Chapter 2: The Long Game: Chapter 2

Ilya was dreaming of his mother.

He knew, somehow, that he was dreaming, but his stomach still twisted with dread as he slowly crossed the familiar lawn behind Shane’s cottage to where he could see a pale arm hanging limply from the hammock. The same way it had hung from her bed once, when he’d been twelve years old.

Then, in the dream, her hand moved. Her wrist twisted, and her fingers danced, as if she was moving them to music. Ilya smiled, and walked faster.

“Mom,” he said when he reached her, in English, for some reason. Irina Rozanova smiled at him from her hammock—the one that he and Shane had installed together last summer—looking young and beautiful and perfectly relaxed. She didn’t speak, only smiled and took his hand.

“Shane is in the house,” Ilya told her. “I want you to meet him.”

Her smile grew wider, but she stayed silent. Ilya looked toward the house, where he could see his boyfriend’s silhouette in the kitchen window. Ilya waved to him, and Shane moved away from the window. Good. He would be here soon, then.

Ilya gazed at his mother while he waited, knowing that this wouldn’t last. He would wake up, she would disappear. But still he wanted her to meet Shane.

Shane was taking his fucking time. There was no sign of him when Ilya looked back at the house, and he began to panic.

Irina patted his hand. She was still smiling, but it looked pained. Her skin was tinged with gray.

“No,” Ilya said. “Wait. He will be here.”

An annoying bird started chirping loudly nearby, and Ilya gripped his mother’s hand more tightly. “Just…wait. Don’t go.”

Everything dissolved. The bird turned into Ilya’s alarm, and Ilya found himself in Shane’s bed in Montreal.

He snarled at his phone as he turned off the alarm, then scrunched his eyes closed, trying to get the dream back.

It was gone.

He stretched out one hand, searching for Shane, but found his half of the bed empty. And cold.

Jesus, how long had Shane been awake?

It was the first day of that summer’s charity hockey camps, so Ilya shouldn’t be surprised Shane had gotten an early start. He supposed he should get out of bed and find him.

He rolled to his back and exhaled loudly, trying to release the vortex of feelings that the dreams always churned up inside him. The joy of seeing his mother again, the heartbreak of realizing it wasn’t real, and the frustration of Shane not moving fast enough. Of not caring enough. It was this last emotion that Ilya needed to shake off most of all, because it was ridiculous. Shane cared. Shane cared enough that he’d suggested naming their charity after Ilya’s mother.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and headed to the kitchen. He found Shane sitting at the kitchen table, already wearing a camp-branded polo shirt, studying his laptop screen through his glasses.

“Good morning,” Ilya said.

“Hey,” Shane said without looking away from the screen. “Just going over the medical forms for the kids. There are so many different things. A couple of the kids are allergic to eggs.”

“Then we won’t throw eggs at them.”

“It’s serious! What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing did last year.”

“I know, but it still could.”

Ilya crossed the room and stopped directly behind him. He put his hands on Shane’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “It will probably happen, someone getting sick or hurt. But it will be okay. Is hockey. And kids.”

He combed his fingers through the long strands at the back of Shane’s head. Ilya liked it long; he’d liked the way it matched Shane’s transformation when they were alone together by the lake, relaxed and even a bit silly.

Shane rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t want this week to be a disaster.”

“You are worrying too much.”

“Easy for you to say,” Shane grumbled. “

mom hasn’t been texting all week with stressful details about this damn camp.”

Ilya’s hands dropped to his sides. “No,” he said quietly. “She has not.”

It was early, and Shane had probably barely slept and was tied into even more knots than usual, so Ilya decided to let the insensitive comment go. He knew Shane hadn’t meant anything by it. Just like he knew he couldn’t be mad at him for never rushing outside to meet Ilya’s mother in his recurring dreams.

Instead, Ilya made coffee, because it seemed Shane hadn’t done that yet.

“Where is Yuna?” Ilya asked, suddenly realizing she wasn’t in the kitchen. She was staying with them for the week of the camp. Shane’s dad, David, was back home in Ottawa, working.

Shane huffed. “She left for the rink like forty minutes ago.”

As Ilya had gotten to know Shane’s parents better, he’d been surprised to learn that Shane—the most determined overachiever Ilya had ever met—was the slacker in the family. “And how many times has she texted you since?”

“Too many. There’s a local news crew coming this afternoon, I guess. It’s French, so I’ll talk to them.”

“Okay.”

