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

December

“Do you have many friends?” Galina asked.

“Tons,” Ilya replied quickly, slightly offended. It was his third appointment with his therapist, and he wasn’t sure he was making much progress.

“I mean, do you have many people you can confide in? That you trust?”

This time Ilya didn’t answer so quickly. “I love my teammates. We have fun together, and support each other, but, no, I don’t talk to them about…myself.”

“What do you do, when you aren’t playing hockey, and when your boyfriend isn’t around?”

Ilya shrugged. “Not much. Stay home. Watch TV. Play video games.”

“Is that how you’ve always spent your free time?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“What did you used to do, when you played in Boston?”

Ilya huffed out a laugh. “I had sex. Like, all the time. I went out, picked up. I went to clubs and parties and had a great time.”

“But now you’re in a monogamous relationship?”

“Yes. And I’m glad. I love being with…him, and I don’t miss…” He rotated one hand in the air. “Sleeping around. It was fun at the time, but I only want…him.”

Ilya and Shane had talked about other people. A couple of years ago he’d told Shane, as casually as possible, that if he wanted to have sex with other men when they were apart—which was most of the time—he could. Since Shane had figured out he was gay around the same time he’d realized he had fallen in love with Ilya, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to want to explore sex beyond what Ilya could give him. What did it matter as long as his heart belonged to Ilya? That’s what Ilya had told himself.

Shane hadn’t taken Ilya’s offer well. He’d thought it had been Ilya’s backhanded way of letting Shane know that he’d cheated on him, or that he wanted to. Ilya had told him that he didn’t believe in cheating because he didn’t own Shane. It had ended with Shane storming out of Ilya’s house in Ottawa and driving back to Montreal, which had been a horrible waste of a rare night they could have had together. He’d ignored Ilya’s texts for three days after.

Then, on the fourth day, he’d called Ilya from his hotel room in Philadelphia and said, “You really wouldn’t mind if I had sex with someone else?”

And that was when Ilya had realized how much he would mind it. He’d felt sick at the idea of someone else touching Shane, and he hadn’t been sure if Shane was asking because he’d already done it, or if he was about to or what. Maybe someone had been heading to his Philadelphia hotel room at that very moment.

But all Ilya had said was, “Of course not. If that is what you want.”

“I don’t want, you fucking moron,” Shane had spat. The relief had been so intense that Ilya had nearly sunk to his knees in his living room.

“We’re happy together,” Ilya said now, to his therapist.

“But when you’re apart?”

“I’m miserable,” Ilya admitted. “More than he is, I think.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“He has friends, family. He lives near where he grew up, his best friend knows about us. He has another close friend who knows about us. He’s not alone.”

She nodded and made some notes. “Is there someone on your team, or maybe another person, who you feel like you could open up to? Maybe not the whole truth, but someone you could share part of yourself with?”

Ilya wasn’t sure. Harris was certainly a possibility. He was openly gay, super nice, and easy to talk to. But he also worked for the team and was, honestly, a bit of a gossip.

For some reason Troy Barrett came to mind. Ilya had noticed, over the past few weeks, that Troy might not be entirely straight. For one thing, his gaze had lingered on Ilya’s bare chest more than once (not that Ilya could blame him), and for another, he kind of obviously had a crush on Harris.

It was possible that Troy needed someone to talk to too.

“Maybe,” Ilya said finally. “It would be good, I think. To try.”

He was sure none of his teammates would be bothered if they knew Ilya was bisexual, but he was also sure that revealing that part of himself would make it too easy for people to guess the rest of it. If they knew he was bisexual, and that Shane was gay—because most of the league had at least heard that rumor by now—and knew that he and Shane worked together in the summers…

Well. It didn’t take a genius.

Better to let the hockey world think that Ilya was all about the ladies, and that he and Shane had a tenuous friendship based mostly on running a charity together. It had been working so far.

“It seems somewhat imbalanced,” Galina said. “Your boyfriend—”

“Shane,” Ilya said, suddenly finding the way they were both dancing around the obvious annoying. “You know who it is. His name is Shane.”

As usual, no surprise showed on her face. “Shane,” she repeated, “seems very comfortable in his life. Whereas you have made a lot of changes for him.”

“For both of us,” Ilya corrected her.

“Of course. But maybe you need more things in your life that are specifically for you.”

Ilya considered this, then huffed. “I almost bought a car yesterday. A Lotus Evora. Cyan blue. It is an absolutely ridiculous car for driving around Ottawa, and I sold most of my car collection when I moved here. But I just wanted… I don’t even know. To feel like my old self, maybe.”

