Page 180 of The Long Game
“It’s over, buddy,” Hayden said. “Come line up for the handshakes.”
Shane forced himself to his feet, and skated over to where his teammates had gathered in a devastated cluster, waiting for Ottawa to stop celebrating. It could be a long wait.
“Good game,” Shane said to Drapeau, who looked stunned behind his mask. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Drapeau fixed his intense goalie eyes on Shane’s face and said, coldly, “I know.”
He skated away, leaving Shane feeling confused and upset. Obviously Shane could have stopped Ilya if he hadn’t fucking tripped, but it was unlike Drapeau to be a fucking ass about it.
They lined up for the handshakes. Shane’s brain was still whirling with shame and confusion and disappointment and anger. He shook the hands of several Centaurs in a blur, then realized that each of them were saying nice things to him.
He first noticed it with Troy Barrett. The other man gripped Shane’s hand firmly, then pulled him in for a quick, brotherly hug. “I’ll see you at the camps this summer, okay?”
“You will?” This was the first Shane had heard of it.
“Yeah.” Troy pulled back and smiled, his vivid blue eyes twinkling with the thrill of victory. “Bood too, I think. We’re excited about it.” He released Shane’s hand. “I hope we can be friends, y’know?”
Somehow Shane had completely forgotten that Troy was gay, despite his very public coming-out a few weeks ago, and the fact that Ilya had talked endlessly about what a great couple he and Harris were. “Definitely,” Shane said.
Troy patted his arm one more time, then moved on. Shane shook a few more hands and received more nice words. Then he was face-to-face with Ilya.
Shane didn’t know what to do. He wanted to wrap his arms around Ilya and breathe him in. Tell him he was proud of him. He was also so angry he could barely look at Ilya’s gleeful face right now.
Except Ilya didn’t look gleeful; he looked concerned, and maybe just as unsure of what to do as Shane was.
Shane knew there were about a million photos being taken of them right now. Professional photographers on the ice, thousands of fans taking photos with their phones, and peopleat home making gifs that would live on the internet forever. He knew, but all he saw in that moment was Ilya’s wary expression.
Finally, Shane stuck out his hand, and Ilya shook it. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“You guys earned it,” Shane said. “That was a fucking incredible series. I’m excited for you.” He wasn’t lying. Mostly he was disappointed that he couldn’t be a part of it.
“I thought you had me,” Ilya said.
“I did. Must have caught an edge or something. Fucking embarrassing.” Shane sighed. “Are you flying back tonight?”
“Yes. And to New York tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Shane was about to suggest that he drive to Ottawa tonight and meet Ilya at home later.
Ilya must have seen it in his eyes. “Get some rest tonight.”
Shane wanted to argue that he needed Ilya more than he needed sleep. Or food. Or oxygen. But in truth he knew he’d crash hard in about half an hour, completely drained after this emotional series.
He nodded and said, “Kick Scott Hunter’s ass, okay?”
Ilya smiled, cocky and sexy. “I can’t wait.”
The handshake line ended with Wyatt, who pulled Shane in for a hug. “Always a pleasure watching you play, Hollander. I’ll see you in July.”
“You too, Wyatt. Good luck in New York.”
“Oh shit, we’ve gotta win another one of these?”
Shane laughed and patted Wyatt’s massive chest protector. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
It wasn’t until Shane was back in the locker room that he started to notice that it wasn’t just Drapeau who seemed upset with him.
“I can’t believe I fucking tripped,” Shane said to J.J. as they were tossing their jerseys in the laundry bin.
