Page 150 of Heated Rivalry 1
“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 becloser 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.”
Theyhadmet properly, once, since then, but it hadn’t 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.”
Ithadseemed 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.”