“I know it’s annoying to have them come on the first day, but…”

“Is fine.”

Shane turned in his chair to face Ilya. “Do you think we’re ready?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said mildly. “We only have eight pro hockey players coaching this thing. Do you think that is enough to teach some kids how to play hockey?”

“I’m just…” Whatever Shane was going to say dissolved into a frustrated sigh.

Ilya grabbed the back of Shane’s chair and pulled him away from the table and his laptop. He crouched in front of him, resting his folded arms on Shane’s knees. “You are just being you.”

Ilya was excited about the camps—he’d enjoyed them last year—but he didn’t like how quickly Shane had reverted to his usual, uptight self. These weeks could have been spent at the cottage, laughing together in the kitchen, dunking each other underwater in the lake, and enjoying unhurried, indulgent sex in a place where they were safe and alone. Ilya could be sitting on the dock there right now, his feet dangling in the cool water with Shane’s head in his lap.

But these camps were important to both of them. They would raise money for organizations and initiatives that helped people who struggled with mental illness. People who struggled the way Ilya’s mother had struggled.

The worry didn’t leave Shane’s eyes, but his voice was soft when he said, “What if someone figures us out?”

“We are good at protecting this thing,” Ilya said. “We have been doing it for years. And we did it last year.”

“Barely! Ryan Price fucking walked in on us kissing! What if that happens again?”

Ilya grinned. “Am I so impossible to resist?”

Shane lightly kicked Ilya’s ankle. “As if. It’s I’m worried about.”

“I will try to control myself.”

Shane played with a curl of hair near Ilya’s ear. “No kissing,” he said sternly. “Not even behind closed doors, okay? Not until we get home.”

“Yes, no problem. I barely even like you.” Ilya’s words were undermined by the way he was pressing his cheek into Shane’s palm.

“I’m worried about Hayden too,” Shane said.

“Kissing you?”

“No! Giving us away, I mean.”

Ilya huffed. “Is possible. He is not smart.”

Hayden Pike was Shane’s teammate, and, for reasons Ilya still couldn’t understand, was also one of the very few people on earth who knew the truth about Shane and Ilya’s relationship. And he was one of the coaches at their camp, despite Ilya’s protests that he wasn’t coach material.

Shane tugged hard on the curl he’d been gently twisting. “He’s my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“Hayden’s my best friend that I don’t kiss,” Shane clarified.

“Too bad for Hayden.” Ilya stood, stopping halfway to give Shane a quick kiss, then went to the coffeemaker. He filled two mugs with black coffee, placed one on the table beside Shane’s laptop, then began adding cream and sugar to his own mug. Shane was doing a strict performance diet thing, so any dairy products or sugar in the house were Ilya’s.

“Thanks,” Shane mumbled, about a minute after Ilya gave him his coffee. He was looking at his phone now.

“Yuna again?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we go?”

“No. It’s okay. Enjoy your coffee.” Shane stood and turned to face Ilya. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Ilya lied. “Better than you, probably.”

“Probably.” Shane removed his reading glasses, then raked his gaze over Ilya’s body. “You’re unfairly handsome in the mornings, you know that?”

Ilya grinned. “Tell me in Russian.”

Shane’s nose scrunched up in concentration. “Um…ty ochen’ krasiv?”

Ilya’s heart fluttered the way it always did when Shane attempted Russian. “Close enough.”

“No. Tell me how I could have said it better,” Shane insisted.

Instead, Ilya kissed him, slow and lazy with Shane’s palms gliding over Ilya’s bare chest.

“You need to get dressed,” Shane murmured. “And eat something.”

“I will get McDonald’s breakfast on the way.”

“Gross.” Shane stepped back and retrieved his coffee from the table. “I’m serious about the no kissing today. And don’t, like, be sexy.”

“Impossible.”

“You know what I mean. No innuendo.”

“Innu-what? Is this a sex thing?”

“No flirting. No, y’know, trying to get me all turned on or whatever. Be professional.”

Ilya stepped close to him. “I do not have to to get you all turned on, moy lyubimyy.”

Shane’s lips parted and he shifted his stance, just slightly. Then he blinked and said, “That. Exactly that. Don’t do anything like it today.”

Ilya trailed a fingertip down Shane’s cheek. “Why? Are you ?”

“No. And as soon as I see you eating one of those disgusting breakfast sandwiches I’ll never want to kiss you again.”

Ilya laughed. “I’d better eat two, then. To be safe.”

