Chapter Twenty-Three
Shane drummed his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel.
He wished he could have gone into the airport to greet Ilya properly, but one of them alone in the airport would turn enough heads; the two of them together would be pandemonium.
He pulled his ball cap down lower and watched the rearview mirror.
He was still in shock that Ilya had accepted his invitation, though he supposed he had Scott Hunter to thank for that.
Hunter had come out, very publicly, the night he had won the Stanley Cup.
He had also spoken about it openly in interviews that night, and even more openly in his speech at the NHL Awards last week.
Shane had watched that speech...a few times.
He wished he could have been at the awards to see it in person, but it seemed like an unnecessary burden on his freshly healed body to fly to Las Vegas.
But still, he would have liked to have shaken Hunter’s hand.
Instead, he had sent him an email. He had written several drafts of the email before sending one that simply acknowledged Hunter’s bravery. He had chosen his words carefully, because he didn’t have Hunter’s courage. Not yet, anyway.
But maybe Hunter would figure out what Shane was actually trying to say anyway.
Having an NHL player come out as gay for the first time was exciting, but a player on every team in the league could come out and it still wouldn’t help Shane’s situation.
Being gay—or whatever—was not really the thing that would create a scandal.
Fucking your biggest rival over the course of your entire NHL career was something that no one would understand.
Not one person. Shane felt that even Scott Hunter, the NHL’s new poster boy for acceptance and tolerance, would be alarmed if he knew what he’d been up to with Ilya.
They would be a joke. If the world found out about them, that was all they would be: the depraved hockey players who secretly fucked each other.
And Shane didn’t want to be that. At all.
He wanted to be the best hockey player in the world, and he wanted to be in a relationship with the man he could finally admit he was in love with, without shame or fear.
But he couldn’t. All he could have were these two weeks alone with Ilya, hiding where no one would find them.
He heard the wheels of the rolling duffel bag before he saw Ilya in the mirror, crossing the parking garage.
Shane considered getting out of the car, but decided to stay where he was.
Once they were at the cottage they would be safe, but there was no point in blowing it now.
He just needed to make it out of Ottawa without anyone noticing that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were hanging out together in July.
As Ilya got closer, Shane saw that he too had his ball cap pulled low, and was wearing large aviator sunglasses. Shane wondered if anyone had recognized him inside the airport.
He popped the back of the SUV so Ilya could load his bag in. They didn’t say a word to each other until Ilya slid into the passenger seat. “What the fuck are you driving, Hollander?”
“A Jeep Cherokee.”
Ilya snorted.
“What? It’s practical!”
“You’re a millionaire.”
“What’s wrong with a Cherokee?” Shane asked, starting the engine. “It’s good in the snow. It holds lots of stuff. It’s a good car.”
“Is good if you are a dad in the suburbs.”
“Better than a stupid sports car where my knees are over my damn head.”
“Hm.”
They didn’t talk again until Shane had exited the parking garage. “Good flight?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“It takes about two hours to get to the cottage.”
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry or anything? We could stop and one of us could...”
Ilya shrugged.
“I think you’ll like the cottage,” Shane said. “It’s really relaxing.”
“Is that what we are going to do?” Ilya asked. “Relax?”
Shane swallowed. He turned onto the on-ramp for the highway.
“I hope so,” he said finally. “I would like to relax with you. For once.”
He glanced over for a second. Ilya was looking out the passenger-side window.
“I stocked up on groceries yesterday,” Shane said. “We shouldn’t need to...leave. Very often.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Shane wondered if Ilya was as panicked as he suddenly was. Two weeks. Alone together. Possibly constantly alone together.
What the hell had he been thinking when he’d suggested this?
“Thank you,” Ilya said suddenly. “For inviting me.”
Shane felt his panic subside. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am also glad. But...terrified, right?”
Shane laughed, relieved. “Yeah. Me too.”
They both knew this was a point of no return. More so even than the first time they had kissed, or fucked. This was a new frontier, a new level of intimacy.
“Did anyone recognize you in the airport?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Shane nodded. “The cottage is way down a private road. We’ll be totally alone there.”
“No family coming to visit?”
“No, I, uh, I told them I need a couple of weeks of solitude. I told them it was a, I don’t know, psychological thing. Like a mental training meditation thing.”
