The Long Game: A Gay Sports Romance (Game Changers Book 6)

The next morning, as Shane was putting the few things he’d unpacked back into his suitcase, there was a firm knock on his hotel room door. When he opened the door, he found J.J. there, holding two coffees.

“That for me?” Shane asked, stepping backward to let him in.

“If you don’t want it I can drink two.”

Shane took the coffee, and set it on the dresser. “Thanks.”

He wasn’t sure why J.J. was here, or why he’d brought him coffee. He was one of Shane’s closest friends, but this specific situation was unusual.

“So.” J.J. leaned against a wall with his own coffee. “You seemed kind of fucked up last night. About the Ottawa plane thing.”

Shane pulled an imperfectly folded T-shirt out of his suitcase and began refolding it. “No, I wasn’t. It was just, y’know, surprising.”

He realized his shoulders were hunched, so he made an effort to relax them.

“Uh-huh,” J.J. said. “You want to tell me the truth now?”

Shane frowned at the shirt he’d just folded, then shook it out and began folding it again. Part of him wanted to tell J.J. everything. Part of him needed to tell him. Needed to tell the whole world because having to hide suddenly felt so fucking unfair. Shane wasn’t sure he could tell him, but he could tell him something. “It’s nothing. I got some texts from…from Ilya. Rozanov.”

“I know which Ilya,” J.J. said with amusement.

“He sent them when the plane was…when he thought they were going to crash.”

A heavy silence filled the room, giving Shane a moment to realize how weird that must have sounded to J.J. Ilya thought he was about to die, so he’d texted Shane.

“He, um—” Shane started, but how on earth could he explain without admitting everything? “He’s—”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He was so fucking tired of lying. He could be grieving right now. If that plane had crashed, J.J. would be sitting in Shane’s hotel room right now watching him fall apart completely. There would have been no way Shane could have hidden his agony.

“He’s okay,” J.J. reminded him.

“I know.”

J.J. took the shirt from him before Shane could start folding it again. “Look, I know you’ve got this…thing…for Rozanov.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean?”

J.J. smiled sadly at him. “Why do you think I keep trying to set you up? Having a crush on a straight man is no good, buddy.”

Wait. What?

Shane was completely stunned, and needed to think fast. This was a lie he hadn’t considered hiding behind before: an unrequited crush. It made sense.

It fucking hurt, but it made sense.

“Is it obvious?” Shane sat on the bed. The misery in his voice was real, but not for the reason J.J. thought.

J.J. set his coffee on the dresser and sat on the bed next to Shane. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not saying everyone sees it, but not much gets past me, y’know?”

“Right,” Shane said, nodding fervently.

J.J. clapped a giant hand on Shane’s shoulder. “The good news is, you can do way better than Rozanov.”

Shane pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“I get that he’s attractive, but come on. That guy is annoying as fuck.”

Shane couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. “You’re right. I should aim higher.”

“And it’s not like you guys could date or whatever anyway. Like, it would be impossible.”

Shane stopped laughing. “I know.”

“Can you imagine? Dating your rival? What a fucking scandal.”

Shane turned his gaze to the floor and said nothing.

“Hey,” J.J. said gently. He ducked his head so their eyes met. In French, he said, “I’m not making fun of you. It hurts to love someone who can’t love you back, and I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with that. You can always talk to me about it.”

He was being so earnest and sympathetic that it made Shane feel like a scumbag for lying. “Thanks.”

“And if you need someone to take you out, be your wingman or whatever…”

Shane’s smile returned. “I’ll consider it.”

J.J. stood and stretched his arms wide for a hug. Shane stood and was quickly engulfed by his friend.

“I’m glad Rozanov is all right,” J.J. said when they separated. “Seriously. He’s not entirely terrible.”

“Not always, no.”

“And Wyatt, geez. He woulda been on that plane too. I love that guy.” J.J. frowned. “I’m going to go call him.”

J.J. had never been a big fan of texting. He loved talking too much. “I’m sure he’s been waiting for your call,” Shane said dryly.

“Stay strong, friend,” J.J. said as he opened the door to leave. “We’ll get you through this and out the other side, okay?”

