Ilya rolled on top of Shane, pinning him on his back. “They could be busy again.”
Shane grinned up at him, all flushed skin and freckles and bright eyes. Ilya wanted to, like, crawl inside him somehow.
“We need to finish the post. And then you have a dog to pick up and a hockey team to get back to.”
Ilya did miss Anya, so he flopped back on the mattress and got to work assembling the Instagram post.
“You have all four photos? The ones I texted you?” Shane asked.
“Yes, yes.”
“And you’re not including the one you just took?”
Ilya only huffed in response. He copied and pasted Farah’s statement, made sure all four photos were lined up, and hovered his thumb over the post button.
“Ready?” he asked.
Shane blew out a breath. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
They posted it.
* * *
Shane got a call from his coach shortly after Ilya left, gruffly letting him know that he was to be at practice tomorrow morning. It was a relief, and Shane was definitely looking forward to getting back on the ice, but he was nervous about facing his teammates again.
He still hadn’t heard from J.J.
He tried to push it out of his mind by filling the rest of his day with exercise, meditation, and rest. He wasn’t particularly successful at any of those things, especially rest. His body hummed with energy. He felt excited and terrified and a million other things.
He waited two hours after the post went up to check the replies. There were already over fifty thousand likes, and way more comments than he could read. A quick scroll showed that they weren’t all positive, but a lot of them were. Most of them were.
Maybe things really would be okay.
His doorbell rang just before ten o’clock at night, while Shane was sitting on his bed texting Ilya and Rose separately, and checking the Instagram replies for the fifth time that day. The security camera app on his phone showed J.J. standing on his doorstep.
Shane bolted down the stairs and yanked the door open.
“Hi,” he said.
J.J. was scowling, clearly still angry. But he was there.
Shane stepped back and J.J. silently entered the house. They stood in Shane’s front hallway, staring at each other, for several tense moments. Then J.J. said, in French, “You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? You let me keep trying to find you dates, you—”
“To be fair,” Shane interrupted, “I kept telling you to stop doing that.”
“You fucking lied to me. After the Centaurs plane thing I said all that shit about you having one-sided feelings for Rozanov and you lied to me.”
“I—”
“You could have told me. You told Hayden!”
“He...guessed.”
“I felt sorry for you! I thought you were carrying a broken heart around but the whole time you’ve been fucking Ilya Rozanov!”
Anger shot through Shane. He stepped toward J.J., which meant he had to tip his head back to see his face. “Ilya is my boyfriend. I love him, and I have for years. Don’t make it sound like...less.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” J.J. said sarcastically. “Obviously I should have known about your epic love affair with Ilya fucking Rozanov because you’ve told me so much about it! You’re one of my best friends, Shane. What the fuck?”
“Maybe,” Shane said tersely, “I thought you wouldn’t exactly be supportive.”
“Of what? Sneaking around with your fucking rival?”
Shane tipped a hand toward J.J. “See?”
J.J. turned his back to him, the rage obvious in the rise and fall of his shoulders. Shane folded his arms, and waited.
“Look,” J.J. finally said, in English. “I don’t think this is okay. It’s fucked up that you’re dating the captain of the team we’re probably going to be facing in the playoffs.”
Shane immediately got angry. He couldn’t help it; he’d had enough of people being grossed out by his relationship for one day. “Thanks for your fucking input. You think maybe that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you?”
“How did Hayden react at first? Thrilled for you, was he?”
Shane’s mouth dropped open. He tried to think of a defense, but in the end he just closed his mouth again.
J.J. huffed. “That’s what I thought.”
“Look. The less people who knew, the better. It’s nothing personal.”
“It fucking feels personal.”
“God, would you stop? I’ve been hiding this thing for eleven fucking years. It sucked, okay? I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt, but come on, man.”
Somewhere in the middle of Shane’s outburst, J.J. had gone very still. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Eleven years?” he said quietly.
“Um,” Shane said, “give or take.”
J.J. walked to the staircase that led to the second floor and sat down hard on the third step. “Eleven fucking years. The entire time I’ve known you.”
A lump formed in Shane’s throat. “We haven’t been, like, a couple that whole time.”
J.J.’s shoulders slumped. “Fucking hell, Hollander. Who are you?”
Shane took a chance, and sat next to him on the step. It was...cozy. “I’m your friend. And your teammate. And I fell in love with the most complicated person I could possibly fall in love with.”
“Ilya fucking Rozanov.” J.J. shook his head. “Jesus, Shane. Why?”
“Because...” Shane didn’t even know where to start. Finally he just said, “He makes me happy. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he’s it for me. We’re getting married.”
J.J.’s head whipped around to face him, eyes wide. “Married?”
“Uh, yeah,” Shane said nervously. “So, y’know. Watch for an invitation.”
“Fuck, Hollander. This is a lot.”
Shane nudged him. “I’m the same friend you’ve always had. And I’ll still be the same when I’m Ilya’s husband. I swear I’m normal.”
A long, tense silence fell between them. Then J.J. sighed and said, “No one who’s never heard of Cardi B is normal.”
Shane barked out a surprised laugh. “Fuck off. I’d heard the name, I just didn’t know any of his songs.”