“Welcome to Camp Rozanov,” Ilya announced.

“Boooo,” said Wyatt Hayes, and the kids laughed.

“Is that not the name?” Ilya asked innocently. “I thought we had agreed.”

Shane could only shake his head, pressing his lips tight together to suppress his grin.

“It’s the Game Changers Hockey Camp!” one of the kids yelled out.

“Ugh. Bad. Camp Rozanov is better. I am Ilya, and this is my friend Shane.”

“Hi,” Shane said.

“Everyone knows that me and Shane like each other a lot and always get along,” Ilya said. The kids laughed more. Some called out protests. “But in case we…

…we have brought more friends to help. For the goalies, your coaches will be Wyatt Hayes, who plays with me for your favorite team, the Ottawa Centaurs.”

Some of the kids were brave enough to boo.

“We’re all on the same team this week,” Wyatt said, grinning. “Save the booing for the winter.”

“And also, Leah Campbell, who has more medals and awards than anyone else here, I think.”

“By two,” Leah said cheerfully. “Not that anyone’s counting.”

Ilya tapped his stick on the ice as applause, and the kids and other coaches all did the same. “For defense players, the coaches will be Ryan Price, who is the very tall and handsome man over there…”

“Uh, hi,” Ryan said quietly as he shuffled his skates.

“…and J.J. Boiziau, the tall and sort of handsome man next to him.”

“Watch it, Rozanov,” J.J. said, and Shane knew he was only partly kidding. J.J., one of Shane’s alternate captains and closest friends, had not been impressed when he’d first learned that Shane and Ilya were friends. He’d mostly gotten over it but, like Hayden, had never quite warmed to Ilya. Shane certainly wasn’t ready to tell J.J. that he and Ilya were . Not yet.

Despite Ilya’s teasing assessment, J.J. was undeniably handsome, though he and Ryan Price couldn’t look or more different from each other. Ryan was pale with nervous hazel eyes, red hair, and a beard that, at the moment, was more trimmed than when Shane had seen him in the past. He also suffered from anxiety, which was one of the reasons he had retired early at age thirty-one. J.J., at six-six, was nearly as tall as Ryan, and just as broad, but he had dark skin, short hair, a Quebecois accent with a bit of a Haitian Creole lilt from his parents, and all the confidence in the world.

The other major difference between them was that Ryan Price know Shane and Ilya’s secret. He’d walked in on them kissing last year at the end of the first day of camp. Shane still barely knew the guy because he was too embarrassed to even look Ryan in the eye. But Ryan was gay himself, and he wasn’t much of a talker. He’d kept their secret, as far as Shane could tell.

“And for the forwards,” Ilya continued after the kids had stopped scolding him. “We have me and Shane, and also Max Riley, who you know from Team Canada. And from being Leah’s husband.”

Shane was pleased by the enthusiastic stick tapping for Max. Ilya had suggested inviting him to be a coach, and Shane had quickly agreed. Max had been in the media spotlight quite a bit over the past couple of years after coming out as a trans man. He’d played with his wife for Team Canada for years, including in two Olympics but, since coming out, had been without a team. He was a vocal advocate for trans rights in sports, and Shane was glad both he and Leah were part of their staff. Not only because they were activists, but because they were both incredible hockey players.

“And also Hayden Pike,” Ilya said quickly. “Okay! Let’s get started.”

Shane was, Ilya had to admit, a pretty terrible coach. But in an adorable way.

“Okay,” Shane mumbled to a group of forty young hockey players. “So, you start at the goal line, and you receive a pass when you hit the blue line. I mean, there’ll be a whistle and then you go. And the puck is coming from the next person in line. No. Wait. It’s coming from the next person in line, but the opposite corner. Um…there’s two groups. One in each corner, and, uh…”

Ilya felt like he’d somehow walked into one of Shane’s nightmares. Like he was being forced to present a lecture on a topic he knew nothing about.

Likely also noticing the confusion and panic on the kids’ faces, J.J. took over. As he explained the fairly simple drill with his cheerful, booming voice, Shane retreated to stand next to Ilya.

“Very good job, Coach Shane,” Ilya teased.

“I suck at this,” Shane said.

“Yes, but the rest of us are good, so no problem.”

It was true. Even Ryan Price, who was one of the shyest and most socially awkward people Ilya had ever met, was remarkably good with kids.

“I’m supposed to be in charge, though,” Shane said unhappily.

“You’re supposed to be in charge of your team too, but we all know J.J. is the real Montreal captain.”

