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“Hey, I know we’ve already broken up, but I have a favor to ask,” Rose said over the phone.
“Of course,” Shane replied without thinking, sorting through the final papers on his desk. “What is it?”
Shane never agreed to anything before hearing the full request, but Rose was the exception.
Because Rose was one of the most considerate people Shane knew. She never asked for help lightly, and when she did, it usually meant she was truly out of options.
And also because he owed her.
They were both McGill students: Shane Hollander was captain of the hockey team, and Rose Landry was president of the Faculty of Arts student society. They had once been one of the brightest, most promising couples on campus.
Shane had always felt guilty about Rose: dating her before he was ready, wasting months of her time. She had every reason to resent him, but instead she had sat him down for a long, honest talk and patiently guided him toward accepting who he was. She’d even known there was a man he couldn’t get out of his head, and she hadn’t forced the details out of him. She’d only told him that if he ever needed to talk, she was there.
“My mom doesn’t know we broke up. She’s been looking forward to you spending Christmas with us,” Rose said. “It’s also the first Christmas since my dad passed. He’s already missing from the table—I don’t want to make her feel that loss even more. So… can you still come?”
“No problem. I was already planning on it,” Shane said. His parents had known that he’d be at Rose’s for the holidays, and had already planned their own trip to Southeast Asia without him.
“Great!” Rose cheered on the other end of the line. “Can you pretend to still be my boyfriend for those two days?”
“Uh, you’re sure about that?”
“I want to wait before I tell Mom we broke up, so dinner won’t be as awkward. Only if you’re okay with it, of course. If you’re already seeing someone—”
“No, I’m not.” Shane sighed. “Sure. If you think that’s better.”
Shane had no idea, then, that this would lead to the most disastrous Christmas Eve of his life.
They left campus early on Christmas Eve morning and drove to Rose’s childhood home.
“Oh, when you meet my mom later—please don’t call her Mrs. Landry,” Rose said.
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not her last name—oh, I don’t think I ever told you. We’re a blended family. My birth mom passed away when I was little. My stepmom divorced her ex and got custody of her son. So when she married my dad, I got a brother.”
Shane nodded, committing the information to memory. “What should I call her, then?”
“Just her first name. Irina. You’ll like her.” Rose’s expression softened in a way Shane couldn’t place. “She’s a lot like me—pretty, lively. People always assume I’m her biological daughter.”
“Wow, that’s a very clever way to compliment yourself,” Shane teased. Rose laughed and rolled her eyes. If Shane hadn’t been driving, she definitely would have punched him.
“And my brother—I only ever called him ‘my brother,’ right? You don’t know his name?” Rose went on.
Shane didn’t. He’d never pressed for details when Rose talked about her family. At the time, he’d thought he was respecting her privacy. Looking back now, maybe he simply hadn’t been that invested. The thought made him feel even guiltier.
“His name is Ilya. I thought he was scary at first, but once you get to know him, he’s actually really sweet. Oh, fair warning—if he’s not very friendly to you, don’t take it personally. He’s just overprotective of me. I’m sure he’ll like you as much as I do once he gets to know you.”
Shane startled, then smiled faintly, a familiar ache in his chest. He knew an Ilya like that too: rough on the outside, soft underneath. Was that just what Ilyas were?
“Guess I’d better be on my best behavior, huh?”
“You’ll be fine,” Rose said.
Shane wondered where her confidence came from.
When they arrived, Irina answered the door.
Irina wore a dark green sweater and a long skirt, her beautiful curls the same bright shade as Rose’s. Her welcoming smile warmed and brightened the whole space. If Rose hadn’t explained beforehand, Shane would have thought they were mother and daughter by blood.
“Nice to meet you, Irina,” Shane greeted stiffly.
Irina immediately pulled him into a motherly hug, patting his back as she said cheerfully, “Shane. Welcome.”
Irina didn’t wear her grief for her late husband on her face. Only when she let go did her fingertips briefly brush the wedding band on her left hand. From what Shane knew of Rose, he guessed Irina was like her too, keeping sorrow tucked away, saving her tenderness for the people she loved. Shane respected her immediately.
“Is Ilya home yet?” Rose asked.
“Not yet, but he texted me before he left. He should be here any—” Before Irina could finish, they heard tires crunch over gravel in the driveway. “Oh, that must be him.”
Shane watched the front door swing open. The first thing that came into view was a black suitcase he was sure he’d seen before. Then, long fingers wrapped around the handle, a solid, muscled forearm above it.
A belated, ominous premonition rose inside him.
“I’m home—” a familiar voice said, and Shane’s breath caught. The next second, Ilya Rozanov pushed the door all the way open and stepped into the entryway.
