by Rachel Reid
“Hazard of our occupation,” Shane said.
“I know I—hey! Jade, sweetie, don’t splash your sister!—I need a swear jar or something at home.”
“I don’t think you can afford that.”
As a man without children, or a wife, Shane was in the minority among his teammates. Most of the guys were married well before the age of twenty-five. Hayden had married Jackie at twenty-one, after only dating her for a year. Shane had been there the night they’d met. Hayden had dragged Shane and a couple of other guys out to a club, where Hayden had met his future wife, and Shane had left to have one of the most embarrassing sexual encounters of his life with a very patient woman named... Olivia? Ophelia?
But Jackie was great. Hayden had done well marrying her. And their kids were adorable, even if naming the twins Jade and Ruby was a choice.
“Thanks for coming with us,” Hayden said, stooping to pick up the pacifier that his son, Arthur, had dropped on the ground. Hayden gave it a quick wipe on his shirt and plunged it back into Arthur’s mouth. Shane made a disgusted face that Hayden didn’t see. “Jackie’s sister is visiting and they wanted to go shopping and shit.”
“Swear jar,” Shane said.
“Right. Shopping and stuff. Anyway, it’s hard going anywhere with these three monsters, so I appreciate the help.”
“My pleasure, man.”
Shane was sincerely enjoying himself. The Biodome was a good place for him to go without getting mobbed. People were so distracted by the animals, and by trying to wrangle their own children, that they weren’t bothering to look at the other adults in the room. Shane was also wearing a ball cap and a simple black jacket to try to blend in even better. So far it was working.
“Oh shit—I mean, shoot—looks like Ruby is trying to steal a starfish.” Hayden nudged the stroller handles toward Shane. “Here, you watch Arthur for a second, okay?”
He was darting toward the touch tank and the twins before Shane could reply.
Shane knelt in front of the stroller and smiled at the sleepy-eyed little boy. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “You having a good time?”
Arthur reached out and grabbed the front of Shane’s ball cap.
“Let’s go see some penguins!” Hayden said. He had returned carrying one twin under each arm.
“Penguins!” both girls squealed at once.
“Penguins!” Shane said, clapping his hands and trying to mimic the girls’ excitement.
Hayden rolled his eyes. “All right, children. Follow your big brother Shane.”
He set the girls down, and they each took one of Shane’s hands. Shane’s heart clenched. Their hands were so tiny.
In the Antarctic room, Hayden and Shane were able to sit on a bench with the stroller parked next to them while the twins ran up to the glass to look at the penguins.
“So Jackie has this friend...” Hayden said.
Oh, Jesus. Here we go again.
“No,” Shane said.
“I know, but listen. She’s gorgeous, and she’s cool. She’s a yoga instructor. You like yoga, right?”
“I’m sure she’s great, but I’m really not interested in dating anyone right now.”
“Why the f—I mean, why on earth not? You’re young, you’re rich, you’re famous, you...look like you.”
Shane gave him a flirty look. “Hayden, do you find me attractive?”
“Look, pal. If I was a woman, I’d be all over you.”
Shane laughed. In truth, he could think of worse scenarios than having Hayden Pike all over him. But he wasn’t going to tell him that. Besides, Hayden was his best friend. He’d never had anything but platonic feelings for him, blond hair, green eyes, and cleft chin aside.
“So this friend,” Hayden tried again. “Samantha is her name. I think you would really like her.”
Shane buried his face in his hands, almost knocking his own ball cap off. “Please stop trying to set me up on dates, Hayd.”
“I just want to see you happy! And I want you to have a hundred kids so you can know my pain!”
Shane scrubbed his hands over his face and looked up to see Jade and Ruby shoving each other in front of the glass.
“Fuck it. I gotta break this up,” Hayden grumbled, already walking toward them.
Shane sighed. “Tell your dad to lay off my love life, all right, Arthur?”
But Arthur had fallen asleep.
Shane imagined telling Hayden that he was into men. He knew Hayden wouldn’t shun him or anything. He maybe wasn’t the most worldly guy, but he wasn’t a bigot either. At worst it would probably make things awkward between them. Maybe it wouldn’t, but Shane didn’t want to risk finding out. There really wasn’t any reason to, anyway. Shane probably would meet a nice girl someday and settle down and then his occasional attraction to men would be moot.
His imagination continued to wander, conjuring a scenario where he told Hayden that he’d been hooking up with Ilya Rozanov since their rookie season. The hypothetical look on Hayden’s face made Shane snort out loud. He quickly covered his mouth and turned to look at Arthur, as if to suggest that the sleeping toddler had made the weird noise.
“Excuse me, are you Shane Hollander?”
Shane looked up and saw two teen girls gawking at him.
“Erm...” he said smoothly.
“Oh my god! You are! Can I get a selfie with you?”
“It’s pretty, um, dark in here,” Shane said. He tried to catch Hayden’s eye. If he started taking selfies with fans here, it would never end.
“Please?” The girls were both pouting now.
Shane kept himself from sighing. It wasn’t like he was doing anything else at the moment. “Sure. What’s your name?”
The girls lit up. “Oh my god, thank you! I love you so much! I’m Emma.”
