Heated Rivalry (Game Changers Book 2)
Heated Rivalry: Epilogue

Sixteen months later—Montreal

“He tripped me! Hey, what the fuck, ref! That was tripping!”

Shane glared up at the ref, and then at Ilya, who was looming over him in his Ottawa jersey. “You fell,” Ilya said.

“I didn’t fall. It was tripping.”

“Yes. Was you tripping over your own skates.”

“Get fucked, Rozanov.”

Ilya’s lips quirked up. “Was planning on it.”

And now Shane had to bite back a grin. He rose to his knees, then stood, still mad as hell. Ilya had totally tripped him.

The crowd was booing, cursing Ilya’s name, and Shane got up in his face. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Stop falling down.”

Shane jabbed him in the chest with a gloved finger. He heard the crowd roar its approval. “You can’t beat me without cheating.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think?”

Someone grabbed Shane’s arm and pulled him away. “All right, keep it in your pants, you two. Jesus.”

“Hi, Hayden,” Ilya said, grinning.

“I still don’t like you, Rozanov,” Hayden said.

“Oh no!” Ilya mocked him. “How can I impress Montreal’s fifteenth best player?”

“Shane, I’m gonna punch him.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m gonna punch him.”

“No you’re not,” the ref barked. “Get back to your benches, all three of you. It’s a commercial break. Go cool off.”

Ilya winked at Shane and then skated to his bench. Shane could feel his cheeks burning.

“I still can’t believe he’s your…you know,” Hayden grumbled as they headed for their own bench.

“Quiet.”

“I know. I know. Just…it fucks me up, thinking about it.”

“Then don’t!”

“I mean, I could have found you a nice dude, if you had just—”

“Shut it.”

They had reached the bench, and although Shane had come out to his teammates at the start of the season, he hadn’t told any of them about Ilya. Hayden had done the math and figured it out about a month after Shane had told him he was gay.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he had said as they’d walked to their cars after arriving home from a road trip. “You know how you used to go meet up with your mystery man every time we played in Boston? But now you don’t?”

“Um. We, uh…broke up,” Shane had said quickly. And unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh. But you’ve been driving to Ottawa a lot this season.”

“Yeah, my parents live there. I’ve been, um, visiting.”

“Your parents have always lived there, and they drive to Montreal even more than you drive to Ottawa. So I have another theory. I think your mystery man is Ilya Rozanov.”

Shane had been flooded with a mixture of fear and shame, but also relief. He didn’t say anything until they’d reached Hayden’s car, and then he’d blown out a breath and nodded.

Hayden had blanched. “Holy fuck. I was sort of joking. Are you for real…doing stuff…with Rozanov?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, seriously? Did he sign with Ottawa to be closer to you? What the fuck is happening?”

“It’s one reason, yes.”

Hayden had turned and placed both hands on the roof of his car, leaning forward like he was trying to breathe through a cramp. “Shane, this is not good, buddy.”

“It’s not ideal, no. But…I love him.”

Hayden had looked at him, after he’d said that, like Shane had sprouted wings and a tail, and Shane had been sure he’d just lost his best friend. But, instead of yelling at him or getting in his car and speeding away, Hayden had just nodded and said, “I think I need to meet him properly, then.”

They had met properly, a couple of times, since then, but neither time had gone particularly well. Hayden couldn’t think of Ilya as anything but the enemy, and Ilya had responded with relentless snark. So they weren’t exactly friends.

“You sure you wanna do that press conference tomorrow?” Hayden asked. “I mean, no one knows that you guys are friends right now. You could keep it that way.”

“I’m sure.” Shane was definitely sure. He and Ilya had been planning for tomorrow for over a year.

He had sold the hookup building, and Ilya had sold (most of) his car collection. With the combined earnings, they’d started the Irina Foundation. Tomorrow, at a hotel conference room downtown, they would be announcing, and, more importantly, explaining the foundation they had created together.

“It’s a good cause, I suppose,” Hayden sighed. “I apologize in advance if Rozanov has a black eye for the press conference.”

“Please don’t punch him.”

“I’ll make a deal: if he stops being a fucking dick, I won’t punch him.”

Shane grimaced. Ilya was definitely going to have a black eye tomorrow.

Ilya found Shane in the bathroom down the hall from the conference room. He was gripping the counter and staring down into one of the sinks.

“Relax, Hollander,” Ilya said. He was probably as nervous as Shane was, really, but Shane was much worse at hiding it. Ilya put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and rubbed gently, careful not to wrinkle his light gray suit jacket.

“I’m nervous,” Shane said unnecessarily.

“I know.”

“We’ve been planning for this day for over a year and now it’s here and I’m scared. I don’t even know why!”

“Our plan has worked perfectly so far,” Ilya said.

“Too perfectly. I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

It had seemed too easy, so far. When Ilya’s contract had ended with Boston, Ottawa had been all too happy to sign him. Ilya had bought a large, private house on the edge of the Ottawa River with a four-car garage. The garage currently held two sports cars and a very sensible Mercedes SUV. (“Is good in snow,” Ilya had explained sheepishly when he’d first shown it to Shane. “For driving between Ottawa and Montreal.”)