“What made you decide not to?”

“I knew it wouldn’t make me happy, I guess. I had it all picked out and was about to call my dealer when I decided I was being stupid. I still would have been sad, but with a blue car in my garage.”

“A lot of people find shopping to be therapeutic. Buying things we don’t need.” She smiled. “For me, it’s usually new bedsheets, but we might be in different income brackets.”

Ilya smiled back and said, in English, “Money doesn’t buy happiness, yes?”

She laughed, then continued, in Russian, “Why did you sell your car collection when you moved to Ottawa?”

“The cars didn’t make me happy anymore. When I thought about my collection, it seemed gross. So much money spent on cars I barely had a chance to drive. I put all of the money I made from selling them into the Irina Foundation.”

“It had nothing to do with how Shane felt about your cars?”

Ilya couldn’t honestly say it hadn’t. Shane had thought the collection was ridiculous, certainly. He didn’t understand the obsession, and he was terrified that Ilya was going to die in a high-speed crash. Maybe Ilya had sold them because he’d wanted to be a better person. The kind who owned a sensible SUV with all-wheel drive for winter conditions.

“Maybe a little.”

“Have you made many changes based on how Shane felt about things?”

Ilya didn’t like where this was going. “He isn’t demanding. He didn’t ask me to sell the cars, or to stop going out. He wants me to be happy.”

“Does he know you’re not?”

Ilya thought back to the one time Shane had expressed concern for Ilya’s mental health, and how quickly Ilya had shot him down. “I don’t know.”

“Is it something you could talk to him about?”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Ilya asked with a hint of irritation. “So I don’t have to burden him with this? I thought I could talk to you and fix myself so I can be good enough for him.”

A heavy silence hung in the room for a moment. Then, Galina said, very gently, “What do you think Shane would say, if he heard those words? If he knew you didn’t want to burden him, or didn’t think you were good enough for him?”

God, Ilya could imagine Shane’s face so clearly, all twisted into his scrunched confusion expression. “He would say, ‘What the hell are you talking about? You’re already good enough for me.’” Ilya smiled. “He would say, ‘You’re perfect for me.’” His smile fell. “He doesn’t understand, though. There are some things I can’t talk to him about.”

“It is completely fine and understandable to not share everything that we talk about here with him, but hiding your feelings from Shane—letting him believe you’re happy when you’re not—that will only build a wall between you. He’s on one side with his friends and family, while you’re on the other side, alone.”

Ilya swallowed thickly. “It wouldn’t be like that.” Though now that she’d said it, he could see it was already starting to happen.

“I think you should talk to him. Does he know you’ve been seeing me?”

“No.”

“That might be a good place to start.”

Of course Ilya knew he should tell Shane that he was seeing a therapist. Shane would probably be relieved—he’d suggested it, after all. But would Shane ask questions? Would he want to know what they talked about? Ilya couldn’t drag all this stuff to the surface again. Once was excruciating enough.

“I’ll try,” Ilya said. It was all he could promise.

It was too cold to walk around Ottawa after his appointment, so instead Ilya went to the arena to work out. He thought it might be good to see some other people.

As it turned out, the only other member of the team there was Luca Haas, doing kettle bell swings in one corner. Haas’s eyes went wide when he spotted Ilya, and he nearly dropped the kettle bell.

Ilya nodded at him, then hopped onto an exercise bike to warm up. He stared hard at himself in the mirror in front of him, trying to get what Galina had said about Shane out of his head.

He’s on one side with his friends and family, while you’re on the other side, alone.

It wasn’t true. Shane’s parents were right there with Ilya. He probably saw them more than Shane did. Ilya was a part of their family now, he knew that, and he loved them.

And he had friends. He had…

…a Swiss weirdo staring at him. Ilya could see him in the mirror.

Ilya stopped peddling and dismounted. He turned toward Luca, who looked terrified.

“Hello?” Ilya said.

“Sorry,” Luca said in his crisp Swiss-German accent. Unlike when Ilya had been a rookie, Luca’s English was nearly perfect. “Was I staring?”

Ilya smiled. “I look good on a bike. I understand.”

Luca’s pale, baby-smooth face turned pink. “No! I wasn’t—”

“Was a joke.” Ilya walked toward him. “You are here alone?”

“Yes. I like the quiet, sometimes.”

Ilya sat on weight bench beside him. “I understand that.”

“If you want to be alone I can—”

“No, no. Is not what I meant.” Ilya smiled at him. “You seem a bit scared of me.”

“I still can’t believe we are on the same team.”