“I’m Jessica.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma and Jessica.”
They arranged themselves so they would all fit in the frame of Emma’s iPhone screen. As she was snapping pictures, Hayden returned. “Uh-oh,” he said.
It only took a second for Shane to realize that Hayden was referring to the dozens of heads that were now turned in the direction of his little photo shoot.
Sure enough, as soon as the girls thanked him and walked away, a man and his son approached Shane. He ended up being stuck in the Antarctic room for twenty minutes taking photos with fans and signing whatever objects they happened to have on them. When Shane made his apologetic excuse to leave, he found Hayden by the exit.
“Those assholes,” Hayden grumbled.
“They’re fans, Hayden.”
“They didn’t even recognize me!”
Shane laughed and slapped him on the back. “I’ll take a selfie with you, if you want.”
“I never should have become friends with you.”
Shane smiled and held the door for him so he could push the stroller through.
“Seriously!” Hayden continued. “My ego can’t take it, man! It’s like being friends with the damn sun or something. Wait—do I have all of the kids? How many kids are here?”
“Three. Ruby is hiding behind you.”
“Okay.” Hayden exhaled. “I can’t believe we’re having another one.”
“You sure it’s just one?”
Hayden’s eyes were pure terror. “Don’t even joke, Hollander.”
October 2016—Washington
Ilya stretched out on his hotel bed and amused himself by tapping on the various customization options for the 2017 Audi Spyder. He had a 2015 Spyder already, so it wasn’t like he needed a new one.
But he didn’t have one in Vegas Yellow...
The television was turned to ESPN, but he wasn’t paying much attention to it. At least, not until he heard the name Shane Hollander.
It was just one of these dumb
On the television, Hollander was standing on some sort of dock surrounded by the calm blue waters of an enormous lake. Thick green forest lined the banks.
“When the demands of the season are over, this is where Shane Hollander comes to relax and recuperate: his five-thousand-square-foot lakefront cottage.”
Ilya sat up. He had never seen any place that Hollander called home.
“This is my favorite place on earth,” the Hollander on the television said. “I just finished building this one a couple of years ago. My family’s cottage, the one I spent summers at growing up, is just over there.” He pointed off-camera to his right. “I was still spending my summers there until this one was finished.”
“Awww, so fucking sweet, Hollander,” Ilya said, rolling his eyes.
There was some footage of Hollander kayaking alone on the lake, looking serene and stupid as he gazed around at nature. His voice played over the footage, talking about the place healing his soul or some dumb shit.
There were sweeping shots of some of the rooms of the cottage. A spacious, high-ceilinged living area with a leather sectional sofa and some very Canadian-looking plaid throw pillows and blankets; a modern, high-end kitchen with a large island in the middle; a pool table and a bar; a gym that had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake.
Then, without warning, they cut to a shot of Hollander doing fucking yoga on the dock.
“I got into yoga last year and I think it’s really helped me focus, and it’s definitely increased my flexibility.” Hollander’s voice played over a lingering shot of him holding some ridiculous pose.
“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking boring,” Ilya muttered.
Hollander did look flexible, though.
The segment went on a little longer. Hollander talked about how important it was for him to have a place close to his parents. How he had offered to build them a new cottage too, but they’d refused. He laughed when he said that. When he laughed his nose crinkled, and Ilya’s stomach flipped.
Ilya wondered if Hollander had ever fucked anyone in that cottage. Probably. Probably some nice, wholesome girl that he had met while...canoeing. Or whatever.
Ilya had filmed one of these dumb things too. He had taken the camera crew to the garage where he stored his collection of European sports cars. The segment had had a decidedly different vibe from this Hollander one.
But that’s the way it had been for over six seasons: Shane Hollander was the wholesome, heroic sweetheart, and Ilya Rozanov was the obnoxious rock star. They were polar opposites, according to any NHL analyst, and therefore destined to clash forever—neatly dividing hockey fans in the process.
It’s the way it should have been. Shane and Ilya were opposites in almost every way imaginable, but it was getting harder for Ilya to deny that there was something in his core that was drawn to Hollander. Instead of getting him out of his system with their hookups, each one just made him want more.
It was dangerous fucking stuff.
Chapter Thirteen
November 2016—Boston
“Heading out?” Hayden asked from where he was watching television on the hotel bed.
“Yeah. Just for a bit. Meeting a friend.”
“If you say so.” Hayden grinned. Shane swallowed and tried not to let anything show on his face. His insides roiled with shame and fear and anticipation.
“Just a friend,” Shane said.
“I won’t wait up.”
“It’s not—” Shane closed his eyes and calmed himself down. “It’s not that type of friend. I’ll be back soon.”
Hayden studied him a moment. “Well, that’s too bad. You need to get laid.”
“I’m fine.” Shane tugged his jacket on and checked himself quickly in the mirror before leaving the room.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
They had arrived in Boston that morning and had a short practice that afternoon. The game was tomorrow afternoon, which meant he had the whole evening free.
