The Long Game: A Gay Sports Romance (Game Changers Book 6)
The Long Game: Chapter 26

Ilya felt like a fucking superhero as he got dressed for his next game.

The press of the ring that hung around his neck against his chest, under the layers of jersey, pads, and athletic shirt, was still foreign, but it sent a thrill through him every time he felt it. No one had asked about the ring. Probably no one had noticed it. Ilya wouldn’t give a straight answer if anyone did ask. He had a reputation for being mysterious anyway.

He’d met with Galina that afternoon after Shane had left, and they’d mostly talked about his near-death experience. He hadn’t told her that he’d gotten engaged. It still felt too new, too precious, to share with anyone.

Galina had probably noticed the change in him, though. He knew an engagement ring wasn’t a cure for depression, but he was happy to ride this high for as long as he could.

Which was why he hadn’t exactly gotten into his mental health concerns with Shane, like he’d planned. He was still optimistic that he could fix himself without troubling his future husband. It was probably stupid, but, well, Ilya had been feeling a bit stupid these past few days.

Tonight’s game was at home, and they were facing the number one ranked New York Admirals. Ilya wasn’t intimidated. He was Ilya fucking Rozanov, and it was time for his team to start winning.

He walked to the middle of the locker room. “Everyone listen.”

The room immediately fell silent. Ilya wasn’t surprised. He rarely gave speeches, preferring to lead with action more than words. Admittedly, he had no idea what he was going to say now, but he needed to say something.

He decided to start with something attention-grabbing. “The New York Admirals are not a better team than us.”

As he expected, his teammates began to scoff and laugh at that. Ilya talked right over it. “They are not. They have Scott Hunter, we have me.”

Across the room, Ilya could see Troy’s lips curve up. He kept going. “They have Tommy Andersson—a good goalie. Young, talented, yes. We have Wyatt Hayes—a great goalie.” He found Wyatt and grinned at him. “Old, talented.”

That caused the room to erupt into laughter and applause. Wyatt smiled back at him and said, “Experienced.”

Ilya continued until he’d named every player in the room, pointing out what made them great. What made this team great.

“I am fucking tired of losing. Enough. We are going to win this game tonight, and we are going to keep winning.” Since he was already making lofty promises, he decided to aim even higher. “We are going to fill every seat in this fucking arena. We are going to surprise everyone and we are going to the playoffs this year. Not next year. Not in the future. This fucking year.”

Not one person in the room rolled their eyes or waved his bold predictions away. They all cheered, and it made Ilya’s heart soar. He loved this fucking team.

“We went through something together. It was fucking scary. But we are alive. We are all alive and I don’t plan on wasting another second of it.” No more losing, no more hiding his feelings, no more hiding his boyfriend. No more being afraid of his dark thoughts. No more being afraid of flying.

He finished the speech with, “Let’s fucking go.”

The roar of his teammates was deafening.

They won the fucking game.

Ilya scored, Troy scored, Luca scored. Even fucking Tanner Dillon had scored. Wyatt made great saves all night. And every minute had been fun.

They partied in the locker room after, then moved the party to Monk’s. This time, Ilya had gone too. He wouldn’t have missed it.

“You are so bad at pool,” he chirped at Bood while bending to take a shot. “How am I supposed to do this when there are so many of your balls in my way?”

“That’s my strategy,” Bood said with a grin.

Ilya huffed, took his shot, then watched in dismay as one of Bood’s balls went into a side pocket. Bood cracked up. “See? You do my work for me.”

“Like on the ice, you mean?”

Bood pointed his cue at him menacingly. “Okay. You can fuck off now.”

They both laughed. Ilya was in a great mood. Not only had the game been a blast, and he was having a great time drinking with his teammates, but he’d seen Troy leave the bar with Harris a few minutes ago. Plenty to celebrate.

Ilya went to pour himself another beer and found the pitcher empty. “Another?” he asked Bood.

“Nah. I have to get home. Cassie is about to have a baby any second.”

“Yes. Of course. Tell Cassie I say hello.”

Bood hugged him, then thumped him hard on the back. “Good game tonight.”

“You mean the hockey game, yes? Not the pool.”

“Not the pool,” Bood agreed. “Have a good night, Roz.”

Ilya wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. He was worried the good vibes would end as soon as he was alone. He went to the bar, ordered another beer, then carried it to a table where a bunch of guys were watching Luca Haas do…something.

“Did you know that Luca could draw like this?” Evan Dykstra asked when he saw Ilya. “This is amazing.”

“Let me see,” Ilya said, and leaned over the table. Luca was working on a pencil drawing of Spider-Man. It looked professional.

“Holy shit,” Ilya said. “Incredible. I cannot draw at all.”

“And he’s, like, half drunk,” Dykstra said proudly.

“It’s not that good,” mumbled Luca. “I messed the webs up on his shoulders.” He sighed and grabbed the eraser that was sitting on the table next to him.

“No!” Ilya protested. “Don’t erase it.”

“I’m just going to fix it,” Luca said with a little smile. “This is for Nick’s son. Do you want me to draw you a Spider-Man next, Ilya?”

