Chapter Sixteen
Shane was nervous. After six and a half seasons, he was used to his fucked-up arrangement with Rozanov, but something felt different now.
Maybe it was because he had finally spoken aloud to someone about his.
..possible preference. Or maybe it was because of the weird way things were left the last time he and Rozanov had been together, in Ilya’s apartment.
Or maybe Shane just felt surer of what he wanted now, after walking away from a relationship that had been almost perfect.
Almost.
He wanted to see Rozanov this weekend. He wanted to be with him, alone, behind closed doors; he was tired of lying to himself about it.
This year, finally, Shane would know what it felt like to play with Ilya Rozanov. Six All-Star Games and this was the first time they had been placed on the same team. Injuries and weird, gimmicky team arrangements that the league kept coming up with had prevented it from happening before.
He wasn’t the only one who was excited about him being Ilya’s teammate. The press was having a field day writing about this monumental event where Shane and Ilya would have to put aside their supposed animosity and learn to work together. Was it even possible, they wondered?
Shane smiled to himself as he hung up his suit in the hotel room closet. If they only knew.
But, truthfully, if he only knew what Ilya was thinking these days. He wasn’t sure if Ilya wanted to end things, or if he wanted to push things further. He really had no idea what to expect from his temporary teammate this weekend.
He glanced at his watch. The team meet-up downstairs was starting in a few minutes.
Shane blew out a breath, then checked himself in the mirror.
Let’s do this.
Ilya hadn’t texted Hollander in over two months.
Not that they had ever regularly contacted each other before, but this silence had been particularly deafening. The past few weeks had been the first time that Ilya felt sure that, if he texted him, Shane wouldn’t reply.
Shane would probably show the text to his movie star girlfriend, and they would laugh at how pathetic Ilya was.
No. That wouldn’t happen. Of course Shane wouldn’t do that.
Maybe.
Ilya fumbled his package of nicotine gum out of his pocket and popped a piece in his mouth. Had Shane brought his girlfriend to All-Star weekend? Would he introduce her to Ilya?
God.
Ilya ran out of time to fret, because at that moment, Hollander walked into the bar. Every head turned. Some guys actually stood up, for fuck’s sake.
Ilya leaned against the bar and watched Shane shake hands and clap guys on the back. He watched him smile and laugh with everyone. He looked relaxed and confident, like a man who had gotten his life together. Like a man who didn’t question himself anymore. He looked...
Christ, he looks so fucking good.
Maybe Rose had taken him shopping or something.
Suddenly he was dressing like the millionaire he was.
He had on a white, button-up linen shirt, open at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up.
They were in Florida, after all. It was tucked into slate blue pants that fit him perfectly.
The outfit was finished with a woven belt and some stylish gray sneakers with no socks.
Ilya was wearing shorts, and a shirt that was covered in palm trees because he’d thought it would be funny. Now he felt like a fucking idiot.
He ordered another drink just so he’d stop staring at Shane.
He cursed himself for feeling so gloomy. It should be a fun weekend; the hotel was a fucking beach resort.
Someone moved into the space next to him at the bar. Without looking, Ilya knew it was Hollander.
“Hey, teammate,” Shane said.
“Hello, Captain,” Ilya said, because Shane had been selected as the captain of their All-Star team. Of course.
Shane flagged the bartender down and Ilya noticed the expensive watch on his wrist. A gift from Rose, maybe?
“So this should be fun, huh?” Shane said. “Always wondered what it would be like to play on the same team.”
“Have you?”
“Nice that it’s in Florida this year, eh?”
“Mm.”
Shane’s beer arrived and Ilya watched him take a long haul off the bottle. He watched his throat work as he swallowed.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Did you...bring anyone? With you?” Ilya asked.
Shane shook his head. “No. I mean...my parents thought about it, but they’ve been to so many of these things and they’re already going to Mexico next month, so...”
“Ah.” Rose Landry must be busy filming somewhere.
Shane’s tongue darted out to lick his upper lip. Ilya could have sworn it happened in slow motion.
“Nice shirt,” Shane said with a grin.
“Thought I’d get in the spirit. You know.”
“You can pull it off.” He raked his eyes over Ilya’s body, and Ilya’s heart sped up. “Looks good.”
Ilya probably could have said something similar in return, but he was too busy staring at the hollow of Shane’s throat.
“Jesus, look at this! Fucking beautiful!” A pair of giant arms landed heavily across the shoulders of Ilya and Shane.
