Chapter Seventeen
Ilya 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 Ilya had, the last time they were together? If so, was he looking to break things off and run away…or lean into it? Or maybe he didn’t know what he wanted, because Ilya sure as fuck didn’t.
He also knew that what they both wanted probably didn’t matter anyway.
Ilya wished they could go for a walk or something—a moonlit 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 and a little sandy from the beach. His hair had been tousled 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,” Ilya said. “This looks serious.”
“It’s not… I mean…sort of. Just…shut up a second, all right?”
Ilya sat 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, fuck you. You know what I mean! The last time we were…together…it was…different.”
Ilya 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.”
Ilya 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 fuck. Is simple,” Ilya said.
“Simple,” Shane grumbled. “Right.”
Ilya shrugged again. “Is simple for me.”
“Bullshit.”
Ilya rolled his eyes. Why was Hollander saying any of this? Why now?
“I think I’m gay,” Shane blurted out.
Ilya looked at him, startled, for a moment. Then he laughed. “Oh yeah?
What gives you that idea?”
Shane glared at him, which made Ilya laugh more.
“The last time my dick was in your mouth, I thought you might be a
little gay,” Ilya teased.
“Fuck off. You’re not gay.”
“No,” Ilya said, serious again. “Not completely.”
“Well… I think I might be. Completely.”
Ilya studied him a moment, then said, “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!”
Ilya 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?” Ilya asked quietly.
Shane laughed humorlessly. “Who else am I gonna tell?”
Ilya 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 fucking rival is another.”
“That is 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.
Ilya 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 Ilya. “Would you want to be? If
we could?”
“We can’t.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Ilya stood up and set his Coke can down hard on the dresser. “It doesn’t fucking matter!”
Shane flinched and fiddled with the 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,” Ilya argued.
“I do. I…I maybe like you too much.”
Ilya’s heart clenched. “Don’t,” he groaned. “Don’t fucking do this,
Hollander. I’m not…”
“Worth it?”
Ilya 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?”
Ilya shook his head and sat 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?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was young,” Ilya 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.”
Ilya exhaled slowly. “My father was not ever an easy man to live with.
He is very…set in old ways. Very strict. My brother, Andrei, is much like
him. But now…my father is sick.”
“Sick? Like…cancer?”
Ilya shook his head. “No. Alzheimer’s.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”
Ilya nodded. There. Now someone knew.
“He must be proud of you, though? You’re a superstar!”
Ilya 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,” Ilya said. “But I could not stay there.”
“Would have made my life a lot easier,” Shane joked.
They both laughed. Shane shook his head and looked at the ceiling. And Ilya just…stared at him. At this oddly insecure superstar who was so beautiful and sweet and here.
“You look really fucking good,” Ilya said.
Shane stood and placed his ginger ale on the dresser next to Ilya’s abandoned Coke. He sank to the floor, straddling Ilya’s outstretched legs.
“Hey,” Shane said softly.
Ilya 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 Ilya’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 Ilya. Not just in bed, but cuddled together, with Ilya gently stroking his hair. Shane was rolling Ilya’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?” Ilya asked.
“No! No, I’m just surprised, I guess.”
Ilya 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.”
Ilya snorted and kissed the top of his head. “It was my mother’s.”
“Oh.” He stopped twirling the cross and rested it gently against Ilya’s chest. “Do you want to talk about…anything? Your family?”
“No,” Ilya said. “Not tonight.”
“You can, though, you know. Talk to me.”
For a moment, Ilya was very still. “Thank you,” he said.
Shane wondered if Ilya 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.
Ilya didn’t reply, so Shane moved to get out of the bed. Ilya pulled him back, and Shane found himself on top of him, and then being kissed by
him, and then he was under him.
“Stay,” Ilya said.
“Can’t.” But he loved that Ilya was asking.
“No one will even fucking notice. This weekend is chaos.”
“Too risky.”
Ilya 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.” Ilya 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 Ilya’s body with his own as he drank him in.
“I have to go.” He brushed curls out of Ilya’s eyes and Ilya 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?” Ilya 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. Ilya 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 Ilya. He was sitting up, the white bedsheet covering his bent knees. He was chewing his lip, as if considering whether or not to say something. There was a long, tense silence between them, and then Ilya said, “Goodnight.
Shane.”
A jolt of pleasure zipped through Shane’s body every time Ilya called him by his first name. “Goodnight, Ilya.”
He checked to make sure the hallway was empty, then slipped out of Ilya’s room. Because the hall was empty, no one saw the smile that nearly split Shane’s face in half.
