __ ] I holy god. That's amazing.

Thank you. [ __ ]

The thank you was embarrassing, but

Shane didn't dwell on it, just like he

refused to be embarrassed by the

desperate noises Ilia was drawing out of

him by [ __ ] his ass with his tongue.

Shane was going to come. The realization

hit him suddenly, and in a panic, he

jerked his hips off the bed to remove

any friction against his aching [ __ ]

Unfortunately, the move also caused him

to smash Ilia in the face with his ass.

"Ah, what the [ __ ] Hollander? Sorry."

He turned to look over his shoulder, and

Ilia was rubbing his jaw and scowlling.

"I'm sorry," Shane said again. "I was

just I didn't want to come yet." Ilia

rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched.

"I guess that is a compliment." "It is,"

Shane agreed quickly. He flipped over to

his back. That felt incredible. Good.

Did um did you like doing that? I

nodded. I y until you bashed me in the

face. Shane bit his lip to keep from

grinning, but Ilia noticed with a snort

that didn't really sound angry. Ilia

bent down until their faces were inches

apart. Shane tilted his chin up for a

kiss before he remembered where Ilia's

mouth had just been. Did he care? No. He

leaned up and kissed him, and he didn't

really taste much of anything. It was

just the familiar heat of Ilia's mouth

on his. He felt the press of Ilia's hard

[ __ ] against his hip, and the need to

have it inside of him flared right back

up in Shane. "Please."

Ilia looked around and Shane pointed to

the nightstand to the right of the bed.

Ilia opened the drawer and pulled out a

bottle of lube and a condom, but he

didn't close the drawer right away.

What? Shane asked. I was hoping there

would be toys.

I don't keep any here. You have a big

stash in Montreal? Shane blushed. No.

No. Still just one lonely dildo. Yes.

Shane slammed his head back on the

pillow. He was not above whining at this

point. Please shut up and [ __ ] me. Ilia

wasted no time positioning himself

between Shane's legs and driving into

him. Shane wasn't sure if he was trying

to say, "Be careful what you wish for."

But Shane wasn't feeling sorry at all.

Shane cried out into the room. He let

himself be as loud as he'd always wanted

to be because he could.

Oh, Shane. Yes, I want to hear it. Ilia

slammed into him over and over, making

the headboard bang against the wall.

Shane reached a hand up to steady it,

but Ilia just covered his hand with his

own, bracing himself against the wall

and [ __ ] him even harder. Shane

lifted his legs and rested his ankles on

Ilia's shoulders. Ilia growled and

lunged forward, folding Shane in half

and sinking deeper inside him. Ilia's

face was slick with sweat and his eyes

were wild. Shane, [ __ ] I Holy [ __ ]

You're amazing, Shane. So [ __ ] good.

Shane could only make high whimpery

noises in response. He was going to

come. There was nothing touching his

dick, but it was going to happen any

second now.

You look like Are you going to come,

Hollander? Yeah. Shane gasped. Oh, [ __ ]

Yes. Come on. Ilia thrust faster,

keeping his eyes on Shane's dick. And

then Shane erupted. He screamed and

arched and watched with Ilia as his dick

coated his stomach and chest. Shane.

It was the only word Ilia managed to

grit out before he stilled and came

inside him. For long moments, neither of

them moved. They both panted and gazed

at each other. And there were words that

Shane was dangerously close to saying.

He could feel them thrashing around

inside him, desperate to get out, but he

forced them down. And then Ilia placed a

palm on the side of Shane's face and

just looked at him. And for a wild

second, Shane thought Ilia was going to

be the one to say those forbidden words,

but he didn't.

Instead, he pulled out of him and fell

on the mattress beside him. Shane rolled

to his side, and Ilia did the same,

facing him. Shane smiled because the

last time he had this view of him, Ilia

had been in Moscow and Shane had been in

Montreal.

We could stay in this bed for 2 weeks,

Shane suggested. Ilia shook his head.

No, I want to [ __ ] you in every room of

this house.

Shane squirmed and blushed. I have a hot

tub. You know, Ilia made a face. Hot

tubs are terrible for sex. Have you

tried it? No. It's horrible. Too hot.

Uncomfortable.

Well, I also have a pool. Ilia leaned in

and nuzzled under Shane's chin. Shane

tipped his head back so I could trail

kisses over his flesh skin. And a pool

table, Ilia murmured. Oh god, the felt

is very delicate. Shane squeaked. Ilia

snorted. Do you ever relax?

Shane pulled away so he could glare at

him. You're really going to make fun of

me now while you're a guest in my home

in my bed. Shane was assaulted by a lazy

crooked smile. "No," Ilia said. "I like

you, Hollander."

It wasn't an earthshattering confession,

but the words still moved Shane.

enormously.

I like you too, Rosenoff.

Chapter 24.

The following evening, Ilia leaned

against the rail of the deck and watched

Shane flip burgers on the barbecue.

Shane seemed very excited about the

burgers. He had followed a recipe

online. Ilia took a sip of his beer.

"Why the [ __ ] are you making eight

burgers?" he asked. "That's how many the

recipe was for." You can't do math. Cut

it in half. Leave me alone. Instead,

Ilia stood directly behind Shane and

draped an arm across his chest. He

kissed him behind the ear. "No," he

murmured. Shane tipped his head back and

Ilia could see the color that had

flooded to his cheeks. "It was

exhilarating to be outdoors like this

and to be able to touch each other the

way they wanted to. Christ. He hadn't

even been here for 2 days yet, and

already he had no idea how he was going

to be able to go back to the real world.

I would bring some of the burgers over

to my parents' cottage, but that would

ruin the whole I can't be disturbed. I'm

meditating lie I told them. Ilia kissed

his neck. Have you ever lied to your

parents before? Shane shuddered.

Probably. I mean, I must have, but not

often. No, you love your parents. You

are a good son. I try to be. They don't

know how bad you can be. Stop it. What

is your mother's name? Shane pulled away

and turned to face him. What are you

doing? Why all the questions? He was

frowning as if he suspected Ilia was

making fun of him. What? I want to know

about your family. All I know is your

mother is Japanese or something.

probably where you get your looks. Half

of them, yes. And your dad is boring. Is

that where you get your boring from?

Shane shook his head, but he was smiling

a bit. My dad is not boring. He is

exciting.

He's normal. He works for the Treasury

Board of Canada. Super exciting. He

played hockey for McGill. Wow. Is McGill

a town? What the [ __ ] is McGill? It's a

school, a university in Montreal, a very

famous one. Ilia shrugged and took a sip

of his beer. My parents are awesome,

Shane said, turning his attention back

to the grill. Seriously, they're the

best. Maybe I will meet them someday.

Shane froze. Ilia saw the tension grip

his back and shoulders. Relax, Ilia

said. Was a joke. I know I won't. I'd

like you to," Shane said quietly. "I

mean, I wish you could, you know, if

things were different."

Ilia reached out and tapped Shane's

elbow. Shane turned to face him. "Do

they know about you?" "No," Ilia said.

"About you?" Shane looked down and shook

his head. No,

they would not be good if you told them.

I don't know. You said they are the

best. Shane looked up. They are. I mean,

I think they would be fine with it. I

know they would be really. They love me.

They've always supported me. They aren't

homophobic at all. I don't think. It's

just not something we've ever really

talked about. Maybe you should. Shane

turned and picked up a plate that he

started piling burger patties on.

Sometimes I think I would have told them

by now if it wasn't for Ilia raised an

eyebrow that Shane couldn't see.

This is my fault. No. Yes, sort of. I

just think if I had a normal dating life

or whatever. I mean, still dating men,

but not doing whatever we're doing with,

you know, you. You don't want to tell

your parents that you are [ __ ] I

Rosenoff.

Shane sputtered out a laugh. No, I

definitely do not want to have to

explain that to them.

Why would you though? What do you mean?

You can tell your parents that you are

gay, I think, without telling them the

names of men you are [ __ ] I'm pretty

sure about this. I know. I know. But

Shane sighed. Forget it. It doesn't

matter. Let's eat these burgers before

they get cold. Ilia wanted to push him

to say more, but instead he just

followed Shane to the table.

The truth was that Shane thought about

Ilia meeting his parents a lot. He was

kind of obsessed with the idea. He

couldn't even form a clear thought about

why it was so important to him. For one

thing, it was an absurd, terrible idea,

and there was absolutely no reason why

he should want it to happen. He had even

imagined benign scenarios where they

were at a function, maybe the NHL

Awards, and Shane just casually says,

"Mom, Dad, have you met Ilia Rosenoff?"

and they would meet and they would shake

his hand. Denilia would nod politely at

them and tell them it was nice to meet

them. Then it would be over and his

parents would shake the hand of the next

person who approached them. And they

would have no idea, no idea how much of

a relief it would be for Shane to have

witnessed just that simple contact. to

know that the two people he loved the

most had touched the skin of Ilia

Rosenov and had looked into his eyes

even for a second and that Shane now had

concrete proof that all three of them

existed in the same world. These were

the thoughts that kept Shane awake at

night. Total and complete madness. His

deepest, most closely guarded desire was

to just have his parents make contact

with the man he'd been secretly [ __ ]

for 7 years.

Part of him felt that if it happened,

something would become clear. Something

would finally make sense.

The real actual truth, the truth that

Shane mentally stomped on every time it

dared try to get his attention was that

he wanted Ilia to meet his parents for

the same reason anyone wanted their

boyfriends to meet their parents. He

loved him and he wanted them to love

him, too.

Except Ilia was not Shane's boyfriend.

And even if he was, if Shane introduced

Ilia as his boyfriend, they would be

beyond confused.

For one thing, he supposedly hated Ilia

Rosenoff. And they hated Ilia Rosenoff.

And everyone in the whole goddamned

world of hockey knew that Shane

Hollander hated Ilia Rosenoff. So even

introducing them formally at the NHL

awards would be weird. His biggest

nightmare was that he and Ilia would be

caught together somehow, paparazzi or

whatever. And then the world would know,

but more importantly, his parents would

know. They would find out that their son

was gay and their son was being gay with

Ilia Rosenoff.

Ilia Rosenoff, who at that moment was

sitting across from Shane at the table

on his patio, eating the food Shane had

prepared for him. he had mustered on the

corner of his lips. If Shane removed all

of the complications of their

relationship, the rivalry, the

expectations for both of them, the fact

that Ilia was kind of a dick, he could

just be proud of the fact that the man

was really hot. Like Shane had

definitely snagged himself a tin. That

morning, Shane had woken up early

because he hadn't closed the blinds the

night before.

Sunshine had streamed into the room,

reflecting off the white bed sheets and

off the beautiful man who had been

wrapped up in them. Shane had taken

advantage of the moment while Ilia had

still been asleep as an opportunity to

drink as fill of him. Ilia had been on

his back, his arm draped over his

forehead, his long fingers curled

against the pillow. Shane had traced a

fingertip down that arm, over the swell

of Ilia's bicep, because he couldn't

help it.

The morning light was making everything

beautiful, and Shane was in love, so he

had leaned in and lightly kissed Ilia's

wrist. When Ilia's eyes had fluttered

open, Shane's face had been inches away

from them. He had seen the initial

confusion in Ilia's expression before it

softened into a shy smile.

It had been a perfect morning, a perfect

day, really. They had worked out very

competitively in Shane's gym. then

lounged by the pool and eventually

headed down to the boat house. Shane had

suggested they take the kayaks out, but

that got dropped as soon as I spotted

the jet skis. The rest of the afternoon

had been spent racing around the lake,

laughing and soaking each other. Ilia

was never happier than when he was in

control of a high-speed vehicle.

Although he had been pretty happy later

on when Shane had pinned him to the wall

inside the boat house and they'd

stripped off their bathing suits and

taken each other in hand. It had been a

really good day. And now they were

eating burgers that Shane had totally

aced and drinking beer on the deck as

the sun set. And it was everything he

had ever wanted. He imagined a life of

spending summers together at the

cottage. It was his intention to make

this his permanent home after he

retired. He wondered if Phil you would

be into living here when what the hell

Hollander getting a little ahead of

yourself, aren't you? But these were the

thoughts that consumed him these days.