Ilya chuckled. “How long until you believe it?”

“Years, maybe?”

Ilya held out his hand. “Ilya Rozanov. Normal guy. Nice to meet you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Luca shook his hand. “Luca Haas. Embarrassing fanboy.”

Ilya gestured to the weight bench a few feet away, and Luca sat facing him.

“How do you like Ottawa?” Ilya asked.

“In some ways it reminds me of Zurich, but in others it is very different.”

Ilya nodded. He’d been to Zurich once, another capital, and remembered the river that wound through the city, the low buildings, and the museums. He could see the similarities.

“Was it hard for you?” Luca asked. “When you left home?”

Ilya answered honestly. “No. I couldn’t wait.”

“Oh.” Luca frowned at his folded hands.

“But,” Ilya amended, “there was…adjustments. It was not so easy, with the language and the culture. I had no Russian teammates, and, like you, there was many expectations for me to be great right away.”

Luca nodded. “Yes. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I was great right away. Made it easier,” Ilya joked.

Luca laughed. “That would help.”

Ilya stretched out a foot and nudged Luca’s sneaker. “You are also doing great. The fans love you. You see how much Harris posts about you. Can’t get enough. I see Haas jerseys all over town.” That was a bit of an exaggeration. He’d seen two.

“Thank you.”

A silence fell between them that was interrupted by Ilya’s favorite sound: a dog barking.

He stood and looked toward the door of the gym. “It that Chiron?” he called out.

A second later, the team puppy came charging into the room, followed by Harris. “It sure is,” Harris said, smiling as usual. “I heard you were in here and I thought—”

“Yes!” Ilya exclaimed, crouching to greet Chiron. He’d never needed a puppy in his arms so badly. He let Chiron sniff and lick his fingers, then scooped him up and cuddled him against his chest. “He is already so big!”

“Yup,” Harris agreed. “He’s a beast.”

Luca approached cautiously. “Can I pet him?”

“Yeah, man,” Harris said. “Get in there.”

Luca scratched the top of Chiron’s head with one finger.

“Okay. Hold on,” Harris said. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “This is way too cute.” He snapped some photos that Ilya knew would kill later on Instagram.

“Hey, guys,” called out a cheerful voice from the doorway. Coach Wiebe sauntered in wearing workout clothes. Ilya couldn’t help but notice that he looked good in them.

“Coach,” Ilya and Luca said at the same time.

“I am ninety percent sure dogs aren’t allowed in here,” Wiebe said. “But ninety isn’t a hundred, right?” He took over head-scritching from Luca, except he used his whole hand.

“You like dogs?” Ilya asked.

“Love them. We’ve got a big ol’ golden retriever at home. Lollipop. The kids named her, so don’t look at me. We call her Lolly, mostly.”

“I need to meet Lolly,” Ilya said seriously. “Bring her to work someday.”

“She’s anxious around new people,” Coach said. “She was a rescue from a bad situation, so she mostly sticks to home and her regular walk route. Sweetest thing, though.”

Ilya almost laughed. His coach was seriously the nicest guy on earth.

“Are you boys going to the hospital visit this week?” Coach asked. The team visited the local children’s hospital every December. Ilya wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“Of course,” Ilya said. “I have been training for my Mario Kart rematch.”

Coach laughed. “And how about our star rookie?”

“Yes,” Luca said. “I will be there.”

“I hope Barrett’s going,” Coach said. “I know it’ll be a rough week for him, with the game in Toronto after, but I think it would be good for him.”

Ilya agreed, and he’d make sure Troy would be there.

They all played around with Chiron for about twenty minutes, then Harris announced that Chiron’s trainer was there to pick him up. Ilya watched miserably as Harris left with the puppy.

“Do you think the other dogs are nice to him at his school?” Ilya asked no one in particular.

“Only the best of the best get to be in that place,” Coach assured him. “It’s like the NHL of dogs.”

“Yes, but there are huge assholes in the NHL.”

Coach laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, but not in Ottawa.”

“I came out to Troy Barrett,” Ilya said, a week later.

Shane nearly choked on the sip he’d just taken of his smoothie. “What?” he asked after a fit of coughing. He was glad this wasn’t a video call.

“I told him I am bisexual,” Ilya said calmly, as if he’d told Troy that he liked pizza or something. As if he revealed his sexuality to people all the time when Shane knew he’d barely told anyone. Ilya had told Shane that Troy wasn’t such a bad guy, now that he was getting to know him, but it still seemed fucking nuts that Ilya would choose him of all people to share this closely guarded secret with.

“When? Why?”

“Last night. I wanted to tell someone.”