They had agreed that it would be easier to continue in secret if they weren’t both living in apartment buildings, so Shane had bought a house in Brossard that was still close to the team’s practice facility.

Ilya wrapped his arms around his boyfriend now, to pull him back against his chest. Shane met his eyes in the mirror. “Your cheek looks better than I thought it would.”

“Is still sore.”

“Serves you right. You were an asshole to Hayden.”

“Hayden is an asshole to me.”

Shane sighed. “I have terrible taste in men. For friends and boyfriends.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against Ilya’s shoulder.

“Will be fine,” Ilya said. He kissed Shane’s temple and nuzzled his hair.

“Don’t mess my hair up,” Shane murmured, but he was smiling.

“Jesus.” Ilya turned his head to see Hayden standing just inside the door with his hand over his eyes. “I’m still not used to that. You guys know this is, like, a public bathroom, right?”

Ilya dropped his arms, and Shane stepped away. Hayden was right. Shane and Ilya weren’t even out, publically, as gay and bisexual, let alone as a couple. They’d agreed that they wanted their private lives to be their own, and they would only tell the people they wanted to include in that life. So far, it was a very small circle. A small circle that, much to Ilya’s chagrin, included Hayden.

“Anyway,” Hayden said, looking at the wall and not at them, “Shane, your mom asked me to look for you. They fixed the audio problem, so you can start any time.”

“Okay, thanks. We’ll be right out.”

Hayden nodded. “I’ll stand outside the door, but you have, like, two minutes, tops, all right? Don’t, y’know, start anything.”

Ilya knew Shane was rolling his eyes. “We won’t. Geez, Hayd.”

When the door was closed, Ilya laughed. “He thinks you can’t come in two minutes?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ilya grabbed his hand and pulled him close. “I want to tell you, before we do this, that I am…very happy today. My mother would have really liked this. And I think she is with me today. And proud.”

Oh, oops. Now Shane’s eyes were glistening. “She has so many reasons to be proud of you, Ilya.”

Ilya smiled at him. “I need to kiss you here, or else I will do it out there.”

“Okay.”

He held Shane’s face in his hands and gazed at him for a few seconds before leaning in and kissing the hell out of him.

“I love you,” Ilya said.

“I love you too.”

Ilya nodded. “Remember that when I am being a dick to you out there.”

Shane grinned and kissed him again. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

The room was packed with people who were dying to see what announcement Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov would be making together. Shane wasn’t sure what rumors had been stirred up by this press conference, but it was time to end the suspense.

They had agreed that Shane would do most of the talking. Ilya was by no means shy, but Shane knew he was uneasy making long speeches in English. Besides, Shane wanted to make sure everything was said in both English and French, since both Montreal and Ottawa were bilingual cities.

“Ilya and I have been competing against each other for over eight seasons. A lot has been said, and written, about our rivalry. About what makes us different as players, and as people. But I don’t say enough how much I respect Ilya, not only as one of the best players in the NHL, but as a person. He is a great leader, a fierce competitor, and an amazing goal scorer. But over the years I have also gotten to know him off the ice, and I consider him a friend.”

That statement alone created a swell of murmurs throughout the room.

Shane read through the words again, in French this time, and then continued. “When Ilya signed with Ottawa, we began talking about creating a charity together. Today that dream is a reality. The Irina Foundation will raise money and awareness for organizations that provide support, counseling, and assistance for people who are suffering from depression and other mental illnesses that can lead to suicide. It’s a cause that is important to both of us, and I am very happy and proud to be working with Ilya to create something that can hopefully help a lot of people.”

He translated in French, and as he finished, he heard Ilya clear his throat.

“Ah, I can only say my part in English.” He smiled, which made the audience laugh. “This is not in the notes, but I want to say that the Irina Foundation is named for my mother. She battled depression without help for many years. She had no support, no medical treatment. When she…”

Shane didn’t think. He just reached out a hand and placed it on Ilya’s forearm, where it rested on the table. He hadn’t expected Ilya to say any of this, but looking at Ilya now, Shane knew he needed to say it.

“My mother died when I was twelve years old. She lost her battle. This foundation is for her. It is to help people like her, so they do not have to fight alone.”

Ilya looked down at the table and sniffed. Shane patted his arm, wishing he could hold his hand or kiss his hair. His chest felt tight, and his eyes burned.

After a long moment where you could have heard a pin drop in the crowded room, Shane spoke. “Thank you, Ilya.”

He went on to explain the hockey camps they would be hosting in Montreal and in Ottawa that summer, with all proceeds going directly to the foundation. He named some of the organizations they planned to focus on when they made their first donations, and he announced his mother, Yuna, as the director and treasurer of the foundation. Neither he nor Ilya could imagine a better person for the job.

He ended by talking about their website, where people could make donations online, and then opened the floor to questions.