Ilia meeting his parents, Ilia spending

the summers with him. Ilia making a home

with him. He'd give anything to go back

to the simplicity of the early days when

all that consumed him was the confusing

desire to have Ilia's dick in his mouth.

For 7 years, they'd been getting away

with this thing. Their luck had to run

out sometime, right?

Ilia stared at the fire because he

wasn't sure what else he was supposed to

do exactly.

This seemed to be the extent of the

entertainment a bonfire provided. It

burned and you looked at it. The bonfire

had been Shane's idea, of course. Ilia

could think of better things to do with

their evening alone together than watch

logs turn into ash. But Shane had been

so damn excited about it. But it was a

beautiful night. The air was a bit

chilly and the fire was warm and Ilia

was pressed against Shane on a little

bench made out of a chunk of tree. It

wasn't terrible. "How was your head?"

Yoya asked. Shane had complained of a

headache that afternoon. He said they

had been common since his injury. Oh,

better now. Thanks.

That was good news because Ilia very

much wanted to do sex stuff later.

Shane's phone suddenly lit up. The

screen startlingly bright in the dark

that surrounded them. When Shane glanced

at the screen, his face lit up almost as

brightly. What? I asked. He couldn't

help it. "Oh," Shane said absently as he

typed something. "Nothing, just a

message from Rose." Ilia snorted. "Rose?

What does Rose want? She's just checking

in. She Hey, you're not jealous, are

you?" "No."

It was the least convincing lie ever.

Ilia, I'm gay.

not too gay to [ __ ] Rosandry.

Shane put the phone down and glared at

him. Oh my god. I only slept with her a

couple of times and they were both

disasters. Believe me, she is not

looking for a repeat performance.

Ilia suppressed a grin. Disasters.

I'm not giving you the details, so shut

it. Shane grumbled. He poked at the fire

for the hundth time. Ilia wasn't sure it

actually did anything useful that Shane

seemed to enjoy doing it. There was

something a little creepy about sitting

in this little pool of light in the

middle of total darkness. It was so

eerily quiet, just the crackling of the

fire, the occasional lap of water from

the lake, and a [ __ ] wolf. That was a

[ __ ] wolf howl. "What the [ __ ] was

that?" Ilia said. He couldn't conceal

the terror in his voice. But who the

[ __ ] cared because they were surrounded

by hungry wolves? Shane laughed. It's a

loon. A what? Aloon? Shane was really

laughing now. It's a bird. Like a duck

kind of. Oh my god. You thought it was a

wolf? What the [ __ ] bird makes a noise

like that? A loon? Shane said again.

Then he doubled over in hysterics. Ilia

wanted to push him into the fire. "Fuck

you and your loon," Ilia said. "Stupid

Canadian wolf bird."

Shane looked up at him, still laughing.

His whole face was crinkled up, eyes,

nose, freckles. Ilia wanted to grab

embers from the fire and smash them into

his own eyes because he could not bear

to look at this adorable crinkled happy

face. "Look," Shane said. He made a

tunnel out of his hands, brought them to

his mouth, and made the wolf bird noise.

"No human should be able to make that

noise." "You speak bird now, too?" Ilia

asked flatly. Shane cracked up again and

shoved him. Ilia fought like hell not

to, but he started laughing, too. "I

speak fluent bird, no accent," Shane

gasped. "I [ __ ] hate you." Shane

leaned in against him. "No, you don't."

Yoya sighed. No, he didn't. He picked up

his can of Coke that was resting on a

trunk of tree table next to the bench

and took a sip. He handed Shane his

ginger ale. They sat in comfortable

silence for a long time.

Have you talked to your family in Russia

at all? The question came out of

nowhere, which meant it was something

that had been on Shane's mind for a

while. Also, it probably wasn't the real

question that Shane wanted to ask. No,

is just my brother there now, and he

sucks. Oh, right. A much less

comfortable silence fell between them.

I'm sorry, Shane said for no reason at

all. Why? Your family. My parents are so

great. I just wish you had that, too.

Ilia shrugged. My mother was great.

He knew he shouldn't have said that

because it was only going to lead to how

did she die. It had been 14 years

almost, but a lump formed in Ilia's

throat anyway. In accident, he said

sardonically.

He said it because that was what his

father had told everyone. It was what

Ilia had been told very sternly, even

though he had known it wasn't true, even

at the age of 12.

She had an accident. Ilia, you

understand? Yes.

An accident? Shane asked. His hand was

on Ilia's arm now, squeezing him through

the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt.

"Yes," Ilia said with a tight, humorless

smile. She accidentally swallowed a

whole bottle of pills. "Oops."

He felt Shane's body tense. He was sure

Shane couldn't even imagine such a

thing. Not in his perfect little family.

Ilia," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Ilia pursed his lips and shook his head.

The fire was looking very blurry now.

"How old were you?" Shane asked. "12."

"And then somehow words scraped their

way out of Ilia's throat that he had

never shared with anyone before. "I

found her." His voice broke on the last

word, and Shane was on his feet hauling

Ilia up with him. Shane engulfed him in

his arms and held him tight, letting

Ilia bury his face on his shoulder. "I

don't want you to think she was weak,"

Ilia said. "She wasn't. She was amazing.

But she was so sad and my father was so

hard on her." And Ilia didn't cry. Not

really. He wiped quickly at his eyes to

remove the moisture and just breathe

Shane in. He smelled like wood smoke

because everything around them smelled

like woods smoke and it made Ilia want a

cigarette.

But mostly he just wanted to hold Shane

close to him in this place where no one

would ever find them. He wanted to stand

in the spotlight of the campfire under

the endless stars and feel Shane's

fingers stroking his hair and not think

about his horrible father or his

wonderful, desperately sad mother.

He didn't want to think about hockey or

rivalries or what was going to happen

when these two weeks were over.

"You're so strong," Shane murmured in

his ear. He kissed his temple. "You're

incredible, I" I yelled his breath, and

then another [ __ ] loon screamed over

their heads, and both men completely

lost it. They held each other as they

shook with laughter. It was a wonderful

relief to laugh. After all that, they

sat back down, but this time Shane

tucked himself into Ilia with his legs

pulled up on the bench. Ilia wrapped an

arm around him and kissed the top of his

forehead. "Is there more wood for the

fire?" Ilia asked. "Yeah, there's lots."

"Good."

Chapter 25.

"What the [ __ ] You can't pick Montreal.

I just did, Ilia pointed out, gesturing

his PlayStation controller at the

television.

Well, then I'm picking Boston. Good

choice. I'm going to [ __ ] destroy

you. I am you. You aren't anything.

Shane grumbled. Ilia laughed and nudged

him hard. I'm on the cover of the game.

Shane shoved him against the arm of the

couch. Big deal. They had barely gotten

past the first puck drop when Shane's

phone rang. Shane glanced at it and

frowned. It's Hayden. I should get it.

Ilia rolled his eyes and hit pause.

Heen.

He didn't actually know Hayden Pike at

all. He knew he was an average forward,

extremely unremarkable in the looks

department, and Shane's best friend.

Shane walked a few steps behind the

couch, standing between the living room

and the kitchen.

Hey, Hayden. How's um how's the baby?

Ilia smirked to himself. Shane had

forgotten Hayden's baby's name. Amber,

right? Is she good? Hayden must have had

a very long answer to that question

because Shane went silent for a while.

Ilia endured about 5 minutes of Shane

saying nothing but, "Oh, yeah, and

that's cool and right before he stood

and gave Shane a look.

Shane shrugged at him. What do you want

me to do? Ilia had an idea. He crossed

the room until he was standing right in

front of Shane. He gave him a little

smile and Shane furrowed his brow at

him. Ilia's gaze darted down to Shane's

crotch, then back up again. Shane shook

his head silently. "So, how's Jackie

doing?" Shane asked the phone. "Tired?"

Ilia unfassened the button on Shane's

shorts. Shane shook his head again, more

forcefully this time, but he wasn't like

stopping him. Ilia slowly pulled down

the zipper and was rewarded with a sharp

inhale from Shane. Shane's shorts

dropped to the floor and Ilia sank to

his knees. He glanced up and saw Shane

mouthing don't. Eyes bugged wide. Ilia

pulled an exaggerated, confused face.

Don't what? He carefully peeled Shane's

briefs off and slid them down to join

his shorts on the floor. To be fair,

Shane's dick was soft, so maybe he

really didn't want Ilia to be doing

this. Ila sat back on his heels and

glanced up at Shane's face, trying to

gauge whether or not he was into this

game. Shane bit his bottom lip as he

gazed back at him, and Ilia knew it was

game on.

Uh, just one second, Hayden. My mom is

calling. One sec. He hit the mute button

on his phone and snarled at Ilia. What

the [ __ ] Knock it off. I think you want

it. I I mean, no. It's [ __ ] creepy.

Is hot though. Yes. Shane huffed. Later.

Okay. I might not want to later. Ilia. I

won't touch you. If you don't get hard,

I won't do anything. Deal? Shane's mouth

fell open. I won't get hard. Okay, then.

No problem. Shane scoured at him, then

went back to the call. Sorry about that,

Hayden. My [clears throat] mom can

really be annoying sometimes.

Iluya grinned up at him. He made a show

of putting his hands behind his back.

Shane's eyes shot daggers at him, then

they turned up to the ceiling.

My head's a lot better. Totally

recovered, I think. Still getting

headaches sometimes, but Yeah, exactly.

I've been working out. Yeah. Ilia

watched Shane's [ __ ] intently. He knew

Shane. Frankly, this was one of the only

times he'd seen his poor unersex dick

soft. Usually, it was as straight as a

[ __ ] rod whenever Ilia was in its

vicinity.

Shane's dick was exactly like the rest

of Shane, tidy and smooth and eager. His

balls were almost hairless, and Ilia was

sure that, like Shane's chest, was

natural. His seemingly disinterested

[ __ ] slumped over them, nestled [snorts]

in a neat patch of dark hair. He wanted

to take it all in his mouth. He wanted

to feel Shane grow hard against his

tongue. But he'd made a promise, and he

could wait.

He turned his eyes up to Shane's face

and caught him looking down at him. Ilia

licked his lips.

"Uh, oh, really? That's cool? When did

that happen?" Shane pressed his lips

together and his cheeks flushed. Ilia

smiled because sure enough, Shane's [ __ ]

had twitched and was starting to plump

up. Ilia watched it for a minute,

enjoying the rare, intimate spectacle.

Shane's hand curled into a fist at his

side. His eyes were squeezed shut like

he was trying to stop his erection from

happening through concentration.

It wasn't working at all. Shane was

fully hard in under a minute, the head

of his [ __ ] bobbing excitedly in front

of Ilia's lips. "Wow," Shane said, his

voice straining. "So, do you think she's

going to Oh, right. Yeah. Ilia ignored

the head of Shane's [ __ ] and dipped his

head lower. He kept Shane's balls gently

in his hand and pressed his lips to

them. Shane's body jerked, but he didn't

move away. "Sorry," Shane said to

Hayden, his [snorts] voice remarkably

even. "Is Mark your sister's husband?"

"Oh, okay. Got it." Ilia sucked one of

Shane's balls into his mouth, enjoying

the heavy weight of it. Shane made the

tiniest little moan. This was great.

Ilia loved playing like this. He wasn't

even sure what the goal was of this

game. But the fact that Shane hadn't

ended the call led Ilia to believe that

he was enjoying the challenge of staying

quiet. To his credit, Shane's whimper

was barely audible when Ilia started

stroking a finger behind his balls. Ilia

was proud of him, but he still wasn't

going to make this easy for him.