All right. Shane didn’t know that this had been weighing on Ilya, and that made him feel like a shitty boyfriend. But he could worry about that later. “Why him?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Ilya said, “You can’t tell anyone this.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“Promise me.”

“Fine. I promise. What?”

“He came out to me first,” Ilya said.

Shane blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

“He told me he is gay. I don’t think he has told many people. Maybe no one. So it felt like I should, you know. Share back.”

“Troy Barrett is gay?” Given the fact that Troy had always seemed like a homophobic douchebag to Shane, this was a lot to process.

“Yes. But that is a secret.”

Shane closed his eyes. Okay. Troy Barrett was gay, and also he was friends with Ilya now. Weird. “Of course I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know.”

“Why did he tell you?” It suddenly occurred to Shane that the reason Troy had come out to Ilya was because he was interested in Ilya.

“I took him out last night. To the Kingfisher. Was his first gay bar, he said.” Then Ilya laughed. “You’d like him. You are both very bad at being gay.”

“Hilarious,” Shane said flatly. “So what happened at the bar?”

“We had a nice talk with the queer New York hockey players.”

“Scott and Eric were there?”

“Yes. They own the bar.”

“I know, but—” Shane sighed. “Okay. So you had a queer NHL player meeting.”

“You feel left out?”

“I mean, yeah. Kind of. What were you guys doing there?”

“Just talking. Drinking beer. Having a fun time. You would have hated it.”

“Did Troy come out to everyone there?”

“No. Just me. Was after. We were walking to the hotel.”

“Sounds romantic,” Shane grumbled.

“Shane. He is in love with Harris. Not me.” There was a beat of silence, then Ilya added, “That is also a secret. Though not a good one because Troy is very obvious about this crush.”

“Just to recap,” Shane said. “Your new friend Troy Barrett is gay and in love with your team’s social media manager?”

“Yes.”

“Were you surprised when he told you? Because I’m pretty fucking surprised.”

“No. Because of the crush on Harris thing. And also he was checking me out a few times.”

Shane exhaled slowly. “I don’t think I like Troy.”

“Why? You have a lot in common. You both are short, gay, and both think I am hot.”

“Your favorite qualities in a man.”

“You are both very pretty. Nice dark hair. Troy also does not have chest hair.”

“Let’s stop talking about Troy Barrett.”

Ilya laughed. “It is cute how you are jealous.”

“I am absolutely not jealous of Troy fucking Barrett.” Except for how Troy got to spend so much time with Ilya, play hockey on the same line as him, and, apparently, check him out in the locker room and go to gay bars with him.

“I only am telling you,” Ilya said in a more serious tone, “because it was nice. To talk about this with someone.”

Wait. “You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t fucking tell him about us!” Then Ilya mumbled something in angry Russian. Shane only caught about half of the words.

“What was that?”

“Only you can tell your friends about us, right? This is how it works?”

“What the hell are you talking about? And since when is Troy your closest friend?”

Ilya exhaled loudly into the phone. “I have to go. Practice soon.”

Shane didn’t understand why they were both so angry, but ending the call before one of them said something they couldn’t take back was probably a good idea. “Fine.” He winced at the bitchiness of his tone, then said, more gently, “Call me after practice?”

“I might be busy having sex with Troy,” Ilya said tightly.

“Ilya…”

“I have to go.”

The call went dead.

Shane slumped against his kitchen counter and started thinking about all the ways that conversation could have gone better.

Ilya didn’t call Shane after practice. Instead he took a nap, ate dinner, and got ready for his game that night against the New York Admirals. The Admirals were the best team in the league, so Shane would understand why Ilya would need to focus.

Not that he cared if Shane understood. Shane certainly hadn’t understood why it had been important for Ilya to tell someone—anyone—that he was bisexual. And why it had felt so good to have his teammate come out to him. How good it felt to be making a new friend, and to have earned that friend’s trust so quickly.

Maybe Ilya shouldn’t have told Shane. Maybe he should have saved all this for his next session with Galina. Not that he would out Troy to his therapist, but he would find a way to talk about it. Galina would understand why this was important to Ilya. She knew how lonely he was.

Jesus. Ilya hadn’t even told Shane that Troy had almost guessed that he and Shane were a couple. It was alarming how quickly Troy had started to put the pieces together in his head once Ilya had told him he was bisexual. If Shane knew about that he’d probably lose his shit completely.

Ilya carried his bad mood onto the ice that night for the match against the Admirals. At first, his anger seemed useful, pushing him to battle hard and even open the scoring early in the first period. But as the game went on, and as New York kept scoring, Ilya’s anger caused him to take stupid penalties and make costly mistakes.