Rozanov lived in a building that was a short cab ride from the hotel. They had moved their Boston hookups from hotel rooms to Rozanov’s penthouse last season. Shane had been against the idea at the time, arguing that he didn’t want to risk being spotted entering Rozanov’s building. He had legitimately been concerned about that, and still was, but his real objection—the one that he didn’t voice—was that he didn’t want to make what they were doing seem more...personal. Meeting in hotel rooms or at Shane’s investment property was one thing, but every time Shane went to Rozanov’s actual home, he felt his world tilt a bit. It was an extra layer of wrongness thrown on top of the mountain of bad ideas they had been scaling for six years.
When he was on the steps in front of the building, he sent the text. I’m here.
The door clicked and he let himself in, taking the elevator all the way to the top. He told himself that he would talk to Rozanov tonight. That he would end this thing, and then he would go back to the hotel. He had lost count long ago of how many times he had broken this promise to himself over the years.
Rozanov answered the door wearing low-slung sweatpants and no shirt. Shane swore under his breath. All thoughts of just talking to Rozanov left his mind.
As soon as Shane entered the penthouse, Rozanov turned and walked toward the bedroom. He didn’t say a word to him. Shane removed his shoes, dropped his coat on the floor, and followed him.
“The fuck is this?” Shane asked as he entered the bedroom. “You’re not speaking to me anymore? Just expect me to follow you like a dog?”
“Shh,” Rozanov said. He tilted Shane’s head up and kissed him hungrily. Shane surrendered immediately, pushing his tongue into the other man’s mouth and slipping his hands into the back of his sweatpants.
Shane couldn’t think of a single reason why they needed to talk to each other anyway. Not anymore. Not when Rozanov was sucking on his tongue and sliding Shane’s shirt up his chest.
The shirt came off and Shane shoved Rozanov down to the bed so he was sitting at the end of it. Shane fell to his knees and hauled Rozanov’s sweatpants down. He didn’t feel like wasting any time.
Rozanov wasn’t wearing underwear, and his cock was half hard already. Shane took it into his mouth.
“Jesus, Hollander,” Rozanov said. He placed a hand on the side of Shane’s face. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”
Shane closed his eyes. He should have felt embarrassed, but he loved the feeling of Rozanov growing harder against his tongue. He never felt submissive, doing this. He loved reducing Rozanov to whimpers and Russian profanity. And, god help him, he especially loved doing it here, in Rozanov’s home. In his bedroom.
Their relationship was weird. Obviously. Shane knew that nothing about this was normal.
The facts were these: they were two of the biggest hockey stars in the world, and for whatever reason, they both enjoyed fucking each other. The other thing they were in total agreement on is that no one could ever know that they enjoyed fucking each other. It would be best if no one knew that they liked to fuck men at all, but it definitely couldn’t get out that the superstar rivals were very familiar with each other’s dicks.
Rozanov brushed a thumb over the freckles on Shane’s cheek, just under his eye.
“Stop,” Rozanov said in a low voice. “Enough. Stop.”
Shane pulled off and waited.
“I’d like to look at you tonight, I think. You on top?” Rozanov asked.
“Okay,” Shane said, but the request made him nervous. Usually Rozanov just took him from behind, on a bed or against a wall. Shane could pretend (or pretend he was pretending) that Rozanov was someone else that way.
Shane quickly pulled off the rest of his clothing. Rozanov took a moment to raise an eyebrow at Shane’s rigid, untouched cock. Shane blushed. “Shut up,” he muttered.
Rozanov grinned and scooted back on the bed, naked and sprawled out with his hands behind his head. Shane couldn’t help but grin back. This was so fucking weird, but maybe they could just pretend it wasn’t, for an hour or so. Maybe they could just be two guys who wanted to have sex.
Rozanov slapped his own thighs, an invitation, and Shane went to him.
Later, when they were fucking, Shane braced himself with a hand flat on Rozanov’s chest. Rozanov covered that hand with his own, which surprised Shane. Rozanov never took his eyes off his face, except to watch when Shane started stroking himself.
Shane saw the glazed look in his eyes, and the way his mouth was hanging open, and he rode him harder.
“Fuck,” Rozanov grunted, and, without warning, he flipped them both over so he was on top, staring down at Shane as he held his legs and thrust into him wildly. His crucifix chain dangled between them, scraping Shane’s chest.
When Shane’s orgasm hit him, it was hard and sudden. His release seemed endless, splashing his chest and even up to his throat.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Rozanov panted, and Shane didn’t even have a chance to be shocked by the pet name before Rozanov was coming too. When it was over, he dropped to his elbows over Shane and kissed him messily.
They took turns getting cleaned up in the bathroom. When Shane walked back into the bedroom, he stood stupidly in the middle of the room, near his pile of clothes on the floor. He should probably go.
But Rozanov was lounging on his bed and he patted the mattress next to him, so Shane went. He lay on his back beside Rozanov, not touching him, and stared at the ceiling until Rozanov rolled to his side, propped on an elbow, and gazed down at him.
Shane felt the same anxiety that had flooded him the last time they had been together. There was something a little too...tender...in the way Rozanov was looking at him. And there was something that was far too soothing about the way Rozanov’s fingers combed through Shane’s short hair, and curved down to trace the bridge of freckles that stretched across his face.
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