Starting at the base, I licked a wide

strip up the shaft of Shane's [ __ ]

finishing [snorts] by laping the

glistening preum at the tip. "Harn,"

Shane said and grimaced. Ilia put his

considerable [ __ ] skills to work,

taking Shane deep and bobbing his head

as he sank his fingers into the muscles

of Shane's thighs. "Oh, oh yeah, that

that's cool." Shane stammered into his

phone. Ilia glanced up at him. Shane

stared right back, cheeks flushed and

eyes challenging. Ilia couldn't believe

Shane hadn't hung up yet. Did he really

want Ilia to make him come while he was

still on the phone? Ilia kept going, and

Shane's voice got more and more

strained. And how on earth was Hayden

not noticing this?

Shane's thighs trembled under Ilia's

hands, the muscles in his stomach

flexing, and Ilia was fascinated to see

how Shane was going to handle this

because he was definitely about to come.

Shane pulled the phone away from his ear

and frantically hit the mute button. Oh,

[ __ ] His free hand grabbed Ilia's

shoulder, fingers tightening almost

painfully as he spasmed and emptied

himself into Ilia's mouth. Shane took a

deep breath in and out once his orgasm

had finished and hit the mute button

again. You there? Sorry. Bad connection

out here sometimes.

Ilia scrambled to the couch so he could

smother his laughter with a pillow.

Shane must have ended the call because

suddenly he was on top of Ilia on the

couch hitting him with another pillow.

[ __ ] you, you [ __ ] That was the

worst. Ilia pulled the pillow he was

holding to his face away. It was not.

God, [ __ ] you. Why was that so hot?

Because you like to be bad, Shane

Hollander. And wo, saying those exact

words twisted something inside of Ilia.

He was just teasing Shane, but he

wondered how true those words were. Was

that perhaps all this was to Shane?

Rebellion? Was that all he was to Shane?

His worry must have shown on his face

because Shane stopped hitting him with

the pillow. He pulled IA's hand to his

mouth and kissed his palm.

That's not why I do this with you. Maybe

it was when we started. I don't know,

but it isn't now. And it hasn't been for

a long time.

Ilia moved the hand Shane was holding to

brush the hair out of Shane's eyes.

Okay.

Why do you do it now? He wanted to ask,

but he was scared of the answer. So

instead, he pulled Shane down for a

kiss. So Ilia said casually when they

broke apart, "How was Hayden?" Shane

collapsed against his chest, and Ilia

held him as they both shook with

laughter.

Ilia had been formulating a plan. It was

early stages and probably bad, but he

couldn't stop his brain from working on

it. He couldn't see a realistic scenario

where he and Shane were anything more

than what they were now. He wasn't even

sure what he wanted them to be when his

imagination was reckless enough to

conjure images of the two of them

together as a couple living together,

married. [ __ ] it was ridiculous.

You all right? Ilia jerked to attention

to find Shane wearing only a bathing

suit, standing in front of the aderondac

chair Ilia was sitting in. He had a book

in his hand and glasses on his face. And

he was frowning down at Ilia like a

concerned lifeguard or librarian. "Yes,"

Ilia said, waving a hand. "H is nice

view, the lake.

You look like you were thinking about

something heavy." Ilia shrugged. Shane

sat himself in the chair next to him and

waited. I wish I had been drafted by a

Canadian team. Ilia said, "What? Why? It

would make things easier."

Things? What? Like, do you mean what do

you mean? Ilia sighed heavily. What

exactly did he want to say here? I mean,

America is not so good for Russians now,

and Russia is not so good for Russians

like me. Shane was silent a moment. Are

you in any danger? No, I don't think so,

but I am very careful. I would like to

not have to be. Shane nodded. I think

things will get better in America,

right? And maybe in Russia, too. Maybe.

Do you still want to become an American

citizen? I don't know. I am thinking

maybe somewhere else. Oh, I have been

thinking. I said he never said any of

this out loud before. He maybe hadn't

even formed it all together in his head

before. I am a free agent after next

season.

He definitely had Shane's full attention

now. You'd leave Boston.

I have just been thinking maybe a

Canadian team. Holy [ __ ] Really? Yes.

Like where? Ilia could see the thoughts

play out on Shane's face like a movie.

What if we played together in Montreal?

No, Montreal couldn't afford both of us.

No, it's Montreal. Ilia said gently. No,

I know. But good God, now Ilia was

imagining that, playing together, living

together, being together. It was never

going to happen. But it was a nice

thought.

I could marry Svetana,

Ilia said out of nowhere. It was the

following night and they were playing

pool. Shane frowned at the three ball

that just missed the side pocket. He

would have made that shot if I hadn't

just casually dropped his worst

nightmare on him.

Oh, Shane asked calmly. She is American,

so it would mean American citizenship,

but she would do it. Would she? I think

so. Yes.

She is Sergey Vet's daughter. Did you

know? What? Really? Yes. She would help

me. Shane watched Dia sink the 12 ball

and then the 14 ball. He felt like

snapping his own queue over his knee. Do

you I mean is she someone that you would

want to marry? Ilia straightened his

posture and looked at him. I like Svet

Lamada. Yes, but it would be for

citizenship.

But Shane said he had to say this next

part. It had been eating away at him for

too long. You want to get married,

right? To a woman. I mean, you're not

like me. You like women. And I'm sure

Svet Lana is gorgeous and fun and all

that stuff, right? Yes, I said. I do.

She is. But, but Ilia shrugged and he

looked like he was possibly blushing. I

have this problem, he mumbled. Shane

waited. I like women. I always was

thinking that to get married would be

nice, kids, all of that someday. But

this problem will not go away. Shane bit

his lip. Tell me about this problem is

so annoying. Ilia sighed and Shane could

see him fighting a grin. Always I am

with beautiful women, wonderful women

everywhere. Sounds rough. Yes, listen.

These women, they are so sexy and fun,

but is no matter. I cannot stop thinking

about these short [ __ ] hockey player

with these stupid freckles and a weak

backhand.

a weak backhand. Shang couldn't stop

smiling. Yes, and he is just so boring

and he drives a terrible car and that is

my problem. All of these beautiful women

and I am always wishing they were him.

Ila bent to take his third shot. He is

terrible problem. [ __ ] Shane was going

to start crying right here in his games

room. He swallowed and studied himself.

Do you want the problem to go away? No,

I said seriously, looking Shane dead in

the eye. I do not want the problem to

ever go away.

Don't marry Lana? Shane blurted out.

Yoya raised an eyebrow.

Just don't.

I know it wouldn't be for love or

whatever, but don't. I couldn't. We can

figure something else out. Okay. Ilia

looked surprised, but he nodded. Okay.

I was thinking, Ilia said, "It was late

morning the next day, and they were

sitting on the deck with coffee. If I

played for a team that was not Boston,

maybe in the West, the rivalry would not

be such a big deal." Shane seemed to

consider this. "That's true. We'd only

play against each other twice a year."

He frowned. Anilia knew he didn't like

that idea any more than he did. We'd

only see each other twice a year.

Is like sacrifice for future gain. Yes.

Shane brightened. Future gain. Yes. Our

rivalry has been huge. But maybe we can

help it to fade away a little.

Yeah. Shane said he was getting excited.

Yeah. I don't like the idea of you being

so far, but we could make people forget

all about us as rivals, and maybe no one

would care about us at all one day. One

day, yes.

Shane smiled shily at him, and Ilia

grinned back, and they both sat there

smiling stupidly at each other while

they thought about the possibility of

one day.

"I have another idea," Shane said. He'd

been thinking about what Ilia had

proposed all day, and he'd come up with

a plan of his own. He propped himself up

on an elbow and poked the sleepy Russian

in the shoulder. Ilia rolled over. What

idea about what? What if you played for

Ottawa? Ottawa? He's almost as bad as

playing for Boston. We would be rivals

just the same. Yes, but listen, first of

all, Ottawa desperately needs a star

center, so there's an opening there. But

what if you played there and we changed

the narrative a bit? The what? What the

[ __ ] with these words, Hollander? I'm

tired.

Sorry. I just mean, we would still be

rivals on the ice, but we wouldn't have

to pretend to be enemies. I mean, lots

of guys have friends all over the

league, but we're like the only guys who

have this whole story built around them

where we can't stand each other and love

nothing more than destroying each other

every time our teams meet. That story

was kind of true for a long time,

Hollander. Shane smiled a little. Yeah,

well, it's not true now. I think it's

safe to say that, right? Sure.

There are going to be new players,

younger players, and new rivalries will

form. Do we really need to keep this

dance up until we both retire?

Ilia's brow furrowed. He is very late,

Hollander. This is a lot of English.

What is your idea?

You play for Ottawa. I play for

Montreal. Those cities are an hour

apart. We start a charity together, you

and me. Something that benefits both

cities. So now people see us working

together on something. We make up some

story about how I approached you with

this idea and or I approached you.

Whatever the point is we tell the press,

the fans, everyone that by working

together on the cause that means so much

to both of us. We have developed a

mutual respect for each other. Yes. And

also we are [ __ ] each other. Any

questions? [ __ ] off. This is a great

idea, Rosenoff. Ilrya laughed. Shane hit

him with a pillow. He's not bad. Ilia

finally conceded. So, we start this

charity, and it wouldn't be [ __ ]

either. I've been wanting to start one

anyway. We'll do something that means a

lot to both of us. Yes. Okay. We still

play hard against each other on the ice,

obviously. I mean, I am never going to

stop enjoying beating your ass. Ilia

snorted. Sure. And like I said, we're an

hour away from each other all year. He

wanted Ilia to see this vision as

clearly as he could. It seemed

tantalizingly possible, easy even. And

you'd be in Canada and you could apply

for citizenship eventually. Yes, I

understand that part. And maybe someday

when we both retire, we can be together

for real. Ila looks stunned by that

part.

You really think that far ahead,

Hollander? I do about this. You want

that to be together? I do so much. It

terrifies me. Ilia turned his face away

from Shane and was silent. Cold dread

flooded Shane's stomach. He had admitted

too much. But Ilia turned back and

quickly rolled on top of Shane and was

kissing him and kissing him and kept

murmuring the same thing in Russian over

and over until he pulled back and

translated, "I love you," Shane froze.

And then Ilia froze. "Holy shit," Shane

whispered. It wasn't how he had meant to

respond.

"I.e." Ilia's eyes were so wide and so

scared.

I love you too, Shane said. Ilia gave a

shaky smile and exhaled. Thank Christ.

Does it Does it feel like agony for you

too? Ilia started to nod, then stopped.

He shook his head slowly instead. Not

anymore.

Ilia felt like his smile was going to

split his face. He was overwhelmingly

happy. Shane was beaming up at him, eyes

bright and freckles crinkled. And Ilia

loved him. And Shane loved him. Holy

[ __ ] [ __ ] Shane Hollander is in love

with me. He wanted to kiss him, but he

couldn't stop looking at him.

How could we let this happen? Ilia

asked, and his voice was shakier than he

would have liked. I don't know. We are

very stupid and irresponsible.

Very dumb. Yes. Oh god, Hollander. And

then he did kiss him. How could he not?

Ilia got the urge to pin him down as if

he would disappear if Ilia didn't keep a

tight grip on him. He wrapped his

fingers around Shane's wrist and held

them to the pillow on either side of

Shane's head. "This is real, yes?" Yoya

asked. He just had to make sure. "It's

real," Shane said. His voice was low and

adorably scratchy.

I feel like I am dreaming. You're not. I

love you. Ilia wasn't sure his heart

could take any more of this. It felt

like it was pushing up against his

lungs, making it hard to breathe, hard

to think, hard to do anything except

hold Shane down and kiss him over and

over again. Shane's back bowed against

the mattress, and he pressed his rigid

[ __ ] against Ilia's thigh.

I want to be as close as possible to

you, he said breathlessly. You are? No,

I want Tell me. I want to be in your lap

when you [ __ ] me, facing you, holding

you. I uh [ __ ] yes. He trailed off when

Ilia wrapped his hand around both of

their [ __ ]

I want that too, Ilia said. I love you.

They moved quickly. Ilia sitting with

his back against the headboard and Shane

straddling his lap. They kissed for a

long time like that as Ilia continued to

stroke their [ __ ] together. "Oh God,"

Shane shuddered. "I have to. You have to

stop. I need you inside me." "Not yet.