Ilya kind of wanted to say yes. He sat in the only empty chair and watched with fascination as Luca fixed whatever had been bothering him about the drawing.

“Is this what you have in that backpack you always carry?” Ilya asked. “Drawing stuff?”

Luca pushed his glasses back up his nose with the end of his pencil. “Mostly, yes.” He finished the drawing, signed it, then shook his hand out. “I’m taking a break. My fingers are cramped.”

“Why are you not an artist for a job, Haas?” Ilya said.

Luca laughed. “I think hockey pays better.”

“You should design my next tattoo,” Ilya said. “Like, a cool animal.”

Luca stared at him. “Are you serious?”

Ilya shrugged. He hadn’t thought much about his next possible tattoo, but it would be nice to have one designed by a teammate. “Sure.”

“That is a lot of pressure,” Luca said.

“If it is too much I will get someone else to do it,” Ilya teased. “D, do you want to design my tattoo?”

Dykstra grinned. “You want a stickman or a heart?”

Luca stood and stretched his back, twisting from side to side. “I am getting another beer.”

“Get a pitcher,” Ilya said. “We can share.”

“Oh,” Luca said, then he smiled. “Yes, okay.”

Now that the art show was over the other guys started to leave the table to mingle. By the time Luca returned with the pitcher and a stack of glasses, Ilya was the only one left.

“So,” Ilya said after Luca had sat down, “how are you enjoying being the fan favorite?”

Luca poured himself a beer. “I am not the favorite. You are, of course.”

“I am old news. You are new and exciting.”

“I am new and nervous. And probably disappointing.”

“Disappointing? How? You have been playing less than four months.”

Luca’s eyebrows rose above his glasses. “How many goals did you score in your first four months in the NHL?”

Ilya smiled and took a sip of beer. He didn’t need to answer. He was sure Luca knew.

Luca sighed. “I should not compare myself to…” He waved a hand at Ilya. “Of course you are the best.”

“Of course,” Ilya agreed playfully.

Luca leaned forward, and for the first time Ilya noticed that he did seem a bit drunk. “I had your poster on my wall. When I was a kid.”

“When you were a kid,” Ilya teased. “Like when? Last year? Four months ago?”

Luca huffed and took a sip of beer.

“Which poster was it? Did I look handsome?”

“You always look—” Luca’s cheeks flushed bright red. “It was just a hockey picture. With all your gear.”

Ilya mentally filed that slip-up under Interesting. “Is the poster still on your wall?” he asked. “Be honest.”

“No.”

“Did you bring it with you? I can sign it if you like.”

Luca laughed and shook his head. “Yes. I have it over my bed,” he said sarcastically.

“This will be distracting for people you are trying to have sex with.”

Luca laughed again, this time more of a shocked sputter. “Maybe that is the problem.”

Ilya leaned in. “Problem?”

“Nothing. I was joking.” Luca pressed his lips together and looked away, as if deciding whether or not to admit something. Then he said, to his beer, “It is hard to meet people to, um, do that with. Lately.”

Ilya had not expected to be pulled into a conversation about sex with his rookie, but he supposed he was an expert. “Is it? Do you go out? Or use apps? I am sure most of Ottawa wants to fuck you.”

Luca coughed. “That is, um—I have tried apps a bit, yes.”

“No luck?”

“Not really. I am a bit nervous about meeting people.”

Ilya smiled. “No shit.”

“You never had this problem, I am guessing.”

“No,” Ilya said honestly. “But it can be…complicated. Being very young and famous and wanting sex but wanting to be, um…” He searched for the right word. “Careful?”

Luca nodded. “Yes. Careful.”

“I was maybe not so concerned with careful,” Ilya said. “I had a lot of sex with many people.”

Luca’s cheeks pinked. “Yes. I have heard.”

“Was fine. No problems. Most people want to hook up and move on with no drama. Even when you are famous.”

Luca fiddled with a coaster. “I am not so much looking for hookups.”

“Oh. You don’t like sex?”

Luca turned redder. “I like it, yes. I am, um, particular. Maybe. Or shy. I don’t know.” He let out a nervous giggle. “This is not a conversation I thought I would have with you.”

Ilya grinned. “But I am right beside your bed, watching you have sex!”

“Dude! I did not just hear that!”

Ilya turned to see Dykstra standing behind him, laughing. “Stop spying.”

“Stop watching the rookies have sex, then?”

Ilya glared at him. “He has a poster of me. Is a joke.”

Dykstra’s brow furrowed, and he looked at Luca. “You have a poster of Roz beside your bed?”

“No! When I was a kid I did.”

Dykstra laughed. “Dude, you are a kid.”

“I am older than I look,” Luca explained with the earnestness of a drunk twenty-year-old.

“Yeah,” said Dykstra. “My one-year-old daughter is older than you look.” He laughed at his own joke. “Speaking of which, I’m out.” He fist-bumped both of them, then headed toward the exit.

“You look older than one,” Ilya assured Luca.

Luca snorted and shook his head. “They say never meet your heroes.”

Ilya grinned and decided he liked this kid a lot.

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