Shane nudged him in the ribs with the butt end of his stick. “I’m a great captain.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Shane jabbed him again, harder this time. “Knock it off.”

The drill began, and Ilya watched as the kids took passes and skated around pylons with the puck. Everyone seemed to understand what to do, so J.J. had done a good job. Ilya glanced at the far end of the rink, where Wyatt Hayes and Leah Campbell were working with six young goaltenders. Max was also assisting by taking careful shots on the goalies. There was a lot of laughter and whooping coming from that end of the ice.

“This is going well,” Ilya said.

“You think so?”

“Yes. The kids are having fun. The coaches are good. And I think Number Twenty-Two has a crush on me.” He nodded in the direction of a girl whose eyes went wide behind her mask, and she quickly looked away.

Shane scoffed. “Who have a crush on you?”

“Hayden.” Ilya paused, as if deep in thought. “Unless…”

“Hold on a sec,” Shane said. Then he skated toward a boy who had just finished the drill. He bent at the waist to talk to the kid, then began showing him something to do with the angle of the boy’s stick blade. Ilya felt a lot of things at once, both from the way Shane’s track pants pulled tight against his thigh muscles, and from the warmth that bloomed in Ilya’s chest whenever he watched Shane interact with children.

“Are you actually going to do some coaching, or are you just here to shoot heart eyes at Shane?”

Ilya blinked and turned his gaze away from his boyfriend to look way down at Hayden Pike. “Are you here for any reason at all?”

Hayden tapped the brim of his Montreal Voyageurs Stanley Cup Champions ball cap. “Here to represent the winning team, buddy.”

Well. Ilya couldn’t argue with that. His own team wasn’t going to be winning cups anytime soon. He made a mental note to wear Shane’s identical ball cap tomorrow, because it would make Hayden furious, and said, “You lead the next passing drill. You are good at passing.”

Hayden’s eyes narrowed, as if he was analyzing Ilya’s words, searching for the insult. Finally, cautiously, he said, “I good at passing. I lead Montreal in assists.”

“I know. That is why I said it.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

Hayden studied him another moment, then nodded and skated away. Ilya hadn’t realized how much fun it would be to confuse Hayden with compliments. He would have to do it more often.

Ilya couldn’t help but notice that the reporter guy Shane was talking to was very…attractive. Ilya tried to keep his focus on the kids he was coaching, but his gaze kept drifting back to where Shane was standing just behind the glass in one corner. Even from here, Ilya could see the flirtatious smiles the man was giving Shane.

Or maybe they were just regular smiles and Ilya was being ridiculous.

“Mr. Rozanov?”

He dragged his attention away from his boyfriend and the handsome stranger and looked down at the girl in front of him.

“Ilya,” he corrected her, warmly. “Is something wrong, Chloe?”

“No. I just, um…” She glanced down at her skates, which she was shuffling nervously.

Ilya crouched down. “Yes?”

“I keep missing backhand passes. Not just in the drill, but, like, all the time. Do you know what I’m doing wrong?”

Ilya smiled. “We will try some and see what the problem is.”

He spent the next fifteen minutes sending passes to Chloe, and correcting her stick placement when she was receiving them. By the end of it, she was beaming with pride as she easily accepted a bunch of consecutive passes from him, and Ilya had barely glanced in Shane’s direction.

As Chloe joined the group that J.J. had called to center ice, Ilya took a peek and saw the handsome man laughing with Shane about something. And then the fucker placed a hand on Shane’s arm.

There was no reason for Ilya to skate down the ice with one of the pucks and fire it at the glass behind Shane’s head, but he did it anyway. He could hear Shane scream, and Ilya laughed when he whipped around, eyes flashing with fury.

“Asshole!” Shane yelled.

Ilya gestured with his stick toward the children on the ice and shook his head. “Language, Hollander.”

Things were tense between them for the rest of the day. Ilya couldn’t even apologize because Shane wouldn’t talk to him. Not that he felt like apologizing; he just wanted Shane to stop being mad about it.

And Ilya wanted to stop feeling embarrassed about doing it. It had been immature and petty and unprofessional. He still didn’t want to apologize, though.

They had a debriefing, of sorts, at the end of the day with Yuna in the room they all used as an office. Shane didn’t even look at Ilya for the entire conversation. When Yuna left, Ilya braced himself for Shane’s fury.

The storm started with Shane loudly shuffling papers for no reason. Then he crossed his arms, huffed, and stared at the wall opposite Ilya.

