Summary:

The hotel room key feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in Shane's pocket. He stands outside the nondescript Marriott three blocks from the arena, watching his breath fog in the October air. Montreal won 3-2; a good game, clean, the kind where both teams left everything on the ice. The kind where Shane played well enough that no one will question why he's not at the team bar right now, celebrating with J.J. and the guys. His phone buzzes. Just the room number. 1847. Before the Long Game, Shane and Ilya try to make it work.