The Long Game: A Gay Sports Romance (Game Changers Book 6)

July

Shane had never wanted anything so badly in his life. His goal was right in front of him, and nothing would stop him from reaching it.

“You wish, Hollander,” called a hoarse voice behind him.

Shane felt like his chest was going to explode, but he huffed and pushed himself harder, refusing to give up. The pounding of sneakers on the trail and of Shane’s own heartbeat almost drowned out the laughter behind him. Shane tried to ignore it all as he focused on the trail exit just ahead.

Suddenly, Ilya was right beside him, drenched in sweat, T-shirt balled up in one fist. Ilya winked at him before speeding past him like a cartoon character. Shane grunted in frustration and tried to catch up, but Ilya’s long legs and seemingly superhuman stamina were making it impossible.

Ilya reached the end of the trail first, arms raised in victory. Then he collapsed on a grassy patch at the edge of the small parking lot.

Shane stumbled over to him, gasping and swearing. He put his hands on his knees as he waited for breathing to stop being painful.

“Fuck,” he wheezed, “you.”

Ilya flopped onto his back, shaking with laughter. He mopped at his forehead with the damp shirt he was holding. “I almost let you win.”

“Liar.”

“The view was not bad. From behind. Almost worth staying there.”

Shane didn’t know how his boyfriend was able to speak in full sentences. “Shut up.”

“I like those little shorts.”

Shane laughed, but it sounded more like a steam engine puffing. “Thanks.”

Ilya pulled himself up to rest on his elbows. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, rolling it gently from side to side. His hair was soaked, curls sticking to his face and neck, and his chest glistened with sweat. The crucifix he always wore around his neck was resting on his shoulder.

Shane dropped to his knees beside him. “I hate that you can outrun me like that. It doesn’t make sense.”

Ilya opened one eye. “Maybe you should eat carbs.”

“I eat healthy carbs.”

“You eat nothing.”

“You smoke.”

“Almost never.”

“You had a cigarette last night.”

“How do you know?”

“I have a nose.”

Ilya booped the tip of Shane’s nose. “A cute one.”

Shane tried to glare at him, but he couldn’t keep it up. Not when Ilya was smiling at him like that. Instead, he gently adjusted Ilya’s crucifix, moving it to rest in the middle of his chest.

“So you like the shorts, huh?” They were a shorter style than the basketball ones he usually wore to work out in. Something new Shane was trying. His hair was longer than it had ever been too. He’d grown it out during the playoffs, and Ilya had protested when Shane had suggested it was time to get it cut. He’d let Shane shave his terrible, patchy excuse for a playoff beard, though.

Ilya traced the hem of one leg of the shorts where it was pulled tight against Shane’s thigh. “I think your dick would rip right through these if you got hard.”

Oh wow. Yikes. Shane glanced around. They were the only ones in the parking lot, which was secluded by thick trees on all sides, but they were still in public. “Let’s not test that here.”

Without warning, Ilya grabbed him and rolled them both until Shane was on his back, Ilya stretched out on top of him, grinning down at him.

Shane shoved at his sweaty chest. “You’re disgusting.”

“We are both disgusting.” Ilya dipped his head and kissed him, quickly.

“Enough,” Shane said, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “We should go home. Shower.”

“Fine.” Ilya sprang off of him, then offered a hand to help Shane up.

“You’re just full of energy,” Shane grumbled, taking his hand and allowing himself to be hauled up.

“I can think of ways to use it up,” Ilya said.

God, Shane wished. “We have that call with Farah soon.” He started walking toward the car.

Ilya sighed heavily behind him. “Why do we need this call?”

“Because she’s our agent and it’s her job to, like, check in on us.”

Ilya had signed with Shane’s agent last year, after parting ways with the Russian agent he’d had since he’d been a teenager. He’d wanted a Canadian agent, and Shane couldn’t recommend Farah Jalali highly enough. On top of being a great agent, she’d been nothing but supportive when Shane had told her he was gay two years ago.

“We could tell her, maybe,” Ilya said.

“Tell her what?”

“About us.”

“What? Today? Now?” Despite the summer heat, and his blood still churned up from the run, Shane suddenly felt icy cold.

Ilya shrugged easily. “She probably knows already.”

The panic alarm that lived inside Shane started blaring. “Why would she?”

“We are together at your cottage. You are gay. I am hot.”

“It’s a bit…soon. We should talk about it more. Figure out how to word it and—”

Ilya was gazing at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Is not complicated. And if she does not support us, then she should not be our agent.”

Shane chewed his lip, considering the undeniable truth of that. “She’ll support us.”

“I know. So we tell her.”

The shower they’d taken together had lasted longer than was strictly necessary. As a result, Shane was still struggling into his T-shirt when Farah’s FaceTime request lit up his phone. Ilya was only wearing underwear.

“Should I answer?” Ilya asked, picking up Shane’s phone from the dresser.

