Page 124 of Heated Rivalry 1
“I don’t know.”
“You said they are the best.”
Shane looked up. “They are. I mean... I think they would be fine with it. I know they would be, really. They love me. They’ve always supported me. They aren’t homophobic at all, I don’t think. It’s just not something we’ve ever really talked about.”
“Maybe you should.”
Shane turned and picked up a plate that he started piling burger patties on. “Sometimes I think I would have told them by now. If it wasn’t for...”
Ilya raised an eyebrow that Shane couldn’t see. “This is my fault?”
“No. Yes. Sort of. I just think...if I had anormaldating life or whatever. I mean, still dating men, but not...doing whatever we’re doing. With, you know,you.”
“You don’t want to tell your parents that you are fucking Ilya Rozanov?”
Shane sputtered out a laugh. “No. I definitely do not want to have to explainthatto them.”
“Why would you, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“You can tell your parents that you are gay, I think, without telling them the names of men you are fucking. I am pretty sure about this.”
“I know! I know. But...” Shane sighed. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Let’s eat these burgers before they get cold.”
Ilya wanted to push him to say more, but instead he just followed Shane to the table.
The truth was that Shane thought about Ilya meeting his parents alot.
He was kind of obsessed with the idea.
He couldn’t even form a clear thought about why it was so important to him. For one thing, it was an absurd, terrible idea and there was absolutely no reason why he should want it to happen.
He had even imagined benign scenarios where they are at a function—maybe the NHL Awards—and Shane just casually says, “Mom. Dad. Have you met Ilya Rozanov?” And they would meet. And they would shake his hand and Ilya would nod politely at them and tell them it was nice to meet them. Then it would be over, and his parents would shake the hand of the next person who approached them and they would have no idea—no idea—how much of a relief it would be for Shane to have witnessed just that simple contact. To know that the two people he loved the most had touched the skin of Ilya Rozanov, and had looked into his eyes, even for a second, and that Shane now had concrete proof that all three of them existed in the same world.
These were the thoughts that kept Shane awake at night. Total and complete madness. His deepest, most closely guarded desire was to just have his parents make contact with the man he’d been secretly fucking for seven years. Part of him felt that, if it happened,somethingwould become clear.Somethingwould finally make sense.
Thereal actual truth—the truth that Shane mentally stomped on every time it dared try to get his attention—was that he wanted Ilya to meet his parents for the same reason anyone wanted their boyfriend to meet their parents: he loved him, and he wanted them to love him too.
Except Ilya wasnotShane’s boyfriend. And, even if he was, if Shane introduced Ilya as his boyfriend they would be beyond confused. For one thing, he supposedly hated Ilya Rozanov. Andtheyhated Ilya Rozanov. And everyone in the whole goddamned world of hockey knew that Shane Hollander hated Ilya Rozanov. So even introducing them formally at the NHL Awards would be weird.
His biggest nightmare was that he and Ilya would be caught together somehow. Paparazzi or whatever. And then the world would know, but more importantly, hisparentswould know. They would find out that their son was gay and their son wasbeing gaywith Ilya Rozanov.
Ilya Rozanov, who, at that moment, was sitting across from Shane at the table on his patio, eating the food Shane had prepared for him. He had mustard on the corner of his lips.
If Shane removed all of the complications of their relationship—the rivalry, the expectations for both of them, the fact that Ilya was kind of a dick—he could just be proud of the fact that the man wasreallyhot. Like, Shane had definitely snagged himself a ten.
That morning, Shane had woken up early because he hadn’t closed the blinds the night before. Sunshine had streamed into the room, reflecting off the white bedsheets, and off the beautiful man who had been wrapped up in them.
Shane had taken advantage of the moment, while Ilya had still been asleep, as an opportunity to drink his fill of him. Ilya had been on his back, his arm draped over his forehead, his long fingers curled against the pillow. Shane had traced a fingertip down that arm, over the swell of Ilya’s bicep, because he couldn’t help it. The morning light was making everything beautiful, and Shane was in love, so he had leaned in and lightly kissed Ilya’s wrist.
When Ilya’s eyes had fluttered open, Shane’s face had been inches away from them. He had seen the initial confusion in Ilya’s expression before it softened into a shy smile.
It had been a perfect morning.
A perfect day, really. They had worked outverycompetitively in Shane’s gym, then lounged by the pool, and eventually headed down to the boathouse. Shane had suggested they take the kayaks out, but that got dropped as soon as Ilya spotted the Jet Skis. The rest of the afternoon had been spent racing around the lake, laughing and soaking each other. Ilya was never happier than when he was in control of a high-speed vehicle.
Although, he had been pretty happy later on, when Shane had pinned him to the wall inside the boathouse and they’d stripped off their bathing suits and taken each other in hand...
