The Long Game: A Gay Sports Romance (Game Changers Book 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.

Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “And when will that be?”

“July,” Shane said, even though they hadn’t officially decided. He glanced at Ilya. “Makes sense, right? Maybe the week before camps start?”

“Sure,” Ilya said easily. “Whenever.”

Scott blew out a breath. “Jesus. This is really weird. Sorry.”

“Why?” Ilya asked. “Because we are both men?”

“What?” Scott sputtered. “No! Because…you know what? Fuck you, Rozanov.”

Ilya laughed, then stood and extended his hand to Scott. “You are a good guy, Hunter.” When Scott took his hand, Ilya pulled Scott to his feet and, without really thinking about it, wrapped him in a hug. Scott let out a surprised-sounding “Oh,” when his enormous body collided with Ilya’s.

“Well,” Shane said. “There’s something I never thought I’d see.”

Scott laughed and stepped out of the embrace. “Funny. I said the exact same thing when I saw you guys kissing in that video.”

“I want to be friends,” Ilya said simply. The truth was, he’d always had a lot of respect for Scott, and there was no reason to pretend otherwise. Being honest felt great. He’d have to tell Galina about it.

“Me too,” Scott said. Then he grinned and added, “After this series ends, of course.”

Ilya smiled back. “I will be busy in the semifinals after that.”

“Dream on, Rozanov.”

In the end, New York won the series against Ottawa four games to one, knocking Ottawa out of the playoffs. The Centaurs and their fans were disappointed, but optimistic about the team’s future.

On the plane home from New York, immediately after the game, Ilya felt himself start to spiral. He was frustrated about the loss, but it was more than that. He wanted to fucking disappear. He didn’t want his teammates to look at him, he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He was exhausted and he couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be exhausted.

It was a tiny bit devastating to learn that none of the changes he’d made in his life—therapy, winning, getting a dog, coming out to friends and teammates about his sexuality and his relationship with Shane, getting engaged—had fixed him. Even with so much to be happy about, he was almost hoping for the plane to crash for real this time.

No. Of course he didn’t want that. He just needed to get home to his own bed, and stay there forever.

“Hey,” said a voice, and Ilya turned away from the window to see Troy leaning on the empty seat between Ilya and the aisle. “Can I sit for a minute?”

“Yes. Sure.”

“You sticking around Ottawa this summer? Besides the camp in Montreal, I mean?”

Ilya almost told Troy about the wedding plans, but didn’t feel like sharing that right now. Instead, he said, “Usually we go to Shane’s cottage. Is on a lake, maybe two hours from Ottawa.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you? Ottawa? Home to Vancouver?”

Troy wrinkled his nose. “Definitely not Vancouver. I’m going to look for a house outside Ottawa. Somewhere Chiron can run around.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows. “You are going to live with Harris, then?”

Troy’s cheeks pinked. “Yeah. I know it’s super fucking soon, but yeah.”

Ilya smiled. “Is Harris. Why wait? He is perfect for you.”

“He really is.” Troy’s face shifted into a dreamy expression that he quickly shook off. “So anyway, if Anya needs someone to play with, me and Harris are around all summer.”

God, it was nice to finally have friends who knew about Shane. “Thank you,” Ilya said sincerely. “Maybe you guys could come to the cottage for a visit. It is very nice. And, like, huge.”

Troy smiled. “That sounds cool.”

He left shortly after, and Ilya felt a bit lighter for a few minutes. He wished he knew how to make the good feelings last.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Ilya pulled into his driveway, but Shane was waiting right inside the front door, Anya barking happily at his feet.

“She’s missed you,” Shane said. “But she’s surprisingly easy to take care of, y’know?”

“Because she is the best.” Ilya bent to scratch her head. His hand was trembling for some reason. “I missed you too, sweet girl. I am done traveling for a long time now.”

He stood to meet Shane, who was studying his face with obvious concern.

“What?” Ilya asked.

Shane opened his arms. “Come here.”

Ilya’s face crumpled before he was in his embrace. He sobbed against Shane’s shoulder, not even knowing why. Shane held him and stroked his hair and shushed his apologies.

When he’d finished crying, Ilya felt empty and so fucking tired. Shane took him up to bed. Anya followed.

“No,” Shane said firmly when Anya jumped on the bed. He pointed to her dog bed in the corner. “She kept trying to sleep with me. I think she hates me because I won’t let her.”

“Is good, probably,” Ilya sighed. “I am too soft with her.”

Shane rested a hand on Ilya’s cheek. “You’re soft with everyone you love.”

Ilya’s lips curved up. “Don’t tell anyone.”

They both got undressed, freshened up, and got into bed. Shane gently kissed Ilya’s cheeks and forehead, and finally the corner of his mouth. “I missed you so much,” he whispered.

“Yes. Me too.”

They gazed at each other, a few inches apart on the bed.

“I like seeing the playoff beard again,” Shane said, stroking his fingers over the thick hair that now covered the lower half of Ilya’s face. “Been a while.”

“Should I leave it?”

“Maybe for a bit. It’s sexy.”

Ilya closed his eyes and enjoyed the soothing brushes of Shane’s fingertips. “Shane,” he said quietly after a couple of minutes. “If we are getting married—”

“If? Of course we are.”

Ilya swallowed. “You need to know, then.”

“Know what?”

Ilya opened his eyes. “I am not okay.”

“With what?”

“I am…maybe like my mother. Depressed. Sometimes. And it is not fixed. It might not be something to fix.”

Shane looked surprised, but he covered it quickly. “Okay.”

“You cannot blame yourself, if it…gets bad.”

Shane propped himself up on an elbow. “Ilya. Are you saying you think about, like—”

“No. Not really. I don’t know. I feel like I could think about it. Okay?”

Shane blinked a few times. “Okay,” he whispered.

“The therapy helps, and we have talked about maybe trying some medication. And how that might be hard at first, with side effects. Is hard to find the right pills, the right amount. I need a doctor for the pills, though. I think I will talk to Terry—he is the team doctor.”

“You think he’d be okay with prescribing antidepressants?” Shane asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

“I think our team doctor would be weird about it.”

“Then your team doctor is bad.”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “Maybe.”

He stroked Ilya’s hair, and Ilya’s eyelids began to droop.

“I hate that you feel like that sometimes, Ilya,” Shane said softly. “I hate that you have to fight yourself. But you’re never going to scare me off, okay? And I’m never giving up on you, or on us. So whatever you need, I’m right here.”

“What if there is nothing you can do?” Ilya asked in a small, scared voice. “What if you can’t help?”

Shane’s features shifted into his Hockey Captain face—determined and fearless. “Then I’ll be standing by until I can.” He kissed Ilya’s forehead. “I’m marrying you, Ilya. I want to have kids with you. I want to be your date when we’re inducted into the Hall of Fame. I love you so much.”

They kissed, and Shane said, “What do you need right now?”

“Sleep,” Ilya answered honestly. “In the morning, probably coffee.” He grinned impishly. “And maybe five or six blowjobs.”

Shane smiled so wide his eyes crinkled. “Blowjobs aren’t a cure for depression, Ilya.”

“Are you a doctor now?”

Shane laughed and kissed him again. “Go to sleep, idiot.”