Page 64 of The Long Game (Game Changers #6)

The next morning, Ilya was disgusted to see that hockey media was full of opinion pieces that wondered aloud if Shane had intentionally let Ilya score.

“This is insulting to me as well,” Ilya complained on the phone to Shane. “They think I can’t beat you unless we cheat?”

“You wouldn’t have beaten me if I hadn’t tripped,” Shane pointed out for no reason at all.

“Shane,” Ilya sighed. “Not now. And of course I would have.”

“I’m so fucking angry,” Shane said. “I don’t deserve this.”

Ilya was glad to hear him say it. “You’re a free agent now. Get the fuck out of there. Go somewhere that will appreciate you.”

Shane snorted. “Like where? Ottawa?”

Ilya held his breath. Because of course, yes. Ottawa.

“I mean, I couldn’t, could I?” Shane said.

“This is why you have an agent. Find out.”

“They don’t have the salary cap space for me. Not with you and Troy and Wyatt. And didn’t Bood get a big raise last season? Haas will be looking for more in a couple of years.”

“How much money do you need?” Ilya asked.

“I don’t know. I just want what I’m worth, y’know?”

“Of course. But consider maybe your very wealthy husband.”

Shane sputtered out a laugh. “I guess that’s true.” He was silent a moment. “Is there room for me on that roster, though?”

“We need depth at center. And having both Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander would be very deep.”

“Jesus, we could win Ottawa a cup.”

“Hey!” Ilya complained. “I am trying to do that right now!”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—I completely believe in you.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway, this is a lot. I’m just angry right now and it’s making me want to do drastic things. I’ll calm down soon.”

Ilya was sure he would, which was why he was trying not to get his hopes up about Shane joining him on the Centaurs. Shane loved Montreal, and it would take a lot more than a few stupid editorial pieces and angry tweets to make him leave.

“I have to get going. Plane leaves soon.”

“Okay,” Shane said. “Good luck. I’ll be watching. And call me. And send me pics. And, fuck, I really miss you.”

“I miss you too. Come to Ottawa. I’ll get tickets for you and your parents for games three and four.”

Shane seemed to brighten at that. “Yeah? I could stay with them, so I don’t distract you or anything.”

“We can talk about it in a few days.”

“All right. Hey, um. No one on your team thinks I tripped on purpose, right?”

Ilya huffed. “No one with a brain thinks that.”

The first two games were in New York, and Ottawa lost both of them. Then Ottawa won the third game, in Ottawa. All three Hollanders had been in the audience for that one, which had been exciting for Ilya. He’d never had so many people he loved at one of his games before.

The following afternoon, on the day between games, Ilya and Shane were watching tennis together on Ilya’s couch. Or at least that’s how it started. Within half an hour Shane was sprawled out and panting while Ilya tortured him with the slowest, laziest blowjob ever.

“D-did you forget how to do this or something?” Shane gasped.

Ilya paused from gently tonguing just below the head of Shane’s cock and smiled. “Are you in a hurry? Playoff game to get ready for?”

Shane’s mouth dropped open. “Oh fuck you.”

Ilya laughed while Shane hit him repeatedly with a throw pillow. That devolved into wrestling, then kissing.

And that’s when Ilya’s phone alerted him that someone was at his front gate. He grabbed his phone off the coffee table and checked the security camera. Then he barked out a surprised laugh.

“What?” Shane asked.

“Is Scott Hunter.”

“Here?” Shane scrambled off the couch, tucking his still-hard dick into his sweatpants.

“Yes.” Ilya hit the button to open the gate.

“Why? What does he want? Fuck... I’ve gotta... I need a few minutes.”

Shane jogged to the stairs, then up into the bedroom.

Ilya, meanwhile, calmly adjusted himself, straightened his shirt, and walked to the front door.

He glanced toward Anya’s bed to make sure she wasn’t going to make a run for the door, but she was still fast asleep after the long walk they’d taken her on that morning.

He opened the door just as Scott reached his front steps. “Hunter. You are at my house.”

Scott looked a little bewildered, as if he hadn’t realized this would be Ilya’s house or something. His perfect fucking face glanced around like he’d been dropped there by aliens. “Yeah, I um. I got the address from Wyatt. He had to make sure my intentions were noble first.”

Ilya really wasn’t sure what the intentions were of the rival team captain—the man whose team the Centaurs were currently in the middle of a playoffs series against—standing on his doorstep. “You could have texted.”

“You seem to enjoy showing up at things unannounced. Maybe I wanted to see what it was like.”

Ilya smiled at that. “Come in.”

And then Scott Hunter was in Ilya’s house.

Shane had returned to the living room, still a little rumpled but mostly presentable. “Hi, Scott.”

Scott nodded at him. “Shane. Good. I was hoping you’d be here too.”

“He usually is,” Ilya said, a bit smugly and for no real reason. Something about Hunter always made him feel territorial and juvenile.

And god, it felt good to finally be able to let people know that Shane Hollander was his. He knew that Scott was happily married and not looking at Shane in that way any more than he was looking at Ilya in that way, but still. Ilya was proud of himself for landing such an impressive boyfriend.

“Oh, were you guys watching the Madrid Open?” Scott asked, glancing at the TV.

“Uh, yeah,” Shane said.

“Kind of,” Ilya added.

Scott sat in an armchair, perched on the edge of the cushion. “I know it’s awkward because we’re in the middle of a playoff series, but I wanted to talk to you guys about...you know.” He waved a hand between Ilya and Shane.

“Uh-oh,” Ilya said. “Are we getting a lecture from Dad?”

Scott looked at Shane. “Is it possible for him to not be an asshole for five seconds?”

“No,” Shane said. He sat on the couch, facing Scott. “So what did you want to talk about, exactly?”

“Well, first of all, I’m sorry you guys got outed that way. That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t great,” Shane agreed.

“Ruined our plan to kiss on television,” Ilya said dryly.

Scott narrowed his eyes at him, then directed his next words to Shane. “When I heard about what happened, I felt sick, honestly. Being outed was my biggest fear for years. That decision shouldn’t have been taken from you.”

Ilya joined Shane on the couch. “Is that the only reason you felt sick?”

Scott gave him a wary smile. “I was pretty shocked. Not gonna lie.”

“If you are here to tell us our relationship is okay or not okay, we don’t care,” Ilya said bluntly.

“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane muttered.

“I’m not,” Scott assured Ilya. “I have no idea how this thing with you has even been working, but you guys obviously have it figured out. It’s definitely never interfered with your hockey.”

Ilya understood what that meant: Scott didn’t believe Shane had tripped on purpose. He lowered his defenses and said, “Thank you for saying so.”

“How’d Crowell react to your relationship?”

Ilya snorted. Shane said, “You can probably guess. I think if he thought he could get away with it, we’d both be out of the league.”

Scott’s expression turned dangerous, the way it often did on the ice. “I think he felt the same way about me when I came out.”

“And Troy Barrett,” Ilya added. “Troy got an email after that was like...what is the word? Nice but sounds angry?”

“Passive-aggressive,” Shane said.

“Yes. Okay. That.”

“Crowell’s a dinosaur,” Scott said. “He’s standing in the way of progress, which is part of why I wanted to talk to you.

Carter Vaughan and I are trying to start a group of NHL players.

” He paused. “No. Of hockey players—I’ve already reached out to Max Riley and Leah Campbell—who are interested in fighting back against toxic hockey culture.

Not just homophobia, but all of it: racism, sexism, rape culture, transphobia, toxic masculinity.

I know that sounds kind of huge and impossible, but it has to start somewhere. ”

“Like a club?” Ilya asked. “Of nice hockey players?”

“Basically,” Scott said. “I thought when I came out that would make a difference for other queer hockey players.”

“I think it did,” Shane said. He glanced at Ilya. “It did for us, anyway.”

Oh god. That was embarrassing. But it was true; Ilya probably wouldn’t have taken a chance on trying to be with Shane if Scott hadn’t kissed his boyfriend on television after winning the Stanley Cup.

“Yeah?” Scott asked, sounding surprised and maybe a bit touched.

“That’s nice to hear. But when I heard Troy’s story, it made me realize that queer NHL players still didn’t feel safe coming out.

And that’s just one problem with hockey culture.

” He sighed. “Sometimes it all seems so broken I don’t know if it can be fixed. But I want to try.”

“So,” Shane said slowly, “like, if someone in hockey says or does something awful, we would speak as a united front against it? Is that what you’re thinking?”

Scott’s eyes flashing with excitement. “Exactly! Right now it’s scary, speaking out, when you’re just one person.

But if we have an organized group who can release statements, it’s a lot less scary.

It’s powerful.” He leaned forward. “I have over fifty hockey players interested in joining already. I think we can really do this.”

Ilya was impressed. This was actually a really good idea. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Shane said. “A hundred percent. I know J.J. and Hayden would be into it too.”

“My coach might join as well,” Ilya said thoughtfully. “He is a very good guy.”

“Yeah? That would be great. I’d love to get some people from that side of the bench.” He smiled. “Sorry I kind of jumped right into my pitch. I mostly came here to tell you that, y’know, I’ve got your back. And congratulations, I guess.”

“You can congratulate us after we are married,” Ilya couldn’t resist saying.