Page 127 of Heated Rivalry 1
He felt Shane’s body tense. He was sure Shane couldn’t even imagine such a thing. Not in his perfect little family.
“Ilya,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Ilya pursed his lips and shook his head. The fire was looking very blurry now.
“How old were you?” Shane asked.
“Twelve.” And then, somehow, words scraped their way out of Ilya’s throat that he had never shared with anyone before. “I found her.”
His voice broke on the last word, and Shane was on his feet, hauling Ilya up with him. Shane engulfed him in his arms and held him tight, letting Ilya bury his face on his shoulder.
“I don’t want you to think she was weak,” Ilya said. “She wasn’t. She was...amazing. But she was so sad. And my father was so hard on her and...”
Ilya didn’t cry. Not really. He wiped quickly at his eyes to remove the moisture and just breathed Shane in. He smelled like wood smoke because everything around them smelled like wood smoke, and it made Ilya want a cigarette.
But mostly he just wanted to hold Shane close to him in this place where no one would ever find them. He wanted to stand in the spotlight of the campfire under the endless stars and feel Shane’s fingers stroking his hair and not think about his horrible father or his wonderful, desperately sad mother. He didn’t want to think about hockey, or rivalries, or what was going to happen when these two weeks were over.
“You’re so strong,” Shane murmured in his ear. He kissed his temple. “You’re incredible. I—”
Ilya held his breath.
And then another fucking loon screamed over their heads. And both men completely lost it. They held each other as they shook with laughter. It was a wonderful relief to laugh after all that.
They sat back down, but this time Shane tucked himself into Ilya with his legs pulled up on the bench. Ilya wrapped an arm around him and kissed the top of his head.
“Is there more wood for the fire?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah. There’s lots.”
“Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“What the fuck? You can’t pick Montreal!”
“I just did,” Ilya pointed out, gesturing his PlayStation controller at the television.
“Well then... I’m picking Boston.”
“Good choice.”
“I’m going to fucking destroy you.”
“Iamyou.”
“You aren’t anything,” Shane grumbled.
Ilya laughed and nudged him hard. “I’m on the cover of the game.”
Shane shoved him against the arm of the couch. “Big deal.”
They had barely gotten past the first puck drop when Shane’s phone rang.
Shane glanced at it and frowned. “It’s Hayden. I should get it.”
Ilya rolled his eyes and hit pause.
Hayden.