When it was over, Shane pulled Ilya out of the room. He texted Hayden. Need you to guard the door again.

Shane herded Ilya into the bathroom and pushed him back against the door as soon as it closed. He confirmed that the room was empty, and then said, “Oh my god. Come here.” He stood on his tiptoes and kissed him. “I didn’t think you’d say any of that.”

“Neither did I.”

They kissed again, completely unhurried, and Shane really hoped Hayden had gotten his text.

“I wanted to kiss you out there,” Ilya said.

“I wanted to climb into your lap out there. I’m so fucking proud of you, Ilya. I’m…proud to be with you. I want you to know that, even if we keep it a secret, I’m proud to be with you.”

“I know. Me too. When the time is right, we will stop being a secret.”

Shane still wasn’t sure when that would be. They had talked about waiting until one or both of them had retired, but that seemed like much too long a wait. Shane felt he could easily play for another ten years at least.

“Are you sure you need to go back to Ottawa today?”

“Yes. And you are flying to Chicago tonight.”

“I know,” Shane sighed.

“This is why I want my pilot license. Would be faster.”

Shane groaned. “Please don’t get your pilot license. I will be very mad if you fly into a mountain and die.”

“Aw. Sweet.”

There was a knock on the door, followed by Hayden’s voice. “Hey, uh, could you guys wrap it up, maybe? I kinda need to get in there for legitimate bathroom reasons.”

Ilya sighed and stepped aside, and Shane opened the door.

“Good press conference, guys,” Hayden said as he strode past them toward the urinals. “Sorry about your mother, Ilya. That sucks.”

Ilya gave Shane a look that said this is your best friend? Shane ignored him.

“You think it went okay?” Shane asked Hayden.

“For sure. It’s like, powerful, right? Rivals coming together for a greater cause. I mean, no one in that room knows you guys are all in love and shit.” He finished at the urinal and went to wash his hands. “But the way you were looking at Ilya, Shane, I thought people were gonna figure it out. Hell, I thought you were gonna start sucking face in front of the whole world. Like Hunter.”

“No way,” said Shane.

“We have better control than Scott Hunter.”

Hayden flicked the water off his hands, then rubbed them on his pants. “Would have been memorable, though.”

“Not really what we wanted the focus to be today,” Shane said.

“Okay, well, I’ve gotta take the twins to a birthday party, so I have to split.” Hayden stepped forward and hugged Shane. Then, with some hesitation, he extended his hand to Ilya.

Ilya shook it, then patted him on the back. “Thank you, Hayden.”

“Yeah, well…sorry about your face, I guess. Not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“Is okay. My face can heal. Your face, however…”

“All right,” Shane interrupted. “That’s enough. Bye, Hayden.” He shoved Hayden out the door and then turned to Ilya. “I’m gonna go replace Mom. Come replace me in a bit, okay?”

“Yes. I will.”

Ilya found himself in the same position Shane had been in earlier: gripping the bathroom counter, staring into the sink, deep in thought.

His life was so close to perfect now, even with the secrets he was keeping. Secrets he was letting go of, like balloons, one at a time. Now the world knew he and Shane were friends. Now the world knew the truth about his mother’s death. He imagined he would be hearing from Andrei about that, but he really didn’t care. His brother had only called him a couple of times since their father’s funeral, and only to ask for money, which Ilya had refused.

Fuck Andrei. Ilya had a better family now.

Shane’s parents had come over for dinner last night at Shane’s house, and there had been a moment—when Ilya had spilled some cooking wine and Shane had wordlessly handed him a cloth—that Ilya had been struck by how right it all felt. To be at home, with this man he loved, making food together for Shane’s family. The family who had been so warm and welcoming to Ilya, once the initial shock had worn off.

Ilya hadn’t been kidding about wanting to marry him. And not for citizenship, of course. He wanted to be Shane’s husband, and to live together, and maybe even raise children together. Not as many children as Hayden had, but, like, a reasonable number.

Ilya had been snarky about Scott Hunter’s lack of self-control, but sometimes he was dying to do the same thing. He would fantasize about grabbing Shane at the end of a game and kissing him, right there on the ice in front of everyone. Just get it over with and out there and anyone who had a problem with it could fuck off.

Baby steps, Ilya reminded himself.

The All-Star Game was coming up, though, and he and Shane would be on the same team again. Ilya was only about sixty percent sure he wouldn’t kiss Shane against the boards if he scored a goal off of a pass from him.

Ilya smiled at his reflection in the mirror and smoothed his tie. He would have to warn Shane about the possibility of being kissed at the All-Star Game, just to stress him out.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and a message popped up. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.

Ilya wrote back right away. Never.

He had a surprise for Shane, actually. He had booked a room in this hotel. They had less than two hours before Ilya needed to hit the road, but after years of practice they were good at making the most of an hour or two of privacy.

1126, he texted, and waited for Shane’s reply.

Shane: Seriously?! Best news ever. See you soon.

Ilya chuckled, set an alarm on his phone, and went to meet his boyfriend.