The intruder, Mike Brophy—a huge defenseman for New Jersey—pulled Ilya’s and Shane’s heads together.
“This is what it’s all about! Fucking Hollander and Rozanov working together! Love it!”
Shane had managed to pull his head from Brophy’s bicep, and gave the big man a wary smile. “Should be fun, yeah,” he said.
“Don’t listen to a word this fucker says, though,” Brophy said, elbowing Ilya roughly. “Can’t trust this asshole. Whatever he tells you, he’s probably fucking with you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shane said.
Brophy left, with departing arm punches to both of them.
“I think we can expect a lot of that kind of thing this weekend,” Shane said. He turned so he was leaning back against the bar on his elbows.
“They should give us a chance to get to know each other,” Ilya said. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “We might even have something in common.”
Shane smiled at the floor, the color rising in his cheeks.
“You look good too,” Ilya said. “Someone take you shopping?”
Shane looked at him. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone? Or make fun of me?”
Ilya felt an icy stab of dread in his stomach. He braced himself, and said, “Sure.”
“I, uh...” Ilya waited for the words. I’m seeing someone. I’m engaged. I don’t need you anymore. “I hired a personal stylist.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Ilya burst out laughing. “Fuck off!” he said, delighted.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No! I love it! Got tired of looking like shit?”
“I didn’t—” Shane was trying to look angry, but Ilya could tell he was fighting a smile. “I just mostly wore, you know, athletic stuff. I guess. Track pants and T-shirts and stuff. Some guys in the league are so fashionable and I just thought... I could use some help.”
“This has nothing to do with Rose Landry?”
“What? No. I mean...yeah, her friends were all really well dressed all the time. I guess maybe I felt like a slob when we went out together. I’ve never really cared about clothes and I thought... I don’t know. I just want to present myself better. Not always dress like I’m heading to the gym.”
Ilya didn’t miss the past tense of what Shane was saying about going out with Rose, even with his imperfect English. “Are you and her not...”
Shane shook his head. “We’re not. No. It was just a short thing. She’s great. We just weren’t, um...compatible.”
He looked seriously at Ilya then. Ilya wanted to kiss him.
“Anyway,” Shane said, gesturing toward the room with his beer bottle, “I should say hi to everyone.” He stepped away from the bar.
“Right.”
Ilya put his hand over his mouth to hide his ridiculous smile.
It was a fun weekend. Everyone had a lot of free time on Saturday, before the Skills Competition that night. A lot of the guys lounged around the pool, soaking up the Florida sun, or headed to the beach. Shane spent some of the afternoon by the pool.
The league had asked the fans to vote for the All-Star team captains this year, and they had chosen him.
Shane felt a little embarrassed about it because, even though he had been the captain of the Voyageurs for two and a half seasons now and this was his sixth All-Star Game, the honor of being named All-Star team captain normally went to one of the most senior players on the team. Shane was only twenty-five.
But being named captain over Rozanov had felt pretty sweet.
Rozanov was in the pool with a couple of other players and their kids, being loud and goofing around.
Shane was sitting on a deck chair with a bottle of water, shaking his head and smiling as he watched him challenge the kids to a swimming race.
He would “lose” every time, and then he would act outraged and accuse the kids of cheating.
The kids were laughing so hard Shane was worried they might drown.
“Last race!” Ilya announced. “Championship match. Winner takes all! No other races count!”
“No way!” one of the kids yelled at him.
“Come on. One more race. If I lose... I will buy you candy bars from the machine.”
That was enough to get the kids to line up across one end of the pool.
“Hey! Hollander!” Ilya called suddenly. Shane nodded at him.
“You gotta watch, okay?” Ilya said. “Make sure none of these cheaters cheats.”
“Okay.”
“You kids know who that guy is?” Ilya asked.
“Shane Hollander!” most of them said at once.
“Really?” Ilya said, feigning shock. “You’ve heard of that guy?”
They laughed. One of the braver ones said, “He’s the best player in the league!”
“Okay, you’re out of the race. Out of the pool. Out of Florida. Goodbye. Where’s your dad?”
The kids laughed more. Shane laughed too. He wondered if Ilya ever thought about having kids. He was good with them.
Finally the race began. Ilya took an early lead, then pretended to have been attacked by a shark.
“You gotta buy us candy bars!” one of the kids said.
“Aw, damn. Hey, Hollander! I need, like, ten bucks!”