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Shane opened the door, dropped onto the sofa, and tossed his car keys onto the table.
“Fuck. I still can’t believe we came out like that.”
He tried not to think about the whole lover thing—or all the fucked-up moments of the day. Being caught kissing, tangled together, by his father. The drive to his parents’ house. The coming out. And Ilya’s far too detailed explanations.
What could possibly be worse than that?
He buried his face in his arms. Panic still clung to him, heavy and relentless. Helplessness refused to let go.
Ilya cut through the chaos with a single, deliberate kiss—soft, almost reverent.
Warm fingers brushed Shane’s cheekbones. His heart flipped, sharp and sudden, the same way it had when Ilya had said the word boyfriend.
Not bad, Shane Hollander, he thought. You got yourself a boyfriend today.
Ilya traced his face with gentle, lingering and damp kisses. Before Shane could open his eyes, another kiss followed, pressed to his forehead, warm and affectionate.
Shane finally looked up.
The first thing crossing his mind was that the Russian really did have ocean eyes—eyes he would willingly drown in.
Seeing that his boyfriend was steadier now, Ilya drew him in. They settled together on the sofa, bodies fitting easily, like they’d done this a thousand times already.(actually did)
“I was thinking,” Ilya said, voice quiet, “maybe we could invite your parents to spend a day here. Have a barbecue. Go swimming. Something like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Shane, you’ve been borrowing worry from tomorrow for days now.” Ilya paused, then softened. “And I didn’t say I love you just to ruin what was meant to be a happy holiday. Just one day. Forget the fucking future. Forget hockey. We can show your parents that we can live a good life together—and that I’m more than just an asshole.”
Shane didn’t answer right away.
He slipped out of Ilya’s arms, turned, and settled onto his lap instead, close enough that the intent was unmistakable. His voice dropped, warm and certain. “You’re right. I’ll text them and ask them to come tomorrow.”
The closeness pulled Ilya’s thoughts in a dangerous direction. He didn’t even fight it.
Shane looked softer now, worn thin by the day, exhaustion rounding his edges. The lingering shadow in his eyes only made him more magnetic. Even the freckles—God—they felt like an invitation.
Ilya slid his arms around him and pulled him close, chest to chest. His head brushed along the curve of Shane’s neck. He breathed him in, familiar and warm, grounding and intoxicating all at once.
“Not now, Ilya,” Shane said, distracted. “I’m texting them.”
Still, Shane didn’t pull away.
And that did it.
The silence stretched and thickened. Shane’s attention stayed on his phone, but his body remained pliant against Ilya’s, fitting too easily.Ilya’s own breathing faltered, low and unsteady, brushing Shane’s skin in a way that made his pulse spike.
Shane felt it, more than he heard it.
He’s way too hot, Shane thought—and realized too late he’d said it aloud.
“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya murmured, half a warning, half a confession. “You’re really teasing me now.”
Shane turned. Foreheads touched. A beat, long enough for the tension to hum between them, thick and sharp.
Then Ilya leaned down—
—and later, they lay side by side in bed. The lights were off, and the world outside seemed distant, irrelevant. Shane rested on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ilya settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, still taut with the charged silence that had followed them from the sofa.
Ilya’s hand found Shane’s, fingers threading together without a word. Shane reached for his phone.
Yes, his mom had replied.
He let out a slow, quiet breath, set the phone aside, and turned onto his side. Ilya shifted, drawing him in. Shane’s face pressed lightly against Ilya’s chest.The lights were off, and the world outside seemed distant, irrelevant. Shane rested on his back, staring at the ceiling. Ilya settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched, still taut with the charged silence that had followed them from the sofa.Every heartbeat, every shallow breath between them, was a quiet storm contained only by the closeness they shared.
For now, that was enough.