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Shane Hollander is a control freak. That is no secret to anyone, least of all himself. He likes routine. He loves how his running shoes are always in the same spot by his apartment door every morning. He almost smiles when his favorite breakfast finishes cooking at the exact second he calculated it would. Control is how he exists. Most of the time, he doesn’t see anything wrong with it.
And then there is Ilya Rozanov.
That fucker who is, undoubtedly, the love of his life. He is also, without question, the most annoying person on earth to Shane on some days. Ilya has a different kind of control. He doesn’t calculate or prepare the way Shane does. He simply speaks like he expects to be obeyed, and more often than not, he is. He doesn’t care about small things. He is calm. Smug. He parties hard and trains harder.
“Best of both worlds, котенок,” he likes to say.
Shane has always believed they balance each other out. Even when Ilya’s calm confidence pisses him off, Shane knows that steadiness is what keeps him from shattering on his worst days.
But over the last few days, something has shifted that balance.
No. Not something.
Someone.
Evan Carter.
According to Ilya, Evan is a friend from the luxury car business. Thanks, Svetlana. They met two years after their rookie season, which explains why Shane had never heard of him before. Evan existed in a part of Ilya’s life Shane was never able to access back then.
Now, though, Shane has access to every part of his fiancée’s life. And Evan has flown in from Italy before the season started because he missed his “buddy.” Since the moment he arrived, he and Ilya have been inseparable. Because of course they have.
Shane tells himself he isn’t jealous.
It’s the lie he repeats while brushing his teeth, while tying his shoes, while pretending not to notice how often Ilya’s phone lights up now. He isn’t jealous. He’s observant. Analytical. Protective of equilibrium. There’s a difference.
Evan is cool. He makes the same kind of jokes Ilya does. He’s loud, charming, and says yes to every invitation Shane immediately declines. He’s also handsome. And white. Shane liked to tell himself that last part wasn’t why he felt so small when he stood between him and Ilya. That it had nothing to do with the way Evan blended effortlessly into spaces Shane already felt like he was borrowing.
Evan is only staying two weeks. By the time the first one passes, Shane is exhausted from pretending everything is fine. From letting Ilya enjoy his time. From swallowing things he doesn’t know how to say.
Rozanov, unfortunately, has always been able to read him like a book.
They’re in the living room, a few hours after Ilya arrived from a night of partying with his friend, when it finally breaks. Late afternoon light spills through the windows, warm and dull. Ilya is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone, relaxed. Shane hovers near the shelves, straightening things that don’t need fixing.
Ilya doesn’t look up at first, but he feels it.
– I can hear you overthinking three miles away, – he says calmly.
– I am not, – Shane replies without turning around, fixing the same book for the third time.
Ilya locks his phone and glances up, one eyebrow lifting.
– Come on, дорогой. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.
– Nothing is going on, Ilya.
The edge in his voice gives him away immediately.
Shane grabs a book and drops into the armchair beside the couch, staring at the first page without reading a word. He hopes, stupidly, that Ilya will let it go.
He doesn’t.
– Nothing, huh?
Shane exhales sharply, snaps the book shut, and tosses it onto the coffee table.
– Have you ever slept with Evan?
For a beat, there’s silence. Ilya stares at him like he just confessed to assassinating JFK.
Then he laughs. Loud. Unfiltered.
– Shane, really?
That does it.
Shane stands abruptly, heart pounding, emotions crashing into each other too fast to separate. He wants to leave. He wants to punch Ilya. He wants to cry.
– Fuck off, Rozanov.
His eyes burn, tears threatening to spill.
– Wait, sweetheart, I’m joking.
Ilya stands quickly, catching Shane by the shoulders as he tries to bolt. His grip is careful, uncertain, like Shane is made of glass and might shatter if held too tightly.
– It’s not fucking funny. – Shane snaps, trying to sound angry. He bites his lip and looks away, fighting the tears.
– It is. A little. – Ilya shakes his head, but the amusement fades as he really looks at him. – What on earth made you think that?
Shane meets his eyes for half a second before looking away again.
– It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.
He tries to leave again.
– No. – Ilya tightens his hold and steps directly in front of him. – You know I can’t do that. Whatever you’re thinking is hurting you, and it’s my job as your fiancée to get it out of you.
His voice softens.
– I’m sorry I laughed. It just surprised me. But please talk to me, moya lyubov.
Shane swallows hard. Tears blur his vision. He wants to disappear. He doesn’t want to be this person. He doesn’t want to look weak, pathetic, replaceable.
But he’s already here.
– He is everything I am not, Ilya.
The words hurt coming out.
– He’s handsome. He’s never boring. He gets your humor better than I do, and he loves to party with you. – His voice cracks. The first tear falls, then another. – I know you wouldn’t cheat. I know that. But seeing you with him made me wonder if one day you’d get tired of how boring I am. If you’d realize you want someone like him. Someone easy. Someone who fits everywhere you like to go. Someone who doesn’t tell you what to do all the time.
The tears won’t stop now. Shane tries to hide his face, shoulders shaking.
– Look at me.
Ilya lifts his chin, firm but gentle, forcing him to meet his eyes. He cups Shane’s face with both hands and wipes away his tears with his thumbs.
– Shane Hollander, – he says softly, – you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are more than I ever wished for.
Shane’s breath stutters. He tries to look away, but Ilya won’t let him.
– I know it’s hard, – Ilya continues, – but you need to stop comparing yourself to anyone. Because there is no competition, moya lyubov. There’s just you. No one else. – His thumb traces Shane’s freckles. – And when I call you boring, I don’t mean it as a flaw. You ground me. You mean home.
Shane lets out a broken breath.
– I would never cheat, – Ilya says. – And no, I’ve never slept with Evan. I never want to. Not with him. Not with anyone who isn’t you. – He presses his forehead to Shane’s. – I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. And thank you for trusting me with this.
That’s when Shane breaks completely.
He clings to Ilya, burying his face in the crook of his neck, sobs muffled against his skin.
– I’m sorry, – he whispers. – For not telling you before. I..
– Shh, – Ilya murmurs, holding him tighter. – It’s okay, moya lyubov. I’m yours. I always will be. Just breathe.
He guides them to the couch, Shane settling into his lap. Ilya rubs slow circles into his back, murmuring reassurances in Russian and English until Shane’s breathing evens out.
Until he believes every word.