“No! Get dressed!” Shane snatched the phone and accepted Farah’s request. Her face filled the screen, elegantly put together as always.

“Hi, guys,” she said cheerfully. “Or, hi, Shane, anyway.”

“Ilya’s here. He’s just…” Shane trailed off, momentarily distracted by Ilya’s low-slung shorts and bare torso.

“Hi, Farah,” Ilya called out.

Farah smiled, probably used to dealing with idiot hockey players by now. She was only about ten years older than Ilya and Shane, but seemed twice as mature as they’d ever be. “Hi, Ilya. Are you guys having a nice summer?”

“Great. Yeah,” Shane said, probably a little too enthusiastically. He was nervous. And he’d just realized that they were doing this video call from his bedroom, which was probably a bit weird. He sat on the edge of his bed, holding the phone at eye level. “How’s your summer going?”

“Busy.”

Ilya joined Shane on the bed, still tugging his T-shirt into place. Farah glanced between them, probably noticing that they both had wet hair.

Fuck. This was ridiculous.

“Before we talk about…other stuff,” Shane said. “We have something we want to tell you.”

“I’m all ears.”

Shane met Ilya’s gaze. Ilya rested a hand on Shane’s knee and squeezed.

“So,” Shane said slowly, “you know that I’m gay.”

“Of course. You told me.”

“Yeah. So here’s the thing…”

“I am bisexual,” Ilya blurted out.

Farah’s lips curved up. “I think I can see where this is going,” she said calmly.

Well, now they knew how easy it would be for someone to put two and two together if they knew the truth about Ilya’s sexuality.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “I think you do.”

“We are together,” Ilya said, in case she didn’t.

“Sorry,” Shane said. “I know this is going to be complicated for you.”

“Don’t apologize. I love you guys, and I’m happy for you.” She laughed. “Can’t say I predicted this when I woke up this morning. May I ask how long you’ve been together?”

Shane and Ilya shared a smile, then Ilya said, “A long time. Years.”

“So it isn’t brand-new,” Farah said, more to herself than to them, Shane suspected. “Not to ask a stupid question, but it’s serious?”

“Very,” Ilya said. Shane’s heart flipped the way it always did when Ilya made it clear how much Shane meant to him.

“Do you want to tell people?” Farah asked.

“No,” Shane said quickly, at the same time Ilya said, “Not yet.”

“We just wanted you to know,” Shane clarified. “Not many people do, but we thought you should.”

Farah nodded. “I’m on your side. So whatever you need from me, you’ve got it. There’s no precedent for NHL rivals being romantically involved, obviously, so we’re in uncharted waters here. Whatever happens, it definitely won’t be boring!”

“I wouldn’t mind boring,” Shane mumbled.

“Shane loves boring,” Ilya said.

Farah laughed. “Well, good, because I have a whole list of boring stuff to go over with both of you.”

They talked about endorsement opportunities, about the scheduled air date for a documentary ESPN had made about their rivalry, about Shane’s impending free agency at the end of this upcoming season, about the charity hockey camps that started next week. None of it, as far as Shane was concerned, was boring.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the documentary,” Farah said. “Their Scott Hunter doc was fantastic.”

“Did not see it,” Ilya said flatly.

“I guess they didn’t quite capture the real story about you guys, though.”

No. Ilya and Shane had both been very careful not to give that away. Not that they’d had a lot of direct involvement in the documentary. They’d sat for separate interviews, and had endured a bit of the film crew following them around for a couple of days last season—again, separately—but as far as Shane knew the doc was mostly going to consist of existing game footage and interviews with other people.

As soon as their call with Farah ended, Ilya pinned Shane on the mattress, holding his wrists and kissing him breathless.

“That went okay,” Shane said between kisses.

“Was great. I told you.”

Shane loved Ilya so much it physically hurt to contain it some days. He didn’t want to be a gay icon, or deal with any of the attention they would get from the hockey world—both good and bad—if they ever disclosed their relationship, but he wished he could love Ilya openly without dealing with any of that.

Maybe one day. After they were both retired. Shane knew some retired NHL stars and they’d been able to easily fade into the background if they’d wanted to. Sometimes even if they didn’t want to. Eventually, the world just stopped caring about them.

At the moment, Shane and Ilya were both in their prime at twenty-nine years old. Shane had just led his team to his third Stanley Cup victory, and while Ilya was the captain of a much worse team, he was still putting up big numbers in Ottawa. They were both superstars, and they both had a lot of hockey left in them. Shane had every intention of playing another decade at least, and he expected Ilya to do the same.

Which meant another decade of hiding, probably. But Shane would do it. He would do anything for Ilya. He’d told him, once, that he was willing to play the long game when it came to their relationship and he’d meant it.

“Why are you getting sad?” Ilya asked.

Shane blinked at him. “Sorry. Nothing.” He kissed him quickly. “I love you.”

Ilya gave him one of his crooked, sexy smiles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”