“I mean, you don’t really have to—”

But J.J. was gone.

Fucking hell. The other side. Shane wanted to haul the door back open and tell J.J. that the other side was a life together with Ilya. That there was no unrequited crush. That he was so fucking in love with Ilya it felt like his heart would burst sometimes, and that Ilya felt the same about Shane.

That when Shane finally saw Ilya again—in two days, hopefully—he was going to…god, he didn’t even know what he wanted to do.

Except he did know. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to reach the other side. He wanted that life together. Not in ten years, but now. Because ten years suddenly seemed like an impossible wait.

Ilya pulled into his driveway just after two in the afternoon the day his team flew home from Florida. It felt like two in the morning, he was so drained.

But Shane’s Jeep Cherokee was there, at least an hour before Ilya had been expecting it to be, which gave him a sudden burst of energy. He parked his own SUV next to Shane’s, not bothering with the garage, and jogged to the front door. It opened as soon as he reached it, and there was Shane, looking perfect in nice pants and a soft, dark blue sweater.

“Our plane got in earl—” But that was all Shane managed to say before Ilya grabbed his face with both hands and kissed the hell out of him.

And Shane let him. Right there on Ilya’s front step, mostly secluded but still partially visible from the street. Shane kissed him back with equal urgency and, if he felt the same as Ilya, relief.

Ilya wanted to tell him so many things, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him. It was bitter cold all around them, but Shane’s mouth was warm and nothing about this place felt like Florida, so Ilya would happily stay here forever, kissing Shane in the snow.

Eventually they broke apart, and Shane managed only to say, “Come inside,” before they were kissing again.

Finally, finally, Shane took Ilya’s hand and led him inside. It was only then that Ilya realized Shane hadn’t been wearing a coat.

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m fine.” Shane watched him remove his outerwear, chewing his lip and sliding his hands in and out of the pockets of his dress pants. He seemed uneasy.

Ilya tried to kiss him again, but Shane took a step back and said, “Follow me?”

Ilya smiled. “Anywhere.”

Shane let out an oddly nervous laugh, which made Ilya laugh. Then Shane took his hand again, and they walked together to Ilya’s living room, where—

“What is this?” Ilya asked. The drapes were drawn across the large windows that normally looked out to the river, and the room was dark. Except for the glow of about a million candles.

They were everywhere: on the tables, on the floor, on the mantel, even on the arms of the furniture. It was beautiful and…weird.

“Are you trying to burn my house down?” was what Ilya finally said.

Shane’s lips curved up. “They’re electric. Fucking relax, Rozanov.”

Ilya’s heart started to race, but not because he was concerned about fire safety. He’d once told Shane, years ago, that one day he would cover the dock at his cottage in candles. That he’d bring Shane down there, then ask him to marry him. It had been a joke, sort of. But now he was really standing in a room full of candles and—

Shane sank to one knee in front of him.

Ilya had enjoyed watching Shane go to his knees in front of him many times over the years, but he knew immediately that this was different. He suddenly felt winded. And dizzy. And maybe a little queasy.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Shane gazed up at him, his expression steady and determined, and said, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

Ilya swallowed. Why was it so hard to swallow? It was like he had no saliva at all.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Shane continued. “Years of denial, then years of hiding what we are to each other.”

“Shane—”

“Could you not interrupt?” Shane said with a teasing smile. “For once in your life?”

Ilya pressed his lips together.

“I don’t have a plan for anything beyond this,” Shane confessed, “but I know what I want. There’s nothing in my life that matters to me more than you, Ilya.” He slid his hand into his pants pocket again. He had to lean awkwardly to one side to fit his fingers inside.

Then, Shane was holding a ring, pinched between two fingers, in the space between himself and Ilya.

“Shane,” Ilya said again, unable to stop himself.

“I choose you, Ilya. I promise I will always, always choose you.” Shane’s eyes began to shimmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”

Ilya wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized he hadn’t said anything. He hoped it had only been a second or two, but judging from the fear in Shane’s eyes, it must have been longer. Finally, in a tight, trembling voice, he said, “You know my middle name.”

