Summary:

“My mother needs me. If she comes home to my father–” Rozanov didn’t finish but the threat hung in the air. They’d had an unspoken agreement to avoid those heavy topics during their time together but now the weight seemed to creep in with smothering pressure they were both buckling under.

He’d have to sell the apartment and never again have to remember random hotel room numbers or see that flash of teeth Rozanov always gave him even around his mouth guard when he won a face-off. Montreal would dominate Boston without him. But what was the fucking point to say he was the best when there was no one around for him to beat?

“Marry me.”

Shane hadn’t realized he’d spoken until Rozanov’s head shot up in confusion as if he’d misheard Shane’s English.