Stroke yourself for me." "Cant, Ilia,

I'll come. I swear. Stroke yourself a

little. I think you can do it and not

come.

Ilia had no idea why he got so much

enjoyment from causing Shane distress,

but he did. He loved to see him all

agitated and struggling to keep control.

"If you love me," Ilia added

obnoxiously.

Shane's eyes narrowed. "I'm starting to

question that." Ilia shook his head,

grinning. "You love me. Show me how

much. Stroke yourself and maybe I will

[ __ ] you. As if there was even a chance

that Ilia wouldn't, Shane wrapped

trembling fingers around his [ __ ] and

very carefully dragged them up the

length of his shaft. Ilia gasped at this

display of obedience. He knew Shane

wasn't lying about how dangerously close

he was. His slit was dripping precome. I

love how [ __ ] wet you get, Shane.

Shut up. Shane's whole body was shaking.

I'm trying to concentrate. Ilia

chuckled. Your dick wants you to go

faster. Can't go faster. Shane gritted

out. Ilia lightly cuped Shane's balls,

causing Shane to hiss out of breath in a

string of profanity. So tight to all

ender. Keep going. Shane whimpered. You

bastard. You have to [ __ ] me soon. Now.

A fresh bead of preum spurted it out and

Ilia caught it on his fingertip. Shane

watched wideeyed as Ilia sucked the

finger into his mouth. "God, Ilia, you

are [ __ ] Would you please [ __ ] me?"

Shane panted. "All right, enough was

enough." Ilia reached for the lube and a

condom from the bedside table and got

himself ready. And oh God, when Shane

sank down on him, his whole body

trembling with need, it was the most

incredible thing Ilia had ever felt. He

rocked up into Shane's body as Shane

held Ilia's face and kissed him. He felt

Shane everywhere.

Shane braced himself with a hand on the

headboard and the other on Ilia's

shoulder and used all of his

considerable strength to ride the hell

out of Ilia's [ __ ] He trapped Ilia's

hips between his solid thighs and

pounded that perfect ass down on Ilia's

lap over and over and [ __ ] Shane threw

his head back and Ilia watched his [ __ ]

bounce in the space between them. Ilia

wondered if Shane would shoot instantly

if he touched it. He wondered if Shane

would shoot anyway without any contact

on his glistening [ __ ] So good, Ilia.

Holy [ __ ] [ __ ] I am so [ __ ] close.

And suddenly Ilia realized that he was

too. He had the endurance of a stallion

with most partners, but he couldn't ever

seem to control his body when he was

with Shane. Do it. [ __ ] Give it to me,

Hollander. I'm right there. I love you.

I love you. Oh [ __ ] Here it comes. They

both cried out as Shane's release

splashed against Ilia's chest. His body

spasomed around Ilia's [ __ ] and Ilia was

hurled over the edge, coming hard with a

garbled I love you. Oh my god. Shane

wheezed. His forehead landed on Ilia's

shoulder. That was perfect. Yes, butter.

Ilia wrapped his arms around him and

held him tight. As close as possible.

Eventually, Shane eased off him and Ilia

disposed of the condom. They cuddled

together in bed. Both men quiet and

sleepy and deliriously happy.

"What was your mother's name?" Shane

asked suddenly. His fingers were tracing

the chain around Ilia's neck. Arena.

Ilia hadn't said her name in so long. It

felt strange in his mouth. Why?

I was just thinking. He propped himself

up on an elbow. The charity we start. I

think we should start a hockey school.

Like we could have summer hockey camps

in Ottawa and Montreal and we give the

money away. Yeah, I think we should give

the money to mental health

organizations.

Maybe suicide prevention.

Shane was looking away as if he were

embarrassed, but Ilia held his chin and

guided his face toward him. It was just

an idea, Shane said quietly. And Ilia

was not going to cry right now. Shane,

he said. I love that idea. Yeah, Shane

smiled. Yes, it's very [ __ ] What was

the right word? Was there a right word

for everything Ilia was feeling in that

moment? He couldn't think of one, so

instead he said, "She would have loved

you." "I wish I could have met her."

"Yes, me too." Shane yawned and snuggled

against Ilia's chest.

Sorry, I'm exhausted.

My fault, I suppose. Absolutely your

fault, but I forgive you, Shane said

with another yawn. Good night,

Hollander. I love you. I love you, too.

Mhm. Can you say it in Russian again?

Ilia pulled Shane's hand to his lips and

kissed his fingers. Yalublib.

Yuya

Shane murmured back. Ilia laughed and

turned off the lamp.

Chapter 26.

Ilia bounced on the balls of his feet

and felt the dock bob in the water

beneath him. "Is this the dock that you

do yoga on?" he asked. "No, I don't do

yoga on there." "This was just where the

camera crew asked me to wait. Did you

watch that thing? Yes. Was great. I

needed help sleeping. You're an [ __ ]

They watched in silence as a couple of

ducks swam by. This was what passed as

entertainment here in the middle of

nowhere. It was late morning and the day

was already hot. Shane, like Ilia, was

wearing only shorts. They had slept late

after keeping each other up most of the

night. The sun shone on every inch of

Shane. His skin, his hair, his freckles.

He looked so achingly beautiful and

happy. It was a shame that Ilia was

going to ruin it. A shame, but there was

no choice about it. Shane Hollander was

standing on the edge of a dock, and now

his back was turned to Ilia like an

idiot. "Hell's the water?" Ilia asked.

"What?"

That was all the warning Shane got

before Ilia pushed him off the dock with

both hands. Shane let out most of a

[ __ ] before his head submerged

beneath the dark water. When he pumped

back up, he continued to splutter and

swear as Ilia doubled over with

laughter. "Fuck you!" Shane yelled, and

he punctuated it with a mighty sweep of

his arm that sent a wave of water at

Ilia. It mostly hit Ilia's calves.

"Asshole!" Shane yelled. Ilia ran off

the end of the dock and plunged into the

water in a perfect cannonball right next

to Shane. As soon as his head was above

water again, he splashed Shane right in

the face just for good measure. Shane

tried to punch his shoulder, but I

grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer.

He kissed him quickly and Shane pushed

him hard in the chest. "What if my phone

had been in my pocket?" Shane

complained. "It wasn't. You left it on

the table on the deck. Well, Ilia kissed

him again. It was a little awkward to do

when they were both treading water.

Shane tasted like cool, fresh water, as

if to prove that he was still perfectly

safe and functioning. Shane's phone

started ringing in the distance. "Whoa!"

Ilia smirked. "It's fine. I don't need

to answer it." "No." He kissed Shane

again, and this time he turned them so

he had Shane's back pinned against the

end of the dock. It was probably very

uncomfortable for Shane, but he didn't

seem to mind. They kissed

enthusiastically, and Ilia planted his

hands against the wood of the dock on

either side of Shane's shoulders. Shane,

to Ilia's surprise, wrapped his legs

around Ilia's waist and pulled him

tighter against him. Ilia loved these

rare moments that Shane was able to get

out of his head and just let go. He

loved that he could make Shane do that.

He loved Shane. God, he loves Shane.

They made out for a while like that

before Shane reached back with both

hands and hoisted himself up out of the

water. Ilia quickly followed him. He

pressed down on Shane, kissing him and

forcing him to his back. He reached to

grip Shane's erection through his wet

shorts.

Someone could see by boat. Shane panted,

then keep a lookout. Ilia plunged his

hand into the waistband of Shane's

shorts and was rewarded with a delicious

little whimper. Shane's phone rang

again. Shane tilted his head back to

look in the direction of the phone.

"Fuck off!" he yelled at it. Ilia

laughed and continued stroking Shane's

[ __ ] He was rudding a bit against

Shane's thigh. The doc bounced

vigorously in the water beneath them. He

nipped along Shane's jawline and kissed

his smile. He didn't think Shane was

watching for boats at all. You like

this, Hollander?

Yes. Yeah. I I've wanted this for so

long. Wanted what? Tell me you here

outside like this. Ilia sucked in her

breath. What do you want me to do to

you? Anything. I don't know. everything.

Tell me one thing. Ilia rocked harder

and faster against the hard muscle of

Shane's thigh. I thought about you

[ __ ] me outside on the deck or

against a tree. His face flushed bright

red, but Ila smiled. [ __ ] Hollinger.

You only had to ask. Shane gasped and

arched his back. Ilia stroked him

faster.

Maybe we could canoe or something. Out

to one of these little islands, Yoya

said, his lips brushing Shane's ear,

totally alone. And I'll [ __ ] you there

out in the open where no one will see.

Oh, [ __ ] [ __ ] you. Maybe someone will

hear you from their boat.

The heat of Shane's release mingled with

the cold, damp fabric of his shorts.

Ilia thrust a few more times against

Shane's leg and cried out as his own

[ __ ] pulsed and spurted into his shorts.

He collapsed on top of Shane, panting,

Shane laughed breathlessly.

"Wow, what the fuck." Ilia smiled and

nuzzled Shane's neck. "I don't know."

Couldn't help it. I can't even remember

why we came down to the dock in the

first place. Does it matter?

Shane turned his head and kissed him

quickly. No.

After a minute, Ilia pulled himself up

into a push-up position over Shane, then

quickly kissed him before sliding back

into the water. Shane followed him,

figuring it would at least clean his

shorts a little bit. They swam for a

while longer before they both decided

they were hungry and headed up to the

house. Shane was just about to step

through the sliding glass doors when

Ilia grabbed his wrist and tugged him

back toward him. "Is it okay if I tell

you I love you again?" Ilia asked. His

crooked smile was adorably shy. Shane

smiled back. "Hell," he probably beamed

back. "It's okay."

Instead of saying the words, Ilia kissed

him. It was slow and deliberate. His

tongue pressing against Shane's own, his

fingers resting delicately on Shane's

waist. Shane felt like his legs might

give out on him. He made a contented

little noise and stepped in even closer,

so he could feel Ilia pressed against

every inch of him. His hands slid over

the lake cooled skin on Ilia's back,

eventually finding their way into his

damp hair. Ilia huffed and tilted

Shane's head back, kissing him deeper

and more possessively. Shane felt dizzy

with happiness. To be held like this and

kissed like this by the man he loved,

the man who loved him back here at the

place he loved more than anywhere else

in the world. They both heard a noise.

They both whipped their heads around.

They both saw Shane's dad standing

inside the house, staring frozen at

where they were wrapped up at each other

on the deck. For a moment, no one moved.

No one made a sound. Everyone just

stared. Then very quickly, Shane's dad

turned on his heel and walked toward the

front door of the house. Shane let go of

Ilia and said, "Shit, your father?"

"Yes." "Yes. [ __ ] [ __ ] Okay." Shane

held his head with both hands. [ __ ]

Should you? Yeah. Okay. I'll just You

wait here. Shane walked quickly through

the house to the front door. He opened

it just in time to see his father's car

disappear down the wooded road. He stood

there for a few minutes, wearing nothing

but the wet shorts that he had very

recently ejaculated into and a look of

pure panic.

Shane, he heard Ilia calling him, but he

couldn't find his voice to respond. All

in dear. He felt a hand on his elbow. He

was already gone. Yeah. They both stood

there in silence. Shane assumed that

Ilia too was letting the enormity of

this moment wash over him. This is bad.

Shane finally said, "You should go talk

to him." "Yeah, [ __ ] Yeah, I should.

Probably best to do it now." He heard

Ilia snort behind him. "It's not funny."

Shane snapped at him. A little funny.

Shane turned around, ready to glare at

him, but when he saw Ilia's face, he

started laughing, too. "Jesus Christ,"

he said. "So much for easing them into

it." Ilia laughed harder. Maybe he did

not notice. They both cracked up. It was

pure nerves, but Shane laughed until his

eyes watered. His plan had been to tell

his parents soon that he was gay. He had

planned to give them time to digest

that. And then he would tell them

eventually that he was in a

relationship, that he was in love. And

then once all of that had settled with

them, he would drop the real bombshell.