Shane froze. His gaze betrayed him, skimming Ilya’s tight jaw, sweeping over lips he’d kissed countless times, before it finally reached his eyes.
Shane watched helplessly as those beautiful blue eyes, softened by the ease of coming home, went blank the instant Ilya really saw him.
Fuck. Among all the Ilyas in Canada, Rose’s brother had to be this one?
“What the fuck are you doing here, Hollander?” Ilya glared at Shane.
“Ilya,” Irina warned, frowning at him with a mother’s authority. Ilya flinched, but didn’t apologize.
“Rozanov,” Shane answered weakly. “It’s been a while.”
“He’s my boyfriend…” Rose hesitated as she introduced him to Ilya. “But it seems you two already know each other?”
“We both play hockey,” Shane said. “We run into each other at games a lot—”
“You are making it sound much smaller than it is.” Ilya cut him off. “Every university hockey team in Canada knows we’re archrivals.”
Rose nodded slowly, taking it in. “But that’s just on the ice, right?”
Ilya gave Shane a meaningful look. His expression closed off, and he did not answer Rose’s question. He dragged his suitcase past them and said, “Make yourself at home, Hollander.” Then he walked down the hall without looking back.
“Oh, what is wrong with that boy…” Irina watched Ilya’s back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He’s not usually like this.”
Shane felt his heart sink into his stomach. He wanted to throw up.
Of course Ilya wasn’t usually like this. If Ilya wanted to be cruel to him, Shane had earned it.
Rose took Shane to her room. Once the door was shut, she said, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew each other—” Then, carefully: “Is it bad? Between you two?”
Shane did not know how to answer.
Ilya Rozanov, captain of the hockey team at the Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières, Shane Hollander’s nemesis on the ice for years.
That was in public.
In private—during OUA East games, playoffs, tournaments, postgame road trips—they’d found every chance they could to meet in one of their hotel rooms. Sex with Ilya was the best Shane had ever had. No one else came close.
And Ilya was also the man who, the first time he invited Shane to his apartment, asked him to stay the night, stocked up on ginger ale for him, made him a tuna melt, and terrified Shane by making him realize there could be more between them.
The man Shane couldn’t stop thinking about even while he was dating someone as perfect as Rose.
The man who made Shane want things he shouldn’t have.
And the worst part: Ilya hadn’t answered a single one of his texts ever since the day Shane had run away. Shane was clearly the last person Ilya wanted to see right now. Especially not in the childhood home where Ilya was supposed to be able to relax, with Shane showing up as Rose’s boyfriend, sitting down to dinner with her family, staying the night.
“Yeah. Really bad.” What else could Shane say?
Dinner was exactly the fucking disaster Shane had expected.
“You want some Coke?” That was the first thing Ilya said to Shane when they walked into the dining room. He shrugged with a smile that did not reach his eyes and added, “Sorry. We don’t have ginger ale.”
“Oh! We do—Rose asked me to get some.” Irina opened the fridge, pulled out a can of ginger ale, and handed it to Shane with a warm smile. “Here. Cold enough?”
Ilya drank his Coke in silence, his gaze moving back and forth between Rose and Irina. Shane couldn’t read his expression. If Irina had picked up on the tension between them, she didn’t show it. She invited Shane to sit down as if nothing were wrong.
Over dinner, Irina asked Shane about life at McGill and whether he planned to visit his parents after the holidays. Rose jumped in now and then to fill in details. He and Rose were natural enough together to look like a couple deeply in love. Shane behaved as politely as he could, complimenting the dinner Irina had made and passing Rose the salt. Rose brushed Shane’s knee under the table from time to time, a silent thank-you.
If Ilya had not been there, Shane was sure he could have pulled off the fake-boyfriend act very well.
Unfortunately, Ilya, who was usually excited to warm up the room, sat silent at the far end of the table, staring darkly as Shane took bread from Irina and watching as Rose casually served Shane the food he liked. Shane had a feeling this uneasy truce wasn’t going to hold much longer.
Sure enough, right after Rose called Shane “babe” and pecked his cheek, Ilya slammed his Coke can down on the table.
“I’m surprised you chose Hollander,” he said to Rose.
Rose frowned at him. “Why?”
“He’s boring.”
Shane’s chest tightened. It was the first time he’d heard Ilya call him “boring” so flatly without endearment.
“He does have merits, though.” Ilya went on. “He’s very disciplined. Stable. Never lose control.”
Ilya’s voice dropped very deliberately on never. Shane knew exactly what the fuck Ilya was implying: Ilya could always make Shane lose control.
Rose’s frown deepened. She was sharp; she must have sensed the subtext. She opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, Ilya continued, “Discipline is not enough, however. Rose deserves someone honest.”
The hostility was too obvious for Rose to keep pretending she didn’t hear it. “Ilya, don’t be terrible.”