Ilya couldn’t stand it. He’d rather Shane unleash whatever anger he had inside him so they could move on. Fortunately, he was an expert when it came to making Shane unleash his anger.

“What is the problem?” Ilya asked.

Shane spun to face him, eyes glinting. “The is that I’m trying to run a camp with a fucking .”

“Is this about the puck thing?” Ilya asked innocently.

“It’s about having to always make me look like an idiot!”

“Come on.”

“Why’d you do it? Because Laurent’s handsome?”

Ilya took a triumphant step toward him. “So you attracted to him.”

“What? No. I mean, yes. He’s nice to look at but—”

“And he liked looking at you.”

Shane paused at that, and his cheeks pinked in a way that Ilya normally loved. He was not so into it now. “As if,” Shane said. “You weren’t even there.”

“I could tell.”

Shane was only inches away from him now, his head tilted back so he could glare directly at Ilya despite their height difference. “You almost gave me a heart attack with that stupid puck, and why? Because you thought I was ?”

Ilya huffed. “You do not know how to flirt.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Ilya.”

Ilya looked away. “I was jealous, maybe.”

“Keep going.”

“I… It was stupid, okay? I am not proud.”

When he turned his gaze back to Shane, he found him smiling at him, but not in a nice way. More in a victorious, smug way. “What did you really think was going to happen?”

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe you would think he was nice. Hot. Not a rival hockey player.” He was terrified that one day Shane would realize he could be with someone who wasn’t a dark secret. That it could be easy to love someone.

Shane exhaled loudly, his exasperation clear. “I have spent the trying not to—” His eyes darted to the door, which was ajar, likely realizing how loudly he was talking. He dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Trying not to be obvious about how fucking in love with you I am.”

“Shane—”

“No. Shut up. If you really don’t get that I’m not going to leave you for the first cute guy who smiles at me, then I don’t know what we’re even doing, Ilya.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, because suddenly he really was. “Was a weird day. I was maybe just…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Shane rested a hand on Ilya’s chest. “I’m yours. You know that.”

“I know.” Ilya found himself leaning in for a kiss, completely forgetting where they were.

He remembered slightly too late.

“Oh god,” said a voice from the doorway. “Not again.”

Ryan Price was filling the doorway with his massive body, looking mortified.

“We weren’t!” Shane said quickly. “We were just talking.”

Ryan glanced between them, which wasn’t hard to do because they were practically stuck together. “Okay.”

Ilya took a step back, and very calmly said, “Can we help you with something?”

“The, uh, news guys are packing up and wanted to talk to you. I ran into them on my way out.”

“Thanks.” Shane sounded like he wanted to die. “We’ll be right there.”

Ryan nodded again. “Okay. Well. See you tomorrow.” He darted away before either Shane or Ilya could respond.

“I like that guy,” Ilya said.

“Me too. And I like that he can keep a secret.”

“Yes. Maybe we can go out this week with him and his Fabian.”

“What, like a double date?”

“Sure. Why not?” They’d had Hayden Pike and his wife, Jackie, over to Shane’s house a few times. And they’d gone to the Pikes’ house once, which had been fun because Ilya had been able to play with their four awesome kids and ignore Hayden. But they’d never hung out together with another queer couple. Not one that knew about their relationship. Ilya thought it might be…neat.

Shane’s face scrunched up in an adorable way and Ilya knew he was trying to find a reason to protest, but in the end he smiled and said, “Wow. We could really do that, couldn’t we?”

Ilya smiled back. “We could.”

Shane blew out a breath. “Okay. I’m going to go talk to Laurent.”

“Is he invited on our date too? Are we breaking your no threesomes rule?”

Shane was already walking out the door, flipping Ilya off with a hand behind his back.

“What’s Shane’s problem?” Yuna asked.

Ilya glanced at the kitchen table, where Shane was staring miserably into the middle distance, the lower part of his face covered by his folded hands.

“Looks normal to me,” Ilya said dryly. He sprinkled some blueberries over the salad he’d made to go with the chicken Yuna had baked for dinner.

“Shane, what’s wrong?” Yuna asked.

Shane exhaled slowly, lowered his hands, and said, “Nothing. Just, y’know, replaying the entire day in my head. I can’t believe Ryan walked in on us again.”

Yuna turned away from the chicken breasts she’d been checking. “Seriously, guys?”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Shane clarified.

“Shane was about to,” Ilya said.