After the game he’d been quiet and sulky. He hadn’t talked to anyone in the dressing room, and no one had talked to him. Probably because they didn’t want to get snarled at.

That night, there was an unexpected knock on his hotel room door.

“Hey,” Troy said when Ilya opened it. “Thought you might wanna watch a movie or something.”

Ilya took in Troy’s uncertain expression, aware that gestures of friendship were probably outside Troy’s usual comfort zone. Ilya nodded, and stepped back to let him in.

Twenty minutes into the climate disaster action movie Ilya had found on television, Troy said, “Even when I played for Toronto, we hardly ever beat the Admirals.”

Ilya just grunted.

“I wish Scott Hunter wasn’t such a decent guy,” Troy continued. “I’d love to just hate him, y’know?”

“You wish he wasn’t hot,” Ilya said.

Troy’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he’d forgotten that he’d come out to Ilya already. Then he huffed out a laugh and said, “Yeah. That too.”

Ilya smiled for the first time in hours.

They watched the movie in silence for a while, then Ilya blurted out, “I am a shitty captain.”

“What? No you’re not.”

“Anyone on the team would be a better captain than me.”

“As if,” Troy scoffed. “I’ll bet you’ve been captain of every team you’ve ever played for.”

Well. Yes. “Does not matter. I am a bad captain for this team. Now.”

“No way. You’re a fucking legend. All the young guys idolized you growing up, and they still do. I fucking idolized you, man.”

This time Ilya scoffed. “I am not so much older than you, Barrett.”

“I just mean, when I played junior, everyone wanted to be like you. Guys like Hunter and Hollander, they’re amazing, but you look like you’re having fun out there, y’know? You’re a leader, but you’re also, like, cool.”

Ilya’s eyebrows shot up. “Cool?”

Troy’s lips curled into something that was almost a smile. “Compared to Hunter and Hollander.”

Ilya laughed out loud, which made Troy laugh. “Wow,” Ilya said. “Is that a compliment?”

“Totally.”

“I am hotter than them too.”

Troy raked his gaze over Ilya appraisingly, and for an uncomfortable moment, Ilya thought he may have come here to seduce him. Then Troy wrinkled his nose and said, “Meh. I wouldn’t say that.”

They both laughed again, and Ilya hit him with a pillow.

“I am no Harris,” Ilya teased.

Troy’s cheeks darkened. “Shut up.”

“Why? Is cute.”

“It’s embarrassing. I can’t believe you know about that.” Troy buried his face in the pillow Ilya had hit him with.

“Harris should know about it,” Ilya said.

“No way. Never.”

“That is dumb. He is nuts about you.”

“Well, then he’s dumb.” Troy settled the pillow in his lap, then started nervously kneading it with one hand. “You think he likes me, though?”

“I am never wrong about these things.” He wasn’t lying. Ilya had always been an expert at detecting when someone was attracted to him, or to anyone else. Harris was definitely crushing on Troy.

Attraction, sex. Those things were easy. Relationships, feelings, love. Ilya was still working on how to navigate that stuff.

Troy left when the movie ended, which was far later than either of them should have been awake with a game to play in New Jersey tomorrow, but again, Ilya was a bad captain.

A tiny voice in his head, that maybe sounded a bit like Shane, told him that bad captains don’t make new teammates feel comfortable coming out to them. Or feel comfortable knocking on their captain’s hotel room door in the middle of the night just to hang out.

When Ilya was in bed, but before he went to sleep, he typed out a text to Shane: I’m sorry.

He deleted it. He wasn’t really sorry for anything. Instead he wrote, I miss you, then deleted that too.

After staring at his phone for several minutes, he typed a red heart emoji, and sent it.

He was surprised when Shane replied almost right away. He’d expected Shane to be asleep.

Shane: I’ve been working on an apology text for over an hour.

Ilya smiled and wrote, How many words do you have?

Shane: Too many. I’m really sorry about what I said. I’m glad you told Troy. I’m glad you have a friend you trust.

Ilya felt immediately lighter. He wrote, Thank you. It feels good, to have someone know.

Shane: I was being a jealous prick.

Ilya: I know. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added, He is very hot. I understand.

Shane: You’re the worst.

Ilya: Maybe he is up for that threesome you pretend you don’t want.

Shane: Good night, Ilya.

Ilya: Would be a nice Christmas present…

He watched the three dots for what seemed like forever as Shane typed. Finally, Shane’s reply appeared: For Troy, maybe.