Page 96 of Heated Rivalry 1
“Yes. Hereditary.”
Neither man said anything for a moment.
“Listen, Ilya—”
“What about your bedroom? What is it like?”
Shane didn’t want to talk about his stupid bedroom, but he understood what Ilya was doing. He left his living room and headed for the bedroom.
“It’s nice. Pretty basic. I mean, it’s enormous. Big windows. But not much in it.”
“What color is your bed? The blanket?”
“Blue. Like, navy blue.”
“I knew it.”
Shane smiled and sat on the bed.
“Do you have books? In your room?”
“A few.”
“What are you reading? What one is beside your bed?”
“A book about the 1972 Canada/Russia series, actually.”
Ilya laughed. “Do you read books that are not about hockey?”
“Sometimes,” Shane said. “I mean, no. Not very often.”
“You are obsessed.”
“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe. In a different way.”
Shane picked up the book and flicked the end of the bookmark with his finger. It had been nestled between pages forty-one and forty-two for over a month. “Hockey has always been everything to me. For as long as I can remember.”
“It has been for me as well. But...more as like...an escape. Is that right to say? My brain is not good right now.”
“Yes,” Shane said quietly. “An escape. That’s right. It was never an escape for me. It was just what I loved to do.”
“I love it also,” Ilya said. “Hockey is...fun. And I am very good at it.”
Shane laughed. And Ilya laughed.
“Is wild how much money they pay me to play this game,” Ilya said.
“Tell me about it,” Shane agreed.
“I don’t want to come back here.”
Shane was confused by the sudden topic change. “To Russia, you mean?”
“Da. I want to become American. Or Canadian. But I am in America, so...”
In that moment, Shane wished like hell that Ilya played for a Canadian team.