Now everything was happening in the

exact opposite order. What the [ __ ] am I

going to tell them? So you're probably

wondering while I was making out with

Ilia Rosenoff,

do you want me to come with you? Shane

was surprised by this offer.

Did he want that? Would that make things

even more awkward?

He certainly felt like he could use the

support. I don't know. Would you really

do that? Ilia took his hand and

squeezed. Yes, if it helps. Shane

nodded. It might. It will be awkward as

hell, but I'd like you to be there, I

think. You okay? We should probably get

dressed first. Yes, they got dressed

quickly. Shane put on a t-shirt from a

charity hockey camp he helped coach last

summer just to remind his parents that

he was a good and normal person.

Ilia was wearing a Boston Bears t-shirt.

Shane made a face. That's not going to

help. Oh, do they not know I play for

Boston? Shane rolled his eyes. Come on,

let's get this over with. The drive to

Shane's parents' cottage took about 10

minutes, but it seemed way, way longer

this time. "Okay," Shane said as he

parked behind his father's car. "Just

let me do the talking. No problem."

"Fuck, maybe you should wait in the

car." Ilia raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," Shane said. "No, never mind. Come

on." He exited the car and I followed.

Shane wondered if his parents were

watching them through a window. He

didn't bother to knock. He never did

with them. He opened the door and said

as calmly as he could, "Hello, it's me.

It's Shane."

His parents stood from where they had

both been sitting on the couch. It was

clear that his dad had told his mom what

he'd seen. "Shane," his mother said. She

said it like she'd never heard the word

before.

Mom, Dad, I I think we should talk.

We forgot to buy dishwasher tablets, Dad

said. He sounded shell shocked. I just

wanted to see if I could borrow some. I

didn't know you had company. Dad, it's

okay. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have

found out that way. Found out what

exactly? mom asked. Her eyes were locked

on Ilia just over Shane's shoulder.

Well, I I'm gay, which I was going to

tell you soon. I just Sorry. I wish I

told you. His parents didn't say

anything. They were both looking at Ilia

like he was a mountain lion that was

about to attack.

Um, and this is Ilia, Rosenoff.

You probably know that. Hi, Yoya said.

And he's been visiting. He's We're um

What were they exactly? It occurred to

Shane that he and Ilia hadn't even

figured out what label they were

comfortable with. Lvers, Ilia offered.

[ __ ] Way to choose the grossest word

possible, Ilia. Well, there was no going

back from that word. Shang could only

wait for the aftermath. "But you hate

him," Mom said. "No, I I don't. I mean,

sometimes I do kind of, but mostly I

love him, actually." "You what?" Shane's

heart was racing. "Can we just sit

maybe? I'm sorry. I know this is a lot

at once. I didn't want this to be how I

told you at all." No one said anything

for a moment. Then his father nodded and

gestured to the living room furniture.

His parents sat together on the couch.

Shane and Ilia sat in separate chairs

facing them. Shane? Mom began. I think

we both suspected that you might be gay.

You did? Shane had not been expecting

that.

Yes. Well, we didn't know for certain,

obviously. We just thought it might be a

possibility.

Gez, I had no idea you thought that. We

know you pretty well, Mom said. She gave

him a small smile, and that one tiny

gesture made Shane want to weep with

relief.

What we did not expect, Dad added, was

that you were friendly with Mr. Rosenoff

here.

Ilia said Ilia. Ilia. Then it's a long

story and it doesn't even make sense to

us. Shane said none. Ilrya agreed. When

did this happen? Mom [clears throat]

asked. Wait, was it the All-Star game?

You were on the same team. No, Shane

said. It was already going on then. His

father blew out of breath. You sure

fooled us and everyone else.

So when? Mom asked. She seemed desperate

to figure out the timeline of this

thing. Shane could see her mentally

replaying the past several seasons in

her head.

Since um our rookie year, Shane mumbled.

He didn't think his parents could

possibly look more shocked than they

already had, but they definitely looked

more shocked at this news.

"You can't have been since your rookie

season," his mother gasped. "No," Ilia

said. "That's not right. Was before

that." "Not helping Ilia." "Before

that," Mom asked. "A little before?"

Ilia clarified. summer before.

You've been in love this whole time. No,

Shane said. Gordon, no. Ilia said at the

same time. But then, Mom started. Oh,

she said and blushed. I see.

Anyway, Shane said, he was blushing even

more than his mom. The point is, we're

together sort of, or we'd like to be, if

it wasn't basically impossible.

For the first time, the looks of shock

left his parents' faces and shifted to

something like sympathy.

I just don't understand, his mother

said. How could this have even happened

between you? Weren't there any nice men

in Montreal, Shane?

Probably, Shane muttered.

Do your teammates know about this? Dad

asked. No, no, no one does. No one. This

is top secret. All right. His father

stood up. Would anyone like a beer? I

could use a beer.

Yes, said Ilia. Definitely, said Shane.

Is that the strongest thing we have?

Asked his mom. Shane took the break in

the conversation as an opportunity to

look at Ilia. He seemed to sense Shane's

eyes on him and immediately turned to

give him a questioning look. How do you

think this is going so far? Not bad,

right? Not bad. His father wordlessly

handed each of them a can of Sleman

beer. He lingered in front of Ilia but

returned to his place on the couch

without saying anything.

I just, Mom said. I just can't believe

any of this is real. I know, Shane said.

All this time, Dad said quietly, almost

to himself. You've been holding the

secret inside the whole time.

"You didn't never," his mom sounded

suddenly horrified. "You didn't ever let

him win, did you, Shane?" "God, Mom,

no." Yoya laughed. He does not need to

let me win. I would never, Shane said

quickly. The team comes first always.

And besides, I like beating him. Mom was

frowning at him, not quite believing his

words. "When you and dad play yatsi, do

you let him win?" Shane asked

desperately. "Never," Mom smiled, maybe

understanding. She seemed to relax.

Is your plan to just keep doing this,

keeping this a secret until you retire

forever? Dad asked. Maybe. I mean, yes,

probably.

Oh, Shane. His mother looked so sad. Dad

shook his head. Honestly, I don't see

another way. I wish I did. I know, Shane

said miserably. We know. It's not

something we can announce.

I have to say, Dad said, I'm surprised

about you, Ilia. You've always had such

a reputation as um, you know, a ladies

man. He's not untrue, Ilia said. Ilia

likes both, Shane said. Oh, mom said.

His parents exchanged a concerned look.

Shane was about to change the subject

because this was way too uncomfortable

when Ilia spoke.

I have been with lots of women. That was

not fake. But he looked at Shane and

Shane held his breath. I have only been

in love with one person.

And suddenly Ilia looked very blurry

through Shane's eyes. Shane swallowed

down the urge to cry and said, "Me, too.

Just one." Shane's mother covered her

mouth with her hand. She tapped her

fingertips against her upper lip and

Shane knew she was about to go full

Hollander on this situation.

Sure enough. A moment later, she clapped

her hands together and jumped up from

her chair. "All right, so what's the

plan?" she said. "We've got a problem.

Let's solve it."

Shane glanced at a bewildered looking

Ilia. He gave him a small smile. They

had Yuna on their side now, and Shane

couldn't imagine a better ally. First of

all, Yuna said, "Have you talked to

Scott Hunter?"

She said the name like it physically

pained her to speak of the evil man who

had stolen Olympic gold from her beloved

son. "I have," Yoya said. "But not about

us." I emailed him, Shane added. I just,

you know, said I appreciated his bravery

or whatever. I didn't tell him about me

or about Ilia. Ya was tapping her lip

again. He probably couldn't help. Not

with this situation.

He would probably be very confused about

us, Ilia said. Confused is a word for

it, Dad said. His shock seemed to have

ebbed completely, replaced by something

that looked a lot like amusement.

I will say that what Scott did when he

um kissed his boyfriend. Shane couldn't

believe he was saying this. He hadn't

even told Ily this. That changed

something inside me. It was huge. It

made me want to try. Made me want to be

braver and to let myself try to be

happy. He looked at the floor until he

couldn't bear it anymore. And then he

glanced over at Ilia. Ilia's eyes were

softer than he'd ever seen them.

Yes, Ilia said. Me, too. Shane cleared

his throat. We have one idea. He told

his parents the Ottawa Montreal plan

he'd outlined for Ilia the night before.

That, Dad said, considering isn't bad.

You would leave Boston? Mom asked,

stunned. For shame. Ilia didn't

hesitate. Yes. She frowned as if she

couldn't believe anything he was saying

was real.

"Oh my god," Shane exclaimed. "You're

actually conflicted, aren't you, Mom."

"What are you talking about?" "You're

bothered by his lack of loyalty to his

team." "Well," Mom said, as if that was

a perfectly reasonable way to react to

the fact that Ilia was so madly in love

with her son that he was willing to

throw his whole life into upheaval.

Shane turned to Ilia.

My mom, by the way, cares about hockey a

little too much. Ilia snorted. Now I

know where you get it. Shane was about

to flip him off, but remembered his

parents. And then it all kind of hit

him. His parents were here with Ilia.

The secret was out, and they were all

talking about Shane and Ilia as a

couple. And Shane suddenly felt a little

lightheaded. It was all happening so

fast. their confessions of love being

discovered by his parents making plans

for the future. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Shane. It was Ilia's voice all concern.

Shane felt a hand on his shoulder and

then he realized that he had his head

between his knees. Are you okay? Shane

inhaled and exhaled slowly, keeping his

head down. Ilia's hand moved to Shane's

knee as he crouched beside him, seeking

his eyes.

Shane, I'm okay, Shane said weakly. I'm

just freaking [snorts] out. Don't worry

about me. Ilia took his hands and rubbed

his thumb soothingly over the backs of

them. We are good here. Yes, he said.

Your family is here and your boyfriend,

and we are okay here.

Shane raised his head slightly.

Boyfriend?

Such a ridiculous word. Such a

ridiculous, wonderful word. Ilia

shrugged and grinned. I think yes. Yes.

It was really too bad they were in his

parents' living room and that his

parents were definitely staring at them

because Shane wanted to jump into Ilia's

lap and kiss him into the floor.

Since their rookie season, Shane heard

his mother say, "I can't believe it."

Looking at them now, I kind of can, his

father said.

Chapter 27.

They left Shane's parents' cottage with

a promise to come for dinner the

following evening. Ilia wasn't sure how

Shane felt about everything that had

just happened, but he thought it had

gone surprisingly well. "Holy shit,"

Shane said. He hadn't even turned the

engine on. He was just sitting in the

driver's seat with his forehead on the

steering wheel. It was okay. Yes, I

offered. I don't know. Do you think it

was? [ __ ] That was really weird. Will,

now they know. Shane blew out of breath.

Yeah, we should go home. Shane nodded

against the steering wheel before

sitting up and pressing the ignition

button. Ilia spent the entirety of the

short drive back to Shane's cottage,

wondering if it was weird that he'd just

called Shane's cottage home. He knew his

grip on the English language was

tenuous, but referring to a place he was

staying for 2 weeks as home wasn't

weird, was it? If it was weird, Shane

wasn't saying anything about it. Shane

actually didn't say anything at all

during the drive back other than a few

muttered curse words. His hands were

tied on the wheel. When they got back to

the cottage, he dropped his keys into a

bowl and strode into the living room

with a hand in his hair. "I need some

air," he said, and he walked outside to

the patio, leaving Ilia alone in the

house. Fortunately, Ilia had packed just

the thing for this situation.

He went to the freezer and pulled out

the bottle of vodka he had stashed there

the day he'd arrived. It was the good

[ __ ] Distilled in small batches and

impossible to buy outside of Russia. He

grabbed two glasses and carried them and

the bottle outside. Is maybe a good time

for this, he said, holding up the

bottle. Shane turned wearily and snorted

when he saw the vodka. The last time I

drank that stuff was in Las Vegas. You

remember? Yes, I said carefully pouring

a couple of inches into each glass.

But you did not ever drink this stuff.

This vodka is special. He handed Shane

one of the glasses. Ilia closed his eyes

as he took his first sip, enjoying the

contrast of the frigid temperature of

the liquid and the fire of the alcohol

as it slid down his throat. "Perfect."

