Page 53 of The Long Game
They hadn’t been able to see each other, before the game. The Centaurs had flown into Montreal in the afternoon, after practicing in Ottawa, and he and Shane had both been busy getting ready for the game. Ilya’s team was flying back to Ottawa directly after this game, but he wouldn’t be flying with them. He’d been nervous when he’d told Coach Wiebe his fabricated story about needing to meet with Shane about their charity tomorrow. He’d never skipped a team flight before, in all of their years of sneaking around, and he was worried it would seem strange now. And obvious.
But Wiebe hadn’t even blinked at it. “It’s a day off tomorrow anyway,” he’d said easily. “Enjoy Montreal.”
Ilya loved his new coach.
“Hollander giving you trouble?” Evan Dykstra, Ottawa’s best defenseman, asked when Ilya returned to the bench.
Ilya’s lips curved up. “Always.”
By the second period, the score was two to one for Montreal, which wasn’t bad, considering. Wyatt had been making incredible saves to keep Ottawa in the game.
After another highlight reel–worthy glove save, Ilya skated over to Wyatt to tap him on the pads.
“Is it supposed to rain tomorrow?” Wyatt asked, as if he wasn’t in the middle of a hockey game and hadn’t just done something amazing. “I was thinking about taking my bike out, hitting a trail.”
Ilya could only smile and shake his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll check later. Hey, score a goal, would ya?”
“No problem.”
Three minutes later, Ilya scored a goal, tying the game. He waved to the Montreal crowd as they booed him.
“Stop being an asshole,” Shane grumbled as he skated by him.
Ilya blew him a kiss.
“Knock that shit off,” said a gruff voice beside Ilya. He turned to find one of the refs frowning at him. “I’ll give you an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty if you keep that up.”
Ilya rolled his eyes as he skated to his bench. If the ref only knew how much Ilyaactuallywanted to kiss Shane.
He enjoyed a brief fantasy as he sat on the bench of pressing Shane against the glass after scoring a goal and kissing him breathless. That would shut this fucking crowd up.
“Man,” Bood said as they skated to the bench, “this town hates you.”
“Nah. They wish I played for them.”
Bood laughed. “Hollander would hate that.”
“My good friend Shane Hollander, you mean?”
“There’s no way he likes you that much.”
“He loves me,” Ilya said plainly. Honestly.
Bood, of course, thought he was kidding. “Now you’re really dreaming.”
Ilya chomped on his mouth guard to avoid smiling.
A few seconds later, Luca Haas took a long pass and was on a breakaway. Most of the Ottawa bench stood up, Ilya included.
“Get it, Haasy!” Bood yelled.
They all watched as the puck sailed past the Montreal goalie’s arm and into the net. His second NHL goal. He jumped up after scoring, arms raised and an enormous grin stretching his boyish face. Then he was engulfed by his linemates.
“The damn kid’s got skills,” Bood said.
“Good. We need them.” Ilya held his hand out for a high five as Haas reached the bench. Haas slapped Ilya’s glove, then waspulled into an awkward embrace by Bood that nearly hauled him over the boards and onto the bench.