“Is the truth. He promised you he’d stay tonight, yes?” Ilya raised a brow. “Careful. He might still leave.”
Shane sucked in a breath. Ilya was alluding to the last time they had seen each other.
Rose and Irina opened their mouths at the same time—
No. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Can we please talk?” Shane set down his fork before either of them could speak, looking straight into Ilya’s eyes. “In private.”
He didn’t know what he was going to say. Shane could never think straight with Ilya’s burning gaze locked on him. But Rose hadn’t invited him here to turn her family’s Christmas Eve into a shitshow. This was all Shane’s fault, and he was the one who had to fix it.
The request clearly confused Rose and Irina. But Ilya dropped his utensils as if he, too, had been waiting for Shane to ask.
“Sure.” Ilya glared at Shane, palms braced on the table as he pushed to his feet. “My room.”
Ilya Rozanov was a liar.
Yes, he was surprised Rose’s boyfriend was Shane, but he wasn’t surprised she’d fallen for him at all.
McGill’s hockey captain and the president of the Faculty of Arts student society—they were picture-perfect, fairy-tale material. If it had been any other man, Ilya would have been genuinely happy for her. But. But—
Why did the man making Rose so happy have to be Shane fucking Hollander?
“What the hell do you want, Hollander?” Ilya slammed the door behind him and stared at Shane, who stood in the middle of his room. “So many women in Canada, and you fucking had to pick my sister—”
“I had no idea Rose was your sister!”
“Oh. Sure.”
“Of course I didn’t! I never knew anything about your family! You don’t even share the same last name—how was I supposed to—”
Ilya tried to act like he didn’t care, but something small and traitorous sparked in his chest. Maybe Shane Hollander really wasn’t that cruel?
No. So what?
Whatever Shane’s intentions were, they meant nothing to Ilya anymore.
The fact was, Shane was Rose’s boyfriend now. Rose loved him. Every year from now on, she’d bring him home for Christmas. Ilya would even have to sit through their wedding—
That was what made Ilya sickest of all.
All these years, Ilya had only ever gotten to have Shane behind locked doors. And Shane had barely been with Rose for long, yet he could sit openly at their table, enjoy the food Irina had prepared for him, and let Rose stroke his thigh under the table…
But fine. No problem. This was for Rose.
“It doesn’t matter what you think anymore,” Ilya heard himself say.
Shane flinched as if Ilya’s words had cut him. But what right did he have to feel hurt?
“Listen, Hollander. You can be Rose’s boyfriend. Or her husband. Fine. But you should know I’m not going to be a friendly brother. If you break her heart, I will make you pay. You don’t get to fuck with her.”
Ilya advanced on Shane as he spoke. Most men would have buckled under his anger, but Shane stood straight, facing Ilya, not backing down.
The space between them kept shrinking, close enough that for one instant, Ilya remembered those secret meetings—the same competitiveness neither of them would yield carrying all the way into bed. He could feel Shane’s heat radiating off him. One step closer and he could kiss him. And Shane’s gaze had dropped to his lips too—
“I didn’t fuck her,” Shane blurted.
The nonsensical line yanked Ilya out of his daze.
“What?”
Had he wanted to kiss Shane so badly that he had missed something? What Shane said made no sense at all.
“Fuck.” Shane stepped back, as if he’d also snapped out of a trance. “Sorry. That was gross. But I… I mean what I said. Literally.”
“You’re saying you two didn’t—”
“Right. We didn’t.”
“Why? You don’t think she’s good enough?” Ilya asked. He saw Rose as his own sister, but he was not blind. He knew exactly how exceptional Rose was.
“She’s great. It’s just…” Shane took a deep breath. “We are not compatible.”
“Not compatible? The fuck does that mean?”
“I’m gay!” Shane couldn’t bring himself to shout, so his hands did the shouting instead, gesturing wildly. “Completely!”
“…Okay. And? You still fucking dated her? What did you use her for—a beard?”
“I didn’t realize I was gay when I dated her. She broke up with me for that.”
“Broke up? But she said—”
“She didn’t want to disappoint Irina. She wanted to wait a few months before telling her we’d split.”
Ilya stared at Shane in disbelief.
So they weren’t together anymore? Shane wasn’t Rose’s?
But that didn’t mean Shane would be Ilya’s. Didn’t mean Shane would stay this time.
“Fine. I get it. You’re just here to help. For my mom.” Ilya stepped back, putting distance between them, arms crossed. “What do you expect me to do, then?”
“Uh.” Shane hooked his thumbs awkwardly into his pockets. “Rose hopes you won’t blow our cover about the breakup.”
“Fine. And you?” Ilya caught that Shane had only said half of it. “What do you want?”