“It’s on Wikipedia. I kind of fell down a rabbit hole learning about the Russian tradition of using the father’s name to—”

“Yes,” Ilya interrupted.

“Sorry. I’m babbling. You know how Russian names work.”

“No,” Ilya clarified. “Yes.”

Shane stared at him with obvious confusion. Ilya nodded to the ring.

“Yes,” Ilya said again. “I am saying yes, Hollander.”

“Oh.” Then Shane’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Yeah?” He scrambled to his feet and into Ilya’s arms.

They kissed, and Ilya said, “Yes.” They kissed again, and Ilya said, “Of course.”

They kissed some more, and Shane said, “I love you.”

By the time they finished kissing they both had tears streaming down their cheeks. “Is this because I almost died?” Ilya teased.

“No. It’s because I almost died.”

Ilya brushed the tears on Shane’s face with his thumb. What could he even say to that?

“So, um,” Shane said, after a long, fragile moment, “the ring.”

“Yes, right.” Ilya took the ring from Shane and inspected it for a moment. A simple black band with a gold interior. Very classy. He smiled at Shane, and attempted to slip it onto his own finger. It didn’t quite fit.

“Nuts,” Shane said, looking disappointed. “I didn’t know your ring size.”

“Is okay.” Ilya removed the ring with some effort. “Am I supposed to wear it now? Or is it for after we are married?”

“You know,” Shane said, “I have no idea. I just thought I should have a ring for this.”

Ilya handed the ring back to Shane, then loosened and removed his necktie. He opened the top buttons of his shirt, then reached back and unclasped the gold chain around his neck. He removed it, then held out his palm for the ring.

“Oh,” Shane said, then handed him the ring. Ilya slipped it onto the chain until it nudged up against the crucifix pendant that had been his mother’s.

“Here,” Shane said, and reached for the chain. Ilya turned his back to him, and Shane fastened the necklace back in place.

“Did you buy one for yourself?” Ilya asked. “Or is that my job?”

“I was going to buy the matching one. I just…wanted to make sure I needed it first.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows as he turned back to face Shane. “You thought I would say no?”

Shane at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it. “I don’t know. I just didn’t want to be cocky about it.”

Ilya laughed, a little wetly because he was still a mess, then cradled Shane’s face with both hands. “Buy the ring.”

They were both half crying as they kissed, their breath stuttering and their lips stretched into wide smiles. A terrible kiss in theory, but Ilya had never experienced one better. Shane Hollander was going to be his husband.

Shane untucked Ilya’s dress shirt from his suit pants and slid his hand underneath. He pressed his palm to Ilya’s chest, over his heart.

“God,” Shane whispered.

Ilya covered Shane’s hand with his own. “Still alive. I told you.”

Shane kissed him again, but this time there was an edge of desperation to it, a ferocity that Ilya easily returned, clutching at Shane’s sweater, at his skin, at his hair.

Their breathing changed from hitched and snuffly to heavy and panting. Ilya helped Shane out of his sweater and the shirt underneath, then they worked together on removing Ilya’s shirt.

“Ilya,” Shane said reverently. His eyes were dark and anguished. Ilya couldn’t have that, so he kissed him again. He pulled their bodies tight together, letting every sense fill with Shane. Letting Shane know he was solid and real and alive and extremely interested in fucking him.

They fumbled with each other’s belts, got their pants and underwear and, with a bit of unavoidable awkwardness, their socks off. Shane smiled at him when they were both naked, wide and bright and beautiful. He was staring at Ilya’s chest, and Ilya glanced down to see the ring there, glinting in the light of a million candles.

“Yours,” Ilya said.

“Mine.” Shane crashed into him again, kissing him hungrily.

There was a coffee table covering most of the plush rug in the middle of Ilya’s living room. Without breaking the kiss, Ilya used one foot to push it aside. He heard the soft thump of several candles hitting the carpet, and was thankful Shane had chosen to go electric.

“What—” Shane asked. Then, “Oh,” as Ilya scooped him up and laid him on the rug.

