Rachel Reid

“We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?”
The statement was vague, but Ilya understood. “Yes. If you want to try this, I will do what I need to do.”
“I will too. Anything. I want this. I want us.”
Ilya brushed Shane’s hair out of his eyes. “Then I am moving to Ottawa, I think.”
“And we’re starting a charity.”
“And we will become friends.”
“And we’ll see each other all the time. As much as possible. And spend the summers together. Here.”
“Yes.”
They kissed again. Ilya couldn’t believe they had solved this impossible problem. Maybe it wouldn’t go as smoothly as they imagined, but it was a plan.
“And when I retire,” Ilya said, “after I have won twelve Stanley Cups and thirteen MVP awards—”
“The hell you will.”
“And you have been retired for, like, eight years already because you got very bad at hockey...”
Shane laughed. “Okay.”
“Then I will bring you to that dock out there. I will have hundreds of candles all over it...”
“That sounds like a fire hazard.”
“Is on the water, Hollander. Fucking relax. Will be beautiful, you will love it. The candles. The lake. The full moon.”
“Oh, is it a clear night?”
“Yes. Of course. And I will get on one knee—”
“Ilya—”
“And I will say, ‘Shane Hollander, will you please marry me so I can become Canadian citizen faster?’”
Shane burst out laughing, and shoved him. “You’re such an asshole.”
“And you will say yes, because you are a nice, helpful guy.”
“No,” Shane said, taking his hands. “I will say yes because I will still be madly in love with you. And I’ll want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

- Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry”
― Rachel Reid