He opened his eyes when he heard Shane

sputtering and coughing. "Oh wow," Shane

said. "That is strong. I might need some

cranberry juice or something. If you mix

that with cranberry juice, I will drown

you in the lake. But Shane, seemingly

unable to concentrate at all, was

already taking a second sip. This has

been the weirdest day of my life. Ilia

wanted to tell Shane that it had been

one of the best days of his life. It had

been awkward, sure, but Ilia felt that

if he hadn't quite been already, he

would be welcomed into Shane's family.

And that was no small thing. In fact, to

Ilia, who had barely been welcome in his

own family, it was huge. He wanted to

tell Shane that the closest he felt to

home was when he was with him. It didn't

matter if it was in a hotel room or

Ilia's apartment or at the weird hideout

building Shane bought in Montreal or

here at Shane's cottage. He was himself

when he was with Shane. He'd left

Russia. He was uneasy in America and

he'd spent his entire adult life

drifting between continents and between

lovers.

But now he had been reeled in by this

annoying Canadian. And all that he knew

was that he wanted to stay. He wanted to

anchor himself to Shane and just stay.

He couldn't say any of that literally.

He could not possibly come up with the

English words to articulate any of the

things he was feeling at that moment. So

instead, he plucked the vodka glass from

Shane's hand and set it on the table

next to his own. Maybe alcohol wasn't

the thing Shane needed right now. He

wrapped Shane in his arms and held him.

He nuzzled into Shane's hair and

breathed him in. "I love you," he

murmured. "Because he could say that."

After so [ __ ] long, he could finally

say that. Shane tilted his head up and

steadied Ilia's face with questioning

eyes. "I love you, too," he said. "Are

you all right?" Ilia nodded and leaned

in to kiss him. It was exactly how Ilia

had secretly always wanted to kiss

Shane, a shameless display of adoration

and care. Their tongues slowly caressing

as Ilia held Shane's face in his hands

and brushed his hair with his

fingertips. His heart flipped and

tumbled helplessly around in his chest.

There would be no going back from this,

from any of this. I keep thinking about

logistics, Shane said when they broke

apart. As if Ilia hadn't just poured his

heart into that kiss. Like the earliest

you would be in Ottawa would be the

season after next when your contract is

done with Boston, right?

Ilia did not want to talk about any of

this right now. Yes, probably. He

nibbled behind Shane's ear, hoping to

distract him. So, just over a year from

now, you're in Ottawa, and then we wait

what, another whole season until we

announce the charity? It would have to

be that long, right? H Ilia said. He

really didn't care. So, that's a year

and a half or so until we can announce

the charity, which is the same as

announcing our friendship," Shane said

as Ilia slid his hands into the back of

his shorts and pulled him closer. "And

then what?" Shane continued. "How many

more years do you think you'll be

playing?" "Fuck, Alendair," Ilia

groaned. "I don't [ __ ] know." "I'm

just trying to get an idea of how long

we'll be." "What are you doing?" Ilia

had dropped to his knees and he felt it

was pretty obvious what he was doing. "I

am celebrating," Ilia said. He tugged

Shane's shorts down until they hit the

wood of the deck. "You should join me

now. My head is racing. How can you even

be thinking about sex right now?"

Because it is a beautiful day and we are

alone and I met your parents and I want

you to calm the [ __ ] down and I love

you. Oh.

Ilia leaned in and took all of him in

his mouth, enjoying the novel sensation

of the soft flesh resting on his tongue.

"Oh, [ __ ] I Shane gasped. That's more

like it." He wanted to [ __ ] Shane right

here on the deck, but that would require

stopping so he could go inside to grab

lube and a condom. Stopping was

unappealing.

For now, he put all of his efforts into

taking Shane apart.

You're way too good at that, Shane

sighed. Ilia hummed his agreement. The

thought hit him that this was it. This

was going to be his sex life now. No

more meaningless but undeniably hot one

night stands. No [snorts] more booty

calls while he was on the road. He was

going to give it all up for this chance

at something lasting. For the chance to

hold the heart of the beautiful man who

was exhaling Ilia's name like it was the

most important word in the world.

Ilia had no problem giving it all up. He

would give up so much more if he needed

to.

Ilia, God, Ilia is so good. Don't stop.

I love you. In response, Ilia reached

for his hand and tangled their fingers

together. I love you so much. Don't

leave me. Oh yes. [ __ ] yes. I'm going to

Oh, holy [ __ ] Hell yeah. [ __ ] [ __ ]

Ilia squeezed his hand as Shane pulsed

and spurt it into his mouth. Ilia

swallowed and licked him clean with long

lazy strokes of his tongue. "Fuck, get

up here." Shane panted. Ilia roasted to

his feet, pulling Shane's shorts up with

him, and Shane hauled him in for a very

sloppy kiss. When they broke apart,

Shane gazed up at him with sex drunk

eyes. "Wow," he said. "We're really

going to do this, aren't we?

The statement was vague, but Ilia

understood. Yes, if you want to try

this, I will do what I need to do. I

will too. Anything. I want this. I want

us. Ilia brushed Shane's hair out of his

eyes. Then I am moving to Ottawa, I

think. And we're starting a charity, and

we will become friends, and we'll see

each other all the time, as much as

possible, and spend the summers together

here. Yes, they kissed again. Ilia

couldn't believe they had solved this

impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn't go

as smoothly as they imagined, but it was

a plan. And when I retire, Ilia said,

after I have won 12 Stanley Cups and 13

MVP awards, the hell you will. And you

have retired for like 8 years already

because you got very bad at hockey.

Shane laughed. Okay, then I will bring

you to the dock out there. I will have

hundreds of candles all over it. That

sounds like a fire hazard. He is on the

water, Hollander. [ __ ] relax. We'll

be beautiful. You will love it. The

candles, the lake, the full moon. Oh, is

it a clear night? Yes, of course. And I

will get on one knee. I

will say, Shane Hollander, will you

please marry me so I can become Canadian

citizen faster?

Shane burst out laughing and shoved him.

You're such an [ __ ] And you will say

yes because you are a nice, helpful guy.

No, Shane said, taking his hands. I will

say yes because I will still be madly in

love with you and I want to spend the

rest of my life with you. And oh

[clears throat] God, Ilia didn't deserve

him, but he didn't care. He was selfish

like that. I mean it, Shane said softly.

I want to have a life with you. I know

it will be awkward and will still

involve a lot of sneaking around for a

while, but I'm playing the long game

here. So, yeah, whatever it takes, I'm

in. Ilia lifted their joint hands to his

lips and kissed Shane's knuckles. Does

this mean I get to see your apartment in

Montreal? Your real one? You can even

keep a toothbrush there. I'm going to

sell that other place. I was being

paranoid when I bought it. I'm sorry.

Ilia grinned. Buying an entire building

because you are nervous is very you.

Shane shook his head. I really am sorry.

I just wanted to protect what we had. I

should have invited you to my real

apartment sooner. I want you there. I

want you in my life. All of it. God.

Were they really going to be able to

keep this a secret until they were

retired?

Now that they were both honest about

what they were to each other, Ilia

feared it might be impossible to hide

their relationship from the world.

Especially when Shane looked at him like

he was looking at him right now, like

Ilia was worth all this trouble, like he

was worth loving. I want to tell

everyone, Ilia said, right now. Shane's

eyes went wide with panic. No, don't. We

have to stick to the plan. Ilia sighed

dramatically. You end your plans. What

if I just kissed you on the mouth at the

next All-Star game? I'll punch you. I

swear to God, you wouldn't. Not if I

kissed you like this. Ilia cradled

Shane's face in one hand, his thumb

brushing Shane's cheekbone and kissed

him. He took his time and finished with

little nips to Shane's bottom lip.

Shane, already boneless from the

[ __ ] fell heavily against Ilia's

chest.

If you kissed me like that, I would push

you to the ice and start tearing your

gear off, Shane murmured dreamily. That

would be interesting.

Ilia's [ __ ] was suddenly very interested

in that imagined scenario.

What if we just told our friends, Shane

suggested, "My family already knows. We

could just feel our way with the rest."

Ilia said, "And what would your best

friend Hayden Pike say?

He would probably think I was kidding.

You are known for your pranks. Shane

laughed. I want to tell him. I want him

to know you like I do. Really? Ilia made

the word as suggestive as possible. Do

you think he'd like to join us? A night

away from the kids, maybe. Shane buried

his face against Ilia's shoulder,

probably to hide his blush. Stop it. Or

maybe if Rose Landry wants a sexual

experience with you that isn't a

disaster.

No threesomes, Shane said. That's my

hard rule. You've never tried it, Ilia

scoffed. You might love it. When have I

ever loved something I thought I'd hate,

Shane said dryly. Ilia chuckled and

kissed the top of his head. Let's go to

bed. It's 4:00 in the afternoon. Yes,

but when I am done with you, it will be

bedtime.

promises.

Ilia took his hand and pulled him toward

the house. He picked up Shane's vodka

glass with the other. No sense wasting

it. And tomorrow I am going to keep you

in bed all day. All day? Huh? Yes. Bring

the bottle in. Yes. And maybe the day

after that also. For two weeks? Yoya

shrugged. I could maybe extend my stay.

Shane plunked the vodka bottle on the

kitchen counter. You can

a little yes if you will have me. I do

have some other hot Russians coming to

stay with me in a couple of weeks. Ilia

gasped. Shane Hollander. You have not

ever told me that I am hot before. Shane

frowned. I haven't. No, I would

remember. Well, I mean obviously you're

hot. Like I can't believe I get to kiss

you hot. Come upstairs. You can kiss me

and tell me about Ottawa and maybe get

me off because I am [ __ ] dying. Shane

raced past him to the stairs. Only if

you beat me. Ilia laughed. Game [ __ ]

on. Hollander.

Epilog.

16 months later. Montreal.

He tripped me. Hey, what the [ __ ] ref?

That was tripping. Shane glared up at

the ref and then at Ilia, who was

looming over him in his Ottawa jersey.

You failed, Ilia said. I didn't fall. It

was tripping. Yes. Was you tripping over

your own skates? Get [ __ ] Rosenoff.

Ilia's lips quirked up. Was planning on

it. And now Shane had to bite back a

grin. He rose to his knees, then stood,

still mad as hell. Ilia had totally

tripped him. The crowd was booing,

cursing Ilia's name, and Shane got up in

his face. "Stop being an [ __ ] Stop

falling down." Shane jabbed him in the

chest with a gloved finger. He heard the

crowd roar its approval. "You can't beat

me without cheating." Ilia raised an

eyebrow. "You don't think." Someone

grabbed Shane's arm and pulled him away.

All right, keep it in your pants, you

two. Jesus.

I Hayden, Ilia said, grinning. I still

don't like you, Rosenoff, Hayden said.

Oh, no. Ilia mocked him. How can I

impress Montreal's 15th best player?

Shane, I'm going to punch him. Don't.

I'm going to punch him. No, you're not.

The ref barked. Get back to your

benches, all three of you. It's a

commercial break. Go cool off. Ilia

winked at Shane and then skated to his

bench. Shane could feel his cheeks

burning.

I still can't believe he's your, you

know, Hayden grumbled as they headed for

their own bench. Quiet. I know. I know.

Just It [ __ ] me up thinking about it.

Then don't. I mean, I could have found

you a nice dude if you had just shut it.

They had reached the bench, and although

Shane had come out to his teammates at

the start of the season, he hadn't told

any of them about Ilia, Hayden had done

the math and figured it out about a

month after Shane had told him he was

gay. "Hey, can I ask you something?" he

had said as they'd walked to their cars

after arriving home from a road trip.

You know [snorts] how you used to go

meet up with your mystery man every time

we played in Boston, but now you don't.

Um, we uh broke up, Shane had said

quickly and unconvincingly.

Uhhuh.

But you've been driving to Ottawa a lot

this season. Yeah, my parents live

there. I've been um visiting.

Your parents have always lived there.

and they drive to Montreal even more

than you drive to Ottawa. So, I have

another theory. I think your mystery man

is Ilia Rosenoff.

Shane had been flooded with a mixture of

fear and shame, but also relief. He

didn't say anything until they'd reached

Hayden's car, and then he'd blown out of

breath and nodded. Hayden had blanched.

Holy [ __ ] I was sort of joking. Are you

for real doing stuff with Rosenoff?

Yes. Wait, seriously?

Did he sign with Ottawa to be closer to

you? What the [ __ ] is happening?

It's one reason. Yes.

Hayden had turned and placed both hands

on the roof of his car, leaning forward

like he was trying to breathe through a

cramp. Shane, this is not good, buddy.

It's not ideal. No, but I love him.

Hayden had looked at him after he'd said

that, like Shane had sprouted wings in a

tail, and Shane had been sure he'd just

lost his best friend. But instead of

yelling at him or getting in his car and

speeding away, Hayden had just nodded

and said, "I think I need to meet him

properly then." They had met properly a

couple of times since then, but neither

time had gone particularly well. Hayden

couldn't think of Ilia as anything but

the enemy, and Ilia had responded with

relentless snark. So, they weren't

exactly friends. "You sure you want to

do that press conference tomorrow?"

Hayden asked. "I mean, no one knows that

you guys are friends right now. You

could keep it that way." "I'm sure."

Shane was definitely sure. He and Ilia

had been planning for tomorrow for over

a year. He had sold the hookup building

and Ilia had sold most of his car

collection. With the combined earnings,

they'd started the arena foundation.

Tomorrow at the hotel conference room

downtown, they would be announcing and

more importantly explaining the

foundation they had created together.

It's a good cause, I suppose. Aiden

sighed. I apologize in advance if

Rosenoff has a black eye for the press

conference.

Please don't punch him. I'll make a

deal. If he stops being a [ __ ] dick,

I won't punch him. Shane grimaced. Ilia

was definitely going to have a black eye

tomorrow.

Ilia found Shane in the bathroom down

the hall from the conference room. He

was gripping the counter and staring

down into one of the sinks. "Relax,

Olander," Ilia said. He was probably as

nervous as Shane was really, but Shane

was much worse at hiding it. Ilia put

his hands on Shane's shoulders and

rubbed gently, careful not to wrinkle

his light gray suit jacket. "I'm

nervous," Shane said unnecessarily. "I

know. We've been planning for this stay

for over a year, and now it's here, and

I'm scared. I don't even know why. Our

plan has worked perfectly so far." Ilia

said too perfectly. I keep waiting for

something to go wrong.

It had seemed too easy so far. When

Ilia's contract had ended with Boston,

Ottawa had been all too happy to sign

him. Ilia had bought a large private

house on the edge of the Ottawa River

with a fourcar garage. The garage

currently held two sports cars and a

very sensible Mercedes SUV. Is good in

snow. Ilia had explained sheepishly when

he'd first shown it to Shane for driving

between Ottawa and Montreal.

They had agreed that it would be easier

to continue in secret if they weren't

both living in apartment buildings. So

Shane had bought a house in Brousard

that was still close to the team's

practice facility.

Ilia wrapped his arms around his

boyfriend now to pull him back against

his chest. Shane met his eyes in the

mirror. Your cheek looks better than I

thought it would. Is still sore. Serves

you right. You are an [ __ ] to Hayden.

Hayden is an [ __ ] to me. Shane

sideighed. I have terrible taste in men.

For friends and boyfriends.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head

back against Ilia's shoulder. We'll be

fine, Ilia said. He kissed Shane's

temple and nuzzled his hair. Don't mess

my hair up, Shane murmured. But he was

smiling. Jesus.

Ilia turned his head to see Hayden

standing just inside the door with his

hand over his eyes. I'm still not used

to that. You guys know this is like a

public bathroom, right? Ilia dropped his

arms and Shane stepped away. Hayden was

right. Shane and Ilia weren't even out

publicly as gay and bisexual, let alone

as a couple. They'd agreed that they

wanted their private lives to be their

own, and they would only tell the people

they wanted to include in that life. So

far, it was a very small circle. A small

circle that, much to Ily shagrin,

included Hayden. "Anyway," Hayden said,

looking at the wall and not at them.

"Shane, your mom asked me to look for

you. They fixed the audio problem, so

you can start anytime." "Okay, thanks.

We'll be right out. Aiden nodded. I'll

stand outside the door, but you have

like 2 minutes tops. All right. Don't

you know start anything. Ilia knew Shane

was rolling his eyes. We won't. Jeez,

Hade. When the door was closed, Ilia

laughed. He thinks you can't come in 2

minutes. Oh, shut up. Ilia grabbed his

hand and pulled him close. I want to

tell you before we do this that I am

very happy today. My mother would have

really liked this and I think she is

with me today and proud.

Oh, oops. Now Shane's eyes were

glistening.

She has so many reasons to be proud of

you, Ilia. Ilia smiled at him. I need to

kiss you here or else I will do it out

there. Okay. He held Shane's face in his

hands and gazed at him for a few seconds

before leaning in and kissing the hell

out of him. I love you, Ilia said. I

love you, too. Ilia nodded. Remember

that when I am being a dick to you out

there. Shane grinned and kissed him

again. Don't worry, I'm used to it.

The room was packed with people who were

dying to see what announcement Shane

Hollander and Ilia Rosenoff would be

making together. Shane wasn't sure what

rumors had been stirred up by this press

conference, but it was time to end the

suspense. They had agreed that Shane

would do most of the talking. Ilia was

by no means shy, but Shane knew he was

uneasy making long speeches in English.

Besides, Shane wanted to make sure

everything was set in both English and

French. Since both Montreal and Ottawa

were bilingual cities,

Ilia and I have been competing against

each other for over eight seasons. A lot

has been said and written about our

rivalry, about what makes us different

as players and as people. But I don't

say enough how much I respect Ilia, not

only as one of the best players in the

NHL, but as a person. He is a great

leader, a fierce competitor, and an

amazing goalcorer.

But over the years, I've also gotten to

know him off the ice, and I consider him

a friend." That statement alone created

a swell of murmurss throughout the room.

Shane read through the words again in

French this time, and then continued,

"When I signed with Ottawa, we began

talking about creating a charity

together. Today, that dream is a

reality. The Arena Foundation will raise

money and focus for organizations that

provide support, counseling, and

assistance for people who are suffering

from depression and other mental

illnesses that can lead to suicide.

It's a cause that is important to both

of us, and I'm very happy and proud to

be working with Ilia to create something

that can hopefully help a lot of people.

He translated in French, and as he

finished, he heard Ilia clear his

throat. Ah, I can only say my part in

English. He smiled, which made the

audience laugh. This is not in the

notes, but I want to say that the Arena

Foundation is named for my mother. She

battled depression without help for many

years. She had no support, no medical

treatment. When she Shane didn't think,

he just reached out a hand and placed it

on Ilia's forearm where it rested on the

table. He hadn't expected Ilia to say

any of this. But looking at Ilia now,

Shane knew he needed to say it. My

mother died when I was 12 years old. She

lost her battle. This foundation is for

her. It is to help people like her so

they do not have to fight alone.

Ilia looked down at the table and

sniffed. Shane patted his arm, wishing

he could hold his hand or kiss his hair.

His chest felt tight and his eyes

burned. After a long moment where you

could have heard a pin drop in the

crowded room, Shane spoke. "Thank you,

Ilia." He went on to explain the hockey

camps they would be hosting in Montreal

and in Ottawa that summer with all

proceeds going directly to the

foundation.

He named some of the organizations they

planned to focus on when they made their

first donations and he announced his

mother Yuna as the director and

treasurer of the foundation.

Neither he nor Ilia could imagine a

better person for the job. He ended by

talking about their website where people

could make donations online and then

opened the floor to questions. When it

was over, Shane pulled Ilia out of the

room. He texted Hayden, "Need you to

guard the door again." Shane herded Ilia

into the bathroom and pushed him back

against the door as soon as it closed.

He confirmed that the room was empty and

then said, "Oh my god, come here." He

stood on his tiptoes and kissed him. I

didn't think you'd say any of that.

Neither did I. They kissed again,

completely unhurried. And Shane really

hoped Hayden had gotten his text. I

wanted to kiss you out there, Ilia said.

I wanted to climb into your lap out

there. I'm so [ __ ] proud of you,

Ilia. I'm proud to be with you. I want

you to know that even if we keep it a

secret, I'm proud to be with you. I

know. Me, too. When the time is right,

we will stop being a secret.

Shane still wasn't sure when that would

be. They had talked about waiting until

one or both of them had retired, but

that seemed like much too long to wait.

Shane felt he could easily play for

another 10 years at least.

Are you sure you need to go back to

Ottawa today? Yes. And you are flying to

Chicago tonight. I know, Shane sighed.

This is why I want my pilot license.

Would be faster. Shane groaned. Please

don't get your pilot license. I will be

very mad if you fly into a mountain and

die. Aw, sweet.

There was a knock on the door, followed

by Hayden's voice. Hey, uh, could you

guys wrap it up maybe? I kind of need to

get in there for legitimate bathroom

reasons. Ilia sighed and stepped aside

and Shane opened the door. "Good press

conference, guys," Hayden said as he

stroed past them toward the urinals.

"Sorry about your mother, Ilia. That

sucks.

Ilia gave Shane a look that said, "This

is your best friend." Shane ignored him.

"You think it went okay?" Shane asked

Hayden. "For sure. It's like powerful,

right? Rivals coming together for a

greater cause. I mean, no one in that

room knows you guys are all in love and

shit." He finished at the urinal and

went to wash his hands. But the way you

were looking at Ilia, Shane, I thought

people were going to figure it out.

Hell, I thought you were going to start

sucking face in front of the whole world

like Hunter. No way, said Shane. We have

better control than Scott Hunter.

Hayden flicked the water off his hands,

then rubbed them on his pants. Would

have been memorable, though. Not really

what we wanted the focus to be today,

Shane said. Okay. Well, I got to take

the twins to a birthday party, so I have

to split. Hayden stepped forward and

hugged Shane. Then, with some

hesitation, he extended his hand to

Ilia. Ilia shook it, then patted him on

the back. Thank you, Hayden.

Yeah, well, sorry about your face, I

guess. Not that you didn't deserve it.

Is okay. My face can heal. Your face,

however. All right, Shane interrupted.

That's enough. Bye, Hayden. He shoved

Hayden out the door and then turned to

Ilia. I'm going to go find Mom. Come

find me in a bit. Okay. Yes, I will.

Ilia found himself in the same position

Shane had been in earlier, gripping the

bathroom counter, staring into the sink

deep in thought. His life was so close

to perfect now, even with the secrets he

was keeping. secrets he was letting go

of like balloons one at a time. Now the

world knew he and Shane were friends.

Now the world knew the truth about his

mother's death. He imagined he would be

hearing from Andre about that. But he

really didn't care. His brother had only

called him a couple of times since their

father's funeral and only to ask for

money, which I had refused. [ __ ] Andre.

Ilia had a better family now. Shane's

parents had come over for dinner last

night at Shane's house. And there had

been a moment when Ilia had spilled some

cooking wine and Shane had wordlessly

handed him a cloth that Ilia had been

struck by how right it all felt to be at

home with his [snorts] man he loved

making food together for Shane's family.

The family who had been so warm and

welcoming to Ilia once the initial shock

had worn off. Ilia hadn't been kidding

about wanting to marry him and not for

citizenship, of course. He wanted to be

Shane's husband and to live together and

maybe even raise children together. Not

as many children as Hayden had, but like

a reasonable number. Ilia had been

snarky about Scott Hunter's lack of

self-control, but sometimes he was dying

to do the same thing. He would fantasize

about grabbing Shane at the end of a

game and kissing him right there on the

ice in front of everyone. Just get it

over with and out there and anyone who

had a problem with it could [ __ ] off.