“I was not.”

“You were going to kiss me.”

“

were going to kiss .”

“Okay. Enough,” Yuna said. “It’s not such a big deal, right? Ryan’s gay, so he must be…” She rotated one hand in the air, searching for the right words. “Cool with it.”

“He looked horrified,” Shane said.

“Is fine,” Ilya said easily. “He has known for a year and has not told anyone. Where is the goat cheese?”

“I know, but it’s embarrassing. And unprofessional. And we’ve burdened the poor guy with a pretty huge secret,” Shane said. “Leave the cheese off my salad, okay?”

“I .”

“I like Ryan,” Yuna said. “He’s a big sweetie.”

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “We are going to ask about a double date with him and his boyfriend, maybe.”

Yuna placed her hands on Ilya’s shoulders and squeezed, once. “I love that idea.”

Ilya bit his lip to contain his smile. He really liked Shane’s family.

“You don’t think you could tell the rest of the staff about your relationship?” Yuna asked, returning to the chicken. It was a question Ilya had been asking himself a lot. He focused on getting the goat cheese out of the fridge and let Shane answer.

“Not yet,” Shane said. “Leah and Max would be safe, I think. But we don’t know them that well, so I don’t really see the point in telling them, y’know?”

“We could tell Wyatt, maybe,” Ilya said.

“You think?” Shane asked. Then he shook his head. “I don’t want your goalie to know. Too weird.”

“Hayden knows,” Yuna pointed out. “Why can’t Ilya’s teammate know?”

“Hayden is my best friend, and the only one of my teammates who knows. I’m sure as hell not telling J.J.”

“Can I tell him?” Ilya asked.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Shane sighed. “I love J.J., and he’s been really supportive of me being gay, but he’s not ready to hear about us. Trust me.”

“Well, neither was I,” Yuna said. “But I got over it.”

“J.J. isn’t my mom.”

“No,” Yuna said. “Your is the one making dinner at the end of a long day while you sit on your butt and mope. Come help.”

“

helping,” Ilya couldn’t resist pointing out.

“I know you are.” Yuna patted his cheek. “That’s why you’re my favorite son.”

Ilya grinned at Shane, who tried to look annoyed but mostly failed because his eyes had gone soft.

Later, they sat around the table and toasted their successful first day of camp with glasses of water. They ate their healthy, Shane-approved dinner and talked about hockey, and the charity, and decor ideas for Shane’s house, and plans for the rest of the summer. It felt, as it always did to Ilya, wonderful and surreal at the same time. He’d never expected to have this domestic comfort in his life. Not with anyone. He’d never expected to be part of a family, and have parents again.

He would do absolutely everything to protect this, and he was constantly terrified that, when it came to it, he wouldn’t be able to. Because the day come.

Shane offered to clean up after dinner to make up for slacking off during the preparation. Yuna insisted on helping, which probably meant she wanted to talk to Shane, so Ilya headed outside to the back deck.

He leaned on the railing and stared up at the sky where the stars were barely visible from all of the city lights. Nothing like at Shane’s cottage.

“I think you’d like what we did today.” Ilya spoke quietly, in Russian, to the sky. “I hope you are proud.”

He only ever spoke to one of his parents, though both were dead now. His mother’s death had been sudden and devastating. His father had faded away gradually from Alzheimer’s, and Ilya still hadn’t sorted out his feelings about losing the man who’d never had a nice word to say to him. Or to Ilya’s wonderful mother.

Ilya’s friend Harris, back in Ottawa, swore there was a ghost living in his parents’ house. A great-uncle or something. Ilya didn’t think he believed in ghosts, but he clung to the idea that his mother’s spirit was with him, somehow. He needed her to be.

“Hey,” Shane said in a hushed voice behind him. “Mom’s gone to bed.”

Ilya turned to face him. He’d changed, when they’d gotten home, into sweat shorts and a Voyageurs T-shirt. His feet were bare and his shaggy hair was rumpled. Ilya immediately opened his arms and Shane practically fell into them, resting his forehead on Ilya’s shoulder and exhaling loudly.

“I’m exhausted,” Shane said. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

“Sure.”

But Shane didn’t move. He wrapped his strong arms around Ilya’s waist and held him, breathing slowly against Ilya’s neck. Ilya rocked them a bit, gently, from side to side, and enjoyed the quiet. He closed his eyes and focused on how good it felt to be with Shane, alone in the dark, and tried not to wish it could be the same in the light.