Shane’s throat bobbed. Ilya braced himself for something boring and politically correct. But the next second, Shane looked straight into Ilya’s eyes and said, “You.”
“…What?” Ilya wondered again if his English was failing him.
“I want you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The image of Shane walking out his door still burned. Ilya wasn’t going to let himself get fooled again.
“I do. Hey, listen, I’m sorry I left like that last time—” Shane stepped toward him. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You never answered my texts—”
Of course Ilya hadn’t answered. He didn’t want to read Shane telling him they could only be friends.
He could not be just Shane’s friend.
Shane kept advancing, forcing Ilya back toward the foot of the bed. Shane had gained the upper hand in this confrontation. He always would, because Ilya had zero defenses against this freckled face he had been thinking about day and night.
Shane lifted his chin, confident, eyes locked on Ilya’s. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”
How was Ilya supposed to tell him to stop?
He grabbed the back of Shane’s neck. Shane responded immediately, meeting him halfway, lips crashing into his.
A moan spilled from deep in Shane’s throat, the sound Ilya had thought he’d never hear again, and Ilya lost control in an instant. Shane noticed, of course. He took advantage of it and shoved Ilya onto the bed. The mattress sank hard under both of them.
Ilya scrambled backward toward the headboard, but Shane didn’t let him go. He climbed onto the bed, crawling over Ilya and straddling his thighs. His hands cradled Ilya’s head as he kissed him hard. Their mouths and tongues took from each other desperately, as if they could devour each other, as if they could draw all the missed time back through the kiss alone. They were so lost in the hunger of having each other again that neither of them noticed the doorknob turning—
“Hey, you guys okay? You’ve been talking for quite a while, and Mom wanted me to check—”
Rose’s voice sliced through the moment. Ilya and Shane sprang apart in shock. Unfortunately, their limbs were tangled together. Even though Shane propped up his upper body, his ass was still planted squarely on Ilya’s thighs. They both looked at Rose in the doorway, mortified.
“Whoa—sorry.” Rose stared at the frozen live porn in front of her, stunned. “I was prepared for you two to get heated, but not this heated—”
Ilya’s heart sank.
Shane was Rose’s ex-boyfriend, no matter what. How did she feel, seeing this? He wanted Shane, but he didn’t want to hurt Rose—
Rose’s gaze lingered on Ilya for a second, then snapped back to Shane’s flushed face. Ilya could almost see the gears turning in her brain.
“Wait.” Her expression shifted. She made fists and bounced on her toes with delight. She looked like she wanted to scream at Shane, but managed to keep her voice down at the last second. “Ilya’s that guy?”
To Ilya’s surprise, there wasn’t a trace of hurt on Rose’s face. She looked excited, even.
What was happening?
“Shut up, Rose.” Shane closed his eyes, looking so helpless he seemed to want the floor to swallow him.
Rose just gave him a sly smile. “The only man you’ve ever been with? The one you’re trying to win back?”
“Fuck you,” Shane shot back.
“No, you didn’t.” Rose laughed. “I don’t blame you. I know you tried your best.”
“Jesus Christ.” Shane groaned and buried his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck, hiding from Rose.
“I get it now. You look way more into it with Ilya than you ever did with me.”
Rose truly was the wonderful sister Ilya was so proud of. When it was time to go for the kill, she knew exactly how to twist the knife once she’d stuck it in.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya heard himself say to Rose. He did not mean a word of it. He could not suppress the wild joy inside him.
“No, you’re not,” Shane and Rose deadpanned in unison.
The synchronicity made them look even more like a real couple, but Ilya wasn’t jealous at all. His face hurt from beaming too hard.
“But seriously, I’m happy for you guys. You two are so fucking hot like this. Wow.” Rose blinked rapidly and fanned herself with exaggerated drama. “Keep going! Take your time. I’ll handle Mom.”
She left just like that, humming as she closed the door behind her.
Shane’s face was still buried in Ilya’s shoulder.
A moment later, the faint clatter of dishes drifted in from outside, along with Rose and Irina’s voices, laughing and talking.
Ilya loved Rose so fucking much.
“Dinner isn’t over yet. We can’t make them wait,” Ilya said, while his hands stayed locked around Shane’s waist and hips, unwilling to let go.
“Mm, of course not.” Shane had no intention of letting go either. Quite the opposite: his ass was still pressed against Ilya’s hard-on, grinding back at a pace designed to drive Ilya insane. “Pretty sure we won’t keep them waiting too long.”
Ilya laughed and kissed Shane again.
He couldn’t believe it: Shane in his arms, in his bed, in his childhood home, with the people he loved waiting outside. They didn’t have to hide anymore.
Ilya was sure this was the best Christmas Eve of his life.
- The End -