Chapter Eighteen #2
Shane sat up, and moved to leave the bed, when he remembered. “Hey, um. Are you...all right?”
“Hm?”
“Are you okay? I mean... I know we don’t really...talk. But if you need to—”
“I’m fine,” Ilya said. He said it calmly and easily. Shane didn’t buy it.
“Is it...is your dad...”
Ilya sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. “My father is dying. But that is not the problem.”
“Oh.”
“It is Polina. My stepmother. She is...” He twisted his hand around in the air, searching for the word.
“Sad?” Shane guessed.
Ilya laughed darkly. “No. She is...planning. For her future. My father does not have any money left.”
“Oh.”
“She has been calling me.”
“Ah.” Shane understood now.
“She wants money. They all want money. My brother. My father before he...”
Shane reached over and took Ilya’s hand. “Will you give them any?”
“I already have. Plenty of it. They want more.” He laughed again. “They don’t give a shit about me or my career. They just know I make a lot of money.”
“I’m sorry.” Shane brushed a thumb over Ilya’s knuckles.
“The last time I talked to my father on the phone was a couple of weeks ago. He asked if I could pick up some bread on the way home.”
Shane didn’t know what to say. It was truly heartbreaking.
“The worst part is...” Ilya said quietly, “I like talking to him better. Like this. He was a real fucking asshole when he was...himself.”
“Are you going back to Russia this summer?”
Ilya shrugged. “Yes.”
“Do you...have to?”
“You should leave,” Ilya said abruptly. He didn’t sound annoyed or angry. Just tired, and maybe a little sad. He pulled his fingers away from Shane’s.
“I know. But...”
“Go. I didn’t ask you to come over to talk.”
“Well...you can. If you ever want to. I mean, you can just call me. Or text. Or if we’re in the same city and you want to just talk instead of...”
Ilya cracked a crooked grin at that. “Instead of?”
“As well as?”
“I like that better.”
He leaned forward and kissed Shane. It was as soft and sweet a kiss as Shane had ever received from anyone.
“I apologize in advance for tonight,” Shane murmured. “We’re gonna destroy you guys.”
“Dream on, Hollander.”
Ilya made sure that Boston won the game. Not a trouncing, but a respectable two-goal lead when the final siren rang to end the game. Ilya scored twice, Shane had scored once. Ilya’s favorite kind of game.
He had every intention of meeting up with Hollander tonight, even though they’d already stolen an hour together that afternoon.
He still knew, in the back of his mind, that this thing with Shane needed to end.
That it couldn’t be more than sex. But somehow it had just evolved on its own, and suddenly he no longer worried about looking too eager.
He could admit to himself that he wanted to see Shane as much as possible, and he found that he wasn’t worried about letting Shane know it anymore.
For now, at least. The day would come when they would have to end it, but for now Ilya was happy to steal as many moments as possible.
He said good-night to his remaining teammates, and left the arena. He was looking at his phone as he walked out of the players’ entrance, trying to decide what obnoxious jab he should text to Hollander, when the phone started ringing.
It was his brother.
Ilya almost didn’t answer, but he could think of one reason why his brother might be calling that had nothing to do with money.
He answered.
Shane had been expecting a text from Ilya. He was sitting alone in his hotel room—Hayden had left to call his wife—trying not to let the mistakes of that night’s game haunt him.
He’s not going to text, he told himself. You already saw him today. Why would you see him again?
But he thought maybe Ilya felt the same way about their.
..well, not relationship, but...arrangement?
That maybe Ilya liked spending time with Shane.
That they weren’t just doing this because it was, in its own complicated way, convenient.
Or dirty, or wrong, or irresistibly hot.
That maybe Ilya’s stomach fluttered with excitement too, every time their teams were scheduled to meet.
That maybe Ilya was also sometimes randomly struck by a memory of a teasing remark, or a smile, or of gentle fingers stroking his hair, and would have to hide his giddy little smile.
That maybe he watched Shane’s games and was secretly proud when Shane did well. Because that’s how Shane felt when Ilya had a good night. Which was ridiculous.
Shane waited until midnight and Ilya still didn’t text him. He thought about being the one to make contact, but decided against it. Wanting to hook up with Ilya twice in one day was nuts. And it was way too late at night now anyway. They were flying to Detroit in the morning.
Shane lay awake for a while, staring into the darkness, wondering if it was that Ilya hadn’t wanted to see him again, or if maybe something had happened that had kept Ilya from texting.
He decided that he was making a big deal out of nothing, and eventually fell asleep.