Baby steps, Ilia reminded himself. The

All-Star game was coming up, though, and

he and Shane would be on the same team

again. Ilia was only about 60% sure he

wouldn't kiss Shane against the boards

if he scored a goal off of a pass from

him.

Ilia smiled at his reflection in the

mirror and smoothed his tie. He would

have to warn Shane about the possibility

of being kissed at the All-Star game

just to stress him out. He pulled out

his phone to check the time and a

message popped up. Don't leave without

saying goodbye. Ilia wrote back right

away. Never.

He had a surprise for Shane. Actually,

he had booked a room in this hotel. They

had less than 2 hours before Ilia needed

to hit the road, but after years of

practice, they were good at making the

most of an hour or two of privacy.

11:26, he texted and waited for Shane's

reply. Shane, seriously, best news ever.

See you soon. Ilia chuckled, set an

alarm on his phone, and went to meet his

boyfriend.

This concludes Heated Rivalry by Rachel

Reed, narrated by Tortom. Copyright 2019

by Relle Gogan. This unabbridged audio

book is published by arrangement with

Harlequin Books SA and was produced in

the year 2019 by Tantor Media

Incorporated, a division of recorded

books which holds the copyright there

too.

Please visit tantor.com for more

information on our growing library of

unabbridged audio books.

Audible hopes you have enjoyed this

program.

[music]

>> [music]

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>> You

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[music] speech. Foreign speech. Foreign

speech.

[singing]

[music]

Oh,

[music]

oh, oh. [music]

[music]

foreign. [music]

[music]

[music]

[music]

Give me [music]

[music and singing]

[music]

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>> [music]

[music]

>> You go.

Oh.

[music]

She [music]

go [music]

away. His

[music]

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[music]

[music]

SUV is good in snow. Ilia had explained

sheepishly when he'd first shown it to

Shane for driving between Ottawa and

Montreal.

They had agreed that it would be easier

to continue in secret if they weren't

both living in apartment buildings. So

Shane had bought a house in Brousard

that was still close to the team's

practice facility.

Ilia wrapped his arms around his

boyfriend now to pull him back against

his chest. Shane met his eyes in the

mirror. Your cheek looks better than I

thought it would. Is still sore. Serves

you right. You were an [ __ ] to

Hayden. Hayden is an [ __ ] to me.

Shane sighed. I have terrible taste in

men for friends and boyfriends.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head

back against Ilia's shoulder. We'll be

fine, Ilia said. He kissed Shane's

temple and nuzzled his hair. Don't mess

my hair up, Shane murmured. But he was

smiling. Jesus.

Ilia turned his head to see Hayden

standing just inside the door with his

hand over his eyes. I'm still not used

to that. You guys know this is like a

public bathroom, right? Ilia dropped his

arms and Shane stepped away. Hayden was

right. Shane and Ilia weren't even out

publicly as gay and bisexual, let alone

as a couple. They'd agreed that they

wanted their private lives to be their

own, and they would only tell the people

they wanted to include in that life. So

far, it was a very small circle. A small

circle that, much to Ily shagrin,

included Hayden. Anyway, Hayden said,

looking at the wall and not at them.

Shane, your mom asked me to look for

you. They fixed the audio problem, so

you can start anytime.

Okay, thanks. We'll be right out. Aiden

nodded. I'll stand outside the door, but

you have like 2 minutes tops. All right.

Don't you know start anything. Ilia knew

Shane was rolling his eyes. We won't.

Jeez. Hade. When the door was closed,

Ilia laughed. He thinks you can't come

in 2 minutes. Oh, shut up. Ilia grabbed

his hand and pulled him close. I want to

tell you before we do this that I am

very happy today. My mother would have

really liked this and I think she is

with me today and proud.

Oh, oops. Now Shane's eyes were

glistening.

She has so many reasons to be proud of

you, Ilia. Ilia smiled at him. I need to

kiss you here or else I will do it out

there. Okay. He held Shane's face in his

hands and gazed at him for a few seconds

before leaning in and kissing the hell

out of him. "I love you," Ilia said. "I

love you, too." Ilia nodded. "Remember

that when I am being a dick to you out

there." Shane grinned and kissed him

again. "Don't worry, I'm used to it."

The room was packed with people who were

dying to see what announcement Shane

Hollander and Ilia Rosenoff would be

making together.

Shane wasn't sure what rumors had been

stirred up by this press conference, but

it was time to end the suspense. They

had agreed that Shane would do most of

the talking. Ilia was by no means shy,

but Shane knew he was uneasy making long

speeches in English. Besides, Shane

wanted to make sure everything was set

in both English and French. Since both

Montreal and Ottawa were bilingual

cities,

Ilia and I have been competing against

each other for over eight seasons. A lot

has been said and written about our

rivalry, about what makes us different

as players and as people. But I don't

say enough how much I respect Ilia, not

only as one of the best players in the

NHL, but as a person. He is a great

leader, a fierce competitor, and an

amazing goalcorer.

But over the years, I've also gotten to

know him off the ice, and I consider him

a friend." That statement alone created

a swell of murmurss throughout the room.

Shane read through the words again in

French this time and then continued.

"When I signed with Ottawa, we began

talking about creating a charity

together. Today, that dream is a

reality. The Arena Foundation will raise

money and focus for organizations that

provide support, counseling, and

assistance for people who are suffering

from depression and other mental

illnesses that can lead to suicide.

It's a cause that is important to both

of us, and I'm very happy and proud to

be working with Ilia to create something

that can hopefully help a lot of people.

He translated in French, and as he

finished, he heard Ilia clear his

throat. Ah, I can only say my part in

English. He smiled, which made the

audience laugh. This is not in the

notes, but I want to say that the Arena

Foundation is named for my mother. She

battled depression without help for many

years. She had no support, no medical

treatment. When she Shane didn't think,

he just reached out a hand and placed it

on Ilia's forearm where it rested on the

table. He hadn't expected Ilia to say

any of this. But looking at Ilia now,

Shane knew he needed to say it. My

mother died when I was 12 years old. She

lost her battle. This foundation is for

her. It is to help people like her so

they do not have to fight alone.

Ilia looked down at the table and

sniffed. Shane patted his arm, wishing

he could hold his hand or kiss his hair.

His chest felt tight and his eyes

burned. After a long moment where you

could have heard a pin drop in the

crowded room, Shane spoke. "Thank you,

Ilia." He went on to explain the hockey

camps they would be hosting in Montreal

and in Ottawa that summer with all

proceeds going directly to the

foundation.

He named some of the organizations they

planned to focus on when they made their

first donations and he announced his

mother Yuna as the director and

treasurer of the foundation.

Neither he nor Ilia could imagine a

better person for the job. He ended by

talking about their website where people

could make donations online and then

opened the floor to questions. When it

was over, Shane pulled Ilia out of the

room. He texted Hayden, "Need you to

guard the door again." Shane herded Ilia

into the bathroom and pushed him back

against the door as soon as it closed.

He confirmed that the room was empty and

then said, "Oh my god, come here." He

stood on his tiptoes and kissed him. I

didn't think you'd say any of that.

Neither did I. They kissed again,

completely unhurried. And Shane really

hoped Hayden had gotten his text. I

wanted to kiss you out there, Ilia said.

I wanted to climb into your lap out

there. I'm so [ __ ] proud of you,

Ilia. I'm proud to be with you. I want

you to know that even if we keep it a

secret, I'm proud to be with you. I

know. Me, too. When the time is right,

we will stop being a secret.

Shane still wasn't sure when that would

be. They had talked about waiting until

one or both of them had retired, but

that seemed like much too long to wait.

Shane felt he could easily play for

another 10 years at least.

Are you sure you need to go back to

Ottawa today? Yes. And you are flying to

Chicago tonight. I know, Shane sighed.

This is why I want my pilot license.

Would be faster. Shane groaned. Please

don't get your pilot license. I will be

very mad if you fly into a mountain and

die. Aw, sweet.

There was a knock on the door, followed

by Hayden's voice. Hey, uh, could you

guys wrap it up maybe? I kind of need to

get in there for legitimate bathroom

reasons. Ilia sighed and stepped aside,

and Shane opened the door. "Good press

conference, guys," Hayden said as he

stroed past them toward the urinals.

"Sorry about your mother, Ilia. That

sucks.

Ilia gave Shane a look that said, "This

is your best friend." Shane ignored him.

"You think it went okay?" Shane asked

Hayden. "For sure. It's like powerful,

right? Rivals coming together for a

greater cause. I mean, no one in that

room knows you guys are all in love and

shit." He finished at the urinal and

went to wash his hands. But the way you

were looking at Ilia, Shane, I thought

people were going to figure it out.

Hell, I thought you were going to start

sucking face in front of the whole world

like Hunter. No way, said Shane. We have

better control than Scott Hunter.

Hayden flicked the water off his hands,

then rubbed them on his pants. Would

have been memorable, though. Not really

what we wanted the focus to be today,

Shane said. Okay. Well, I got to take

the twins to a birthday party, so I have

to split. Hayden stepped forward and

hugged Shane. Then, with some

hesitation, he extended his hand to

Ilia. Ilia shook it, then patted him on

the back. Thank you, Hayden.

Yeah, well, sorry about your face, I

guess. Not that you didn't deserve it.

Is okay. My face can heal. Your face,

however. All right, Shane interrupted.

That's enough. Bye, Hayden. He shoved

Hayden out the door and then turned to

Ilia. I'm gonna go find Mom. Come find

me in a bit. Okay. Yes, I will.

Ilia found himself in the same position

Shane had been in earlier, gripping the

bathroom counter, staring into the sink

deep in thought. His life was so close

to perfect now, even with the secrets he

was keeping. secrets he was letting go

of like balloons one at a time. Now the

world knew he and Shane were friends.

Now the world knew the truth about his

mother's death. He imagined he would be

hearing from Andre about that. But he

really didn't care. His brother had only

called him a couple of times since their

father's funeral and only to ask for

money, which I had refused. [ __ ] Andre.

Ilia had a better family now. Shane's

parents had come over for dinner last

night at Shane's house. And there had

been a moment when Ilia had spilled some

cooking wine and Shane had wordlessly

handed him a cloth that Ilia had been

struck by how right it all felt to be at

home with his [snorts] man he loved

making food together for Shane's family.

The family who had been so warm and

welcoming to Ilia once the initial shock

had worn off. Ilia hadn't been kidding

about wanting to marry him and not for

citizenship, of course. He wanted to be

Shane's husband and to live together and

maybe even raise children together. Not

as many children as Hayden had, but like

a reasonable number. Ilia had been

snarky about Scott Hunter's lack of

self-control, but sometimes he was dying

to do the same thing. He would fantasize

about grabbing Shane at the end of a

game and kissing him right there on the

ice in front of everyone. Just get it

over with and out there and anyone who

had a problem with it could [ __ ] off.

Baby steps, Ilia reminded himself. The

All-Star game was coming up, though, and

he and Shane would be on the same team

again. Ilia was only about 60% sure he

wouldn't kiss Shane against the boards

if he scored a goal off of a pass from

him.

Ilia smiled at his reflection in the

mirror and smoothed his tie. He would

have to warn Shane about the possibility

of being kissed at the All-Star game

just to stress him out. He pulled out

his phone to check the time and a

message popped up. Don't leave without

saying goodbye. Ilia wrote back right

away. Never.

He had a surprise for Shane. Actually,

he had booked a room in this hotel. They

had less than 2 hours before Ilia needed

to hit the road, but after years of

practice, they were good at making the

most of an hour or two of privacy.

11:26, he texted and waited for Shane's

reply. Shane, seriously, best news ever.

See you soon. Ilia chuckled, set an

alarm on his phone, and went to meet his

boyfriend.

This concludes Heated Rivalry by Rachel

Reed, narrated by Tortom. Copyright 2019

by Relle Gogan. This unabbridged audio

book is published by Arrangement with

Harlequin Books SA and was produced in

the year 2019 by Tantor Media

Incorporated, a division of recorded

books, which holds the copyright there

too.

Please visit tantor.com for more

information on our growing library of

unabbridged audio books.

Audible hopes you have enjoyed this

program.