Ilya took a moment to just look at Shane, laid out like that in the magical lighting he’d worked so hard to create. His long hair fanned out under his head, and his dark eyes danced with joy and desire. His freckles were all bunched up because he was smiling so widely his nose was wrinkled.

Ilya took one of his hands, tangled their fingers together, and pinned it on the rug over Shane’s head. The ring dangled in the air between them.

“I love you so much,” Shane said softly.

Ilya swallowed. “I will be very proud to be your husband.”

He leaned down and captured Shane’s mouth in another slow, luxurious kiss. Shane gripped his fingers tighter and rolled his hips under him, sliding their erections together. It felt fucking incredible, simple and explosive at the same time. Ilya’d had every intention of fucking Shane right here on the rug, but he didn’t want to stop what they were doing. He wanted to be pressed this close to Shane, touching everywhere. He wanted Shane to rock against him just like this, chasing his pleasure while getting Ilya closer to his own release with each slow, controlled grind of his pelvis.

It was the control that was unraveling Ilya more than anything. This wasn’t frantic rutting—this was Shane loving Ilya with his body. Careful, steady thrusts that matched the rhythm of their pounding hearts.

Ilya realized they weren’t even kissing anymore. Their gazes were locked, lips parted as they both huffed and shuddered into the inches between them.

“Is this okay?” Shane whispered.

“Yes. Perfect,” Ilya assured him.

Shane’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head tipping back on a gasp. He opened them again and smiled shyly. “Feels so good.”

“I know.”

Ilya kissed his throat, his jaw, and then his mouth again. His own orgasm was building, and he was torn between urging it on and wanting to pull back. He didn’t want this moment to end.

Except there would be more moments like this. A whole lifetime of them.

“Shane,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Shane said shakily. “Me too.”

The steady movement of their hips began to lose its rhythm as they both teetered on the brink of climax. They breathed into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together, until Shane whimpered and Ilya felt the first hot splash of his release on his skin. It was enough to break the dam inside him, and his own release surged and erupted.

Shane wrapped his arms and legs around Ilya’s trembling body, pulling him even closer. They kissed sloppily, and laughed about it. Finally Ilya rolled onto his back, and Shane immediately rested his head on his chest. He traced a fingertip around the ring that was now resting up near Ilya’s throat.

“I was thinking summer,” Shane said.

“Summer for what?”

Shane lifted his head and met Ilya’s gaze. “For everything. Coming out. Going public. Getting married.”

Ilya’s heart flipped. “Yes?”

“Yeah. I know it’s going to be a shitshow, but I’m tired of being scared of being found out. I want to tell people, on our own terms. I think I can handle anything that happens, as long as going public is a choice we made ourselves. Together.”

“That is what I want,” Ilya agreed. “We tell people ourselves. Together.”

Shane smiled. “I might have already told my parents that I was going to propose to you.”

“Did they approve?”

“Of course. I think we already are married, as far as they’re concerned. But they’re also a little unclear about our plan. So am I, but we’ll figure it out.”

“We will,” Ilya agreed. “And until summer?”

“I guess more of the same? Except maybe we could…be less careful?”

Ilya’s eyebrows went sky high.

“I mean,” Shane said quickly, “we could hide in plain sight a bit? I think it would work. I just learned that J.J. thinks I have an unrequited crush on you.”

“Un-what?”

“Like, he thinks I’m in love with my straight friend.”

Ilya laughed. “That must be very hard for you.”

“I’m just saying, people really think you’re straight.”

“And if I told people I am bisexual? Would that ruin everything?”

Shane frowned as he seemed to consider it. Then he said, “If you want to come out, you should.”

“I can wait. Until summer. Is not long.”

“No,” Shane agreed.

They kissed, then Shane went back to resting against Ilya’s chest. Ilya stroked Shane’s hair, enjoying the quiet and the excitement that was crackling through him. Summer! Not ten years from now, but this summer.

After several quiet minutes, Ilya said, “You have tomorrow off, yes?”

“Mm.”

“I am skipping practice.”

“Is it optional?” Shane murmured sleepily.

“I don’t care.”