“So sneaky.”
“We won’t be bothered.”
He noticed Ilya chewing on his thumbnail.
“I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this,” Shane said.
“Yes. Me too.”
Shane smiled and took one hand off the steering wheel. He reached over and Ilya quickly tangled their fingers together and squeezed.
Two weeks. For two weeks they could pretend that their situation wasn’t impossible.
Ilya was hit with a sudden wave of “holy shit, this is really happening” when Shane parked the car in front of the large lake house that Ilya had seen profiled on television.
Ilya was pretty sure a cottage was usually a lot smaller than this giant, stone-front house, but it was certainly, as Shane had promised, remote. He didn’t think he had ever been anywhere quite like this before; somewhere that he could truly let his guard down and not worry about being recognized.
No wonder Hollander loved it.
Hollander, he realized, had removed Ilya’s bag from the trunk and was carrying it toward the house, as if Ilya was his visiting aunt or something.
“I can carry my own bag.”
Shane just kept walking. “How are your ribs?” he asked.
“My ribs are fine. I can carry the bag.”
“I can’t believe you played with those bruised ribs.”
“You can’t?”
Shane shot him a grin over his shoulder. “I guess I can.”
He opened the door and they stepped inside.
It truly was a spectacular house. It was all wide open and spacious, with high ceilings and exposed beams. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake.
Ilya could see an enormous deck with a pool and a hot tub.
Beyond that there was a dock and a boathouse.
“Make yourself at home,” Shane said.
Ilya sauntered into the living room. He removed his sunglasses and hooked them on the front of his T-shirt. And here was everything he had seen on that television show: the leather sectional sofa, the spectacular view, and the ridiculously Canadian-looking plaid throw pillows and blankets.
Jesus Christ. He was in Shane Hollander’s home.
“So, I could give you a tour, if you like,” Shane said. “Or, if you’re hungry...like I said, I stocked up on groceries. There’s a beer fridge in the games room next to the pool table...”
Shane was standing a good six feet behind Ilya. Ilya turned away from the view of the lake to face him.
“The tap water here is actually excellent,” Shane continued. He was so obviously nervous. “There’s a natural spring nearby and...”
Ilya closed the distance between them in slow, deliberate steps. Shane tilted his head up to face him, and Ilya could see him swallow.
They stood for a moment, silently staring at each other, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. Finally, Ilya reached a hand up and brushed the backs of his fingers against Shane’s cheek. Shane unconsciously licked his lip and Ilya moved in to kiss him.
The moment Shane’s mouth opened under his, everything made sense.
All of Ilya’s nerves left him, and he grabbed at Shane’s T-shirt and pulled him closer.
Shane made a little moaning sound and plunged his fingers under Ilya’s ball cap, knocking it to the floor.
He tangled his fingers in Ilya’s hair and began walking him backward to the leather sofa.
They hadn’t been together for months. The ridiculous thing was, Ilya hadn’t been with anyone in all that time. For the first time in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone else.
But now he felt like he was going to burst if Shane didn’t touch him the way he’d not been able to stop thinking about.
He went willingly down to the sofa when Shane shoved him. He kept a firm grip on Shane’s T-shirt so the other man immediately tumbled on top of him. Ilya winced as his sunglasses were pressed into his chest, then he pulled them off and threw them, clattering, to the floor.
Ilya kissed Shane wildly, jerking his hips up to get more friction on his cock, and was delighted to feel that Shane was as hard as he was.
He pulled Shane’s shirt off over his head and slid his hands down to open Shane’s fly.
“Fuck,” Shane panted. “I’m...it’s been kind of a while... I might not last long.”
“Yes. Same. But we have two weeks, right?”
Shane laughed. “Right.” Then, “Wait...same?”
“Hm?”
“You said ‘same.’ You haven’t...been with anyone? Lately?”
Ilya grimaced. He probably shouldn’t have admitted that. But...
“No.”
“Like, not since—?”
“No. Not since. Can we please get back to—?”
“Really?” Shane pulled back so he could look Ilya directly in the eyes. He looked stunned and way, way too happy.
“Is not a big deal, Hollander. Relax.”
“It’s been, like—”
“Months. Yes. Which is why I would really like to—”
“I haven’t either,” Shane said quickly. “Not since the last time we were together. In Boston.”