“But you will be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. I wanted to tell you last night. I wish I could have texted you. I was—”
“Shhh.”
Shane’s eyes fluttered closed as Ilya’s fingers trailed into his hair. “I had been looking forward to last night,” Shane murmured.
“Yes.”
“I’m mostly mad at Marlow for fuckingthatup.”
Ilya laughed.
“When will we get a chance again?” Shane asked.
And, so help him, in that moment Ilya wanted to tell him he would stay with him. That he would move into his apartment and help him with his recovery and make him sandwiches and watch the playoffs with him and read him his boring hockey book.
But, of course, he couldn’t.
“I will be busy. Winning the Stanley Cup,” Ilya said with a forced smirk.
Shane grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” Ilya said, and he meant it.
Shane closed his eyes again. “It sucks.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to talk to you last night, before this happened.”
Ilya had wanted to talk too. But he was sure Shane wouldn’t have liked what he had planned to say. He had convinced himself that the only sensible thing to do was to end this thing between them entirely. No good could possibly come of it. Ilya’s heart had entered into it, and that changed everything. It wasn’t thrilling or fun anymore—it was torture. He was going to tell Shane as much last night, but now...
“Shane,” he sighed.
Shane reached his hand up and took Ilya’s, tangling their fingers together and holding tight. “Will you come to the cottage?”
“I—I don’t know.” No. No, there was no way Ilya could do that. He couldn’t possibly spend that much time alone with Shane. Not if he ever wanted to be free of this.
“We can have a week or two, Ilya,” Shane said. “Haven’t you ever wanted more time?”
Ilya’s stomach clenched. He should just say no. Let Shane believe that he didn’t want any more from him than the hour or two they stole a few times each season.
But instead he brushed his thumb over the back of Shane’s hand and said, “Of course.”
“Then come to the cottage. Please. It will just be the two of us, completely alone for as long as you want to stay.”
And, god, that sounded so perfect. And Shane was looking at him like his heart would shatter if Ilya said no.
So Ilya took the coward’s way out.
“Maybe.”
Shane beamed at him like he wasn’t a man who was in a hospital bed with serious injuries.
The door handle turned and Shane quickly released his hand. Ilya jumped back and turned to face the nurse who entered the room.
“Uh-oh,” she said with a smile. “You’re not trying to smother him with a pillow, are you, Mr. Rozanov?”
