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Shane wished he were on a plane, leaving fucking Boston far behind. He would remember this game as one of the hardest games he’d ever played. During the first period, Shane and Ilya hardly exchanged a word. Shane would have preferred his usual cocky trash talk. The tension hanging between them made his legs heavier with every second he spent on the ice with Boston’s first line. Boston led by two. Rozanov had none of them. His only decent chance rang off the iron.
The second period was about to start when Shane leaned in toward Ilya.
“Did you forget your lucky briefs somewhere?” Ilya asked.
Shane shook his head. Maybe it had been better when neither of them spoke.
“You’re not having the best night either. But at least I have enough sportsmanship to shut the fuck up about it.”
“Sportsmanship?” Ilya smirked. “I’d use different words.” Prick of conscience? Cowardice? Shane didn’t ask. Ilya didn’t say. He skated the puck out of the face-off circle.
Shane gripped his stick convulsively as he sat down on the bench. Stupid idea to meet before the game. He wouldn’t do that again. And he wouldn’t see Rozanov after the game either. Any game. They’d been meeting casually. Just sex. It had felt fine. Or at least safe. Then whatever this was stopped being easy to pretend about, and Shane had ignored all the signs. And he knew it. God. He couldn’t get that moment out of his head—the way the heat drained from Ilya’s eyes when he watched Shane leave. He’d hurt his pride. And that wasn’t nothing. It was Rozanov. That’s why he—
“What’s wrong with that Russian today?” Hayden spat, taking another gulp of water. “He missed, like—what—two chances in the first? And now he’s in the penalty box. Again.”
“Gotta be hungover or something.” If Rozanov had hurt one of his teammates, it’d be partly on Shane. Good job, captain. Fucking hell.
“He probably didn’t get laid last night,” J.J. huffed.
Shane, sitting right between Hyaden and J. J., bit his lower lip.
Hayden laughed. “Yeah, maybe he got dumped.”
Shane’s jaw clenched.
“Or,” J.J. raised a finger, “he took someone home and it turned out she had a dick!”
Hayden choked on his water.
Fuck. Shane’s stick slammed against the boards. It cracked. “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to follow the game!”
Both his teammates froze for a second.
“And what’s your problem tonight?” Hayden snapped. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were out getting drunk with him last night!”
“Fuck off.” Shane spat. He didn’t usually flare up like that. But tonight, it came easy. The ice blurred. His eyes burned with humiliation. And anger covered everything.