by Rachel Reid
“Uh-uh. There’s iced tea in there. Drink that.” Bood sat back down. “Fucking kids.”
“You’re gonna be a hell of a dad, Bood,” Wyatt said.
“I’m tough but fair,” Bood said. He gazed lovingly at his wife, then stroked her hair. “Besides. Our kid is going to be smart and cool as hell.”
Cassie leaned in and kissed him quickly. Troy noticed that Lisa had snuggled in a little closer to Wyatt, and Nick had his arm wrapped even more tightly around Selena. Troy missed Adrian so much in that moment, even though he had never done anything as public as snuggle next to him at a party. Would he ever be able to? With anyone?
Harris caught Troy’s gaze from across the fire, and smiled. Troy managed to curve his lips a bit in a weak response.
Harris’s golden hair and beard were glimmering in the firelight. He was handsome, even if he was a bit goofy. Rugged in an authentic way that Troy found surprisingly appealing. He was wearing a wool-lined corduroy jacket tonight, with a button that said Ottawa Pride and a pin in the shape of a hockey stick with rainbow tape.
Harris must not have a boyfriend. If he did, Troy was sure he would have brought him, or at least mentioned him by now. Harris wouldn’t be ashamed to have his arm wrapped around a man at a party. He would probably stroke his hair and kiss him lovingly. Troy would bet Harris was absolutely disgusting in love, always touching his partner in fond, familiar ways. Smiling at them. Making them laugh.
For the past week, Troy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how things might have been different if he’d been brave enough to come out when he’d been with Adrian. Maybe they could have been a real couple. They could have gone to parties and movie premieres and the NHL Awards together.
Would Troy ever have that with anyone? Would he ever stop being such a fucking coward and be at least as brave as his team’s social media manager? As brave as Scott Hunter, who had gotten married to the love of his life over the summer. As brave as Ryan Price, who Troy hoped was happy wherever he’d ended up.
He couldn’t imagine it. Not really. Even the idea of it made his stomach twist. His father would never speak to him again, and even though that shouldn’t bother Troy, it did. Curtis was a fucking asshole, and someone Troy probably should have cut out of his life years ago, but he was still his dad. And Troy was still scared of him.
The rest of the party, which until that point had been more enjoyable than Troy had been expecting, passed in a blur as he sank deeper into his private misery. By the time Harris asked if he wanted a drive back to the hotel, Troy was shocked by how late it was. He’d planned on leaving hours ago.
“Thanks,” he said, when he was back in the passenger seat of Harris’s truck.
“No problem. I like driving.”
“I mean, yeah. Thanks for the drive. But also for getting me to go. And making me mingle a bit. It was a good idea.”
Harris beamed at him. “I’m full of good ideas.”
Quiet music played from the truck stereo as they drove. Troy didn’t recognize the artist, but the songs were haunting and sad and not what he would expect Harris to listen to. “No country music?”
Harris chuckled. “Sometimes. I like all sorts of music.”
The conversation distracted Troy from his misery, so he kept asking questions. “Who’s this?”
“Fabian Salah. You don’t know him?”
There was a note of surprise in Harris’s question, as if he expected Troy to know who the random singer was. “Nope. It’s nice, though. Pretty.”
“He’s Ryan Price’s boyfriend.”
“What?”
“Yeah. They’ve been dating since Ryan was playing with the Guardians.”
Jesus. Troy didn’t know a fucking thing about anyone, apparently. “I had no idea.”
“Next time Fabian plays a show here, you should go. He’s amazing live. Ryan usually travels with him, which is completely adorable. They must be super in love.”
“Must be.” Troy was happy to hear it, but it was also hard to hear about anyone being in love. Still, thinking about Ryan Price—a mountain of a man who was best known for punching hockey players—dating a musician with the voice of an angel was surprising. And nice.
They reached the hotel, which was a pretty long drive from Bood’s and probably well out of Harris’s way. He was way too fucking nice.
“Have a good sleep,” Harris said. There was a note in his voice that suggested that he knew Troy wouldn’t. That Troy hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in two weeks.
“I’ll try.”
Troy found it surprisingly difficult to leave the truck. It was warm and had pretty music playing and a handsome man smiling at him. Flurries danced into the lights of the hotel parking lot outside, reminding Troy that, once he opened the door, there would be nothing but cold and loneliness.
The world felt very still for a moment. Harris was studying Troy’s face, green eyes glinting in the dim light, as if he expected Troy to say something important.
“Drive safe,” Troy said. He opened the passenger door and stepped into the world he belonged in, closing the door firmly behind him.
Chapter Eight
After a whole pile of losses, Harris decided the best way to cheer up the team, and the fans, was with a puppy.
“Thank fucking god,” Ilya said as soon as he spotted Harris and Chiron. “Bring him here.”
Harris happily deposited Chiron into Ilya’s arms. “He missed you.”
“I know he did. Look at him.” Chiron was already licking Ilya’s face. “Were they good to you at the dog school?” Ilya asked the puppy. “Did you get to have fun?”
“He gets treated well at the facility. I promise. His trainer, Hannah, is awesome.”
“I would like to meet this Hannah,” Ilya said grimly, then softened when Chiron nuzzled his chin.
Harris snapped a couple of pictures of Ilya with Chiron, then held out his arms. Ilya very reluctantly returned the dog to him.
“He said I am his favorite,” Ilya insisted.
“Only because you won’t let him near anybody else.” Harris set Chiron on the ground and let him run around the room a bit.
“He will be back,” Ilya said confidently, but Chiron was already jumping all over Evan Dykstra.
“Just get a dog, Ilya.”
“Can’t. I live alone, and I am never home.”
Harris couldn’t argue with that. Between hockey, the charity Ilya had cofounded with Montreal’s captain, Shane Hollander, and all of Ilya’s other time commitments, he probably wasn’t home often. Even his summers were taken up with charity hockey camps and...something. He was mysterious about his private life.
“Is Chiron coming on the ice?” Ilya asked.
“No, Coach told me to keep it to the dressing room only today.”
“Fascist.”
“Yeah. Wiebe’s a real hard-ass.” Brandon Wiebe was probably the most laid-back hockey coach ever.
“Team hospital visit on Wednesday, yes?” Ilya asked.
“Yup,” Harris confirmed. “You gonna get your ass kicked at Mario Kart again?”
“No. I have been practicing.”
Harris laughed. Ilya probably wasn’t kidding.
Practice was starting soon, so the room was full. Everyone was putting their gear on and chatting in groups or pairs. Everyone but Troy Barrett, Harris noticed. Troy was already fully dressed and ready to go on the ice, but he was also crouched in front of his stall, offering Chiron his gloved finger. Troy didn’t have his helmet on yet, and his black hair flopped over his forehead as he played with the excited puppy. When Chiron chomped down eagerly, a warm smile split Troy’s face wide-open. Harris, who had been about to walk over, was suddenly frozen in place.
Troy was absolutely stunning when he smiled. And unlike the flash of smile Troy had teased him with during t
he Q and A, now Harris had time to admire it.
He raised his phone and quickly snapped as many candid photos as he could of Troy and Chiron. It would be good to show this softer side of Troy to the fans, Harris told himself. That was definitely what the pictures were for.
Troy glanced up at the same moment that Harris lowered his phone, and his smile faded immediately. Whether it was a reaction to Harris’s presence or a general reaction to being watched at all, Harris wasn’t sure. But he mourned the loss of Troy’s smile.
“Hey,” Harris said, crossing the floor to stand in front of him. Troy stood to meet him, and Chiron began pawing at Troy’s leg.
“Hey.”
Harris had been thinking about Troy almost nonstop since dropping him off at the hotel two nights ago, and now that he was faced with him, he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to ask him if he was all right, or if he needed someone to talk to, but instead he said, “He seems to like you.”
For a giddy second, Harris thought the smile might return. He could see Troy struggle to hold it back. But then Troy just said, flatly, “He likes chewing on me. Not sure that’s the same thing.”
Harris’s answering smile was wide enough for both of them. “The video got a lot of likes, by the way. The Q and A one. I meant to tell you that the other day.” He didn’t mention the many replies that tore Troy apart for playing like shit and costing too much money. He was glad Troy didn’t pay attention to social media much.
“Oh,” Troy stepped back from the puppy, and from Harris, and Chiron pounced on his skate. “Cool.”
“Most people agree with me, though. Salmon is not a treat.”
“They’re wrong.”
Harris laughed, and gestured to where Chiron was still attacking Troy’s skates. “Chiron has his own Twitter account now.”
“Do you manage that too?”
“I share it with his trainer, Hannah. And with Chiron, of course.”
Not even a fraction of a smile from Troy for that. His bottom lip was absurdly plump and luscious. Maybe the sharpness of the rest of his features made it seem softer by contrast. High, prominent cheekbones divided like an icebreaker by a narrow, straight nose. Severe sapphire eyes that glinted beneath heavy, dark brows. He looked menacing, or possibly even cruel, but that plush lip, like his secret, soft smile, hinted at the possibility of sweetness.
Or maybe Harris was imagining things. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He wasn’t imagining the deep lines under Troy’s eyes, like he hadn’t slept in days. Or weeks. He doubted Troy would want him to mention that, so instead Harris said, “You gonna check out that building Wyatt and Lisa told you about?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Cool. It’s not too far from me, actually.”
“Oh.” Troy did not seem to be excited about that news, which Harris tried not to be disappointed by. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for. Did he expect Troy to invite him over to watch movies or something?
Maybe Troy needed someone to watch movies with.
“If you want someone to show you the neighborho—”
“I’m gonna hit the ice,” Troy interrupted. “I’ll see you later.”
Okay then.
“Come on, Chiron,” Harris sighed. “Let’s go to my office while the men do their important hockey stuff.”
* * *
Troy knocked on Harris’s office door, and didn’t have to wait even a second before Harris called out for him to come in.
“It’s just me.” Troy held up the paper coffee cup he was carrying. “It’s not Starbucks, but it’s from the espresso maker in the player’s lounge. It’s a latte.”
Harris looked stunned, but he smiled and waved Troy over. Chiron was asleep on the floor next to Harris’s feet. “You made me a latte?”
“I hope so. I’ve never used that thing before.” He placed the cup on Harris’s desk, then realized he had no idea what his next move was. He didn’t know what had compelled him to come here, except the best he’d felt in ages had been in Harris’s office, watching him eat cake pops.
Harris took a sip. “You did good. That’s definitely a latte. Thanks.”
Troy felt absurdly thrilled by Harris’s validation. “I’m sorry I was a dick to you in the locker room. When you offered to show me around. I—” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, so he stopped talking.
Harris waited for a moment, then said, “We should probably stop this cycle.”
“Cycle?”
“You feeling bad about something you said to me, then showing up at my office to apologize. I don’t mind the coffee deliveries, though.” He pointed to a chair against the wall. “Bring that over. Sit. Unless you have somewhere to be.”
Troy really didn’t. He dragged the chair to the end of Harris’s desk and sat. He wished he’d brought a coffee for himself, just to have something to occupy his hands.
As if reading his mind, Chiron lifted his head and immediately pushed to his feet when he noticed Troy. He trotted over, tail wagging.
“Can I pick him up?” Troy asked.
“I think he’ll be sad if you don’t.”
Troy lifted the puppy onto his lap and scratched his ridiculously soft ears. He could see the appeal of owning a dog. It would be easy to become hooked on this level of adoration.
“What are you working on?” Troy asked.
“Making GIFs from the last game.”
“How do you even make those? I’ve always wondered.”
Harris gave him a curious look, like he thought this might be a trap. “You want me to show you? It’s pretty easy.”
“Yeah.”
So Troy watched Harris make GIFs out of video footage of the last game. And then some from video Harris had taken during that day’s practice. He didn’t retain any of the process of making GIFs, but he did enjoy listening to Harris’s cheerful, warm voice, and watching his green eyes dance whenever he looked at Troy. He knew Harris probably didn’t actually smell like apples, but he couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He swore he smelled apples whenever he was close to the man.
“Um,” Harris said, “I posted a photo of you earlier that has gotten a lot of likes.”
“From practice?”
“From before. Here, I’ll show you.”
Harris held out his phone, and Troy saw a photo of himself in the locker room, crouched down and smiling at Chiron.
“Oh,” he said, because he hadn’t seen many pictures of himself smiling like that. He couldn’t believe he was able to smile like that these days. “People just like the puppy. Anyone can get likes with a cute puppy.”
“That’s not what the comments say.”
“Don’t tell me what the comments say.”
“Okay,” Harris said. Then he bit his lip, and Troy could tell it was killing him not to read them.
“I’m serious.”
“Fine. I won’t tell you that everyone thinks you’re adorable and sexy.”
Troy huffed. “I doubt it.”
“I can read them if you—”
“No. That’s okay.” Troy felt his cheeks heat, and he ducked his head to hide it. “Adorable, huh?”
“Yup.”
Troy was sure he’d never been called adorable in his life. He absently rubbed Chiron’s belly, and wondered if Harris thought he was adorable. Or sexy.
For a few minutes, Harris worked while Troy kept his attention on the puppy in his lap. Then Harris swiveled in his desk chair and said, carefully, “How have things been going?”
Troy exhaled harder than he’d meant to. It startled Chiron. “You’ve seen the games. I’m playing like shit.”
Harris looked like he wanted to argue, but obviously he couldn’t. “Is there a reason? I mean, sorry. That’s a really personal question. But I’m a good listener, if you
want to talk.”
Troy wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t come here to talk. Not really. He liked being near Harris, that was all. He was a calming presence. Something nice to distract Troy from all the shitty things in his life. And he didn’t want to think about the shitty things right now.
“Or,” Harris said with a shy smile, “you’re welcome to stay here and cuddle Chiron while I quietly do my work.”
It was staggering how Harris had just casually offered Troy exactly what he needed. Troy managed a slight smile. “Do you do anything quietly?”
Harris laughed—loudly, of course. “I’ll try.”
* * *
Harris found it distracting, having Troy Barrett in his office. It was hard to get any work done when one of the most beautiful men in the NHL was snuggling a puppy a few feet away.
Why was Troy Barrett in his office? Something was on his mind, obviously. And he clearly had no interest in talking about it. Maybe it was nothing more than the stress of being traded, of not being able to play at his usual level. Maybe it was the Dallas Kent stuff. Had Troy talked to anyone about that? Like, really talked?
Whatever was bothering him, it still didn’t explain why he’d brought Harris another coffee. Why he was here at all.
After about half an hour of pretending to work, Harris pushed back from his desk and stretched. “I’m going to take Chiron for a little walk before Hannah comes to pick him up.”
Chiron had almost fallen asleep in Troy’s lap, but he perked up at the word walk. Harris grabbed his coat and Chiron’s leash off a hook by the door, then turned to Troy. “You can come if you want.”
Troy’s face lit up as much as, Harris suspected, Troy’s face ever lit up. “I’ll get my coat.”
The walking options near the arena weren’t great, but the parking lot was huge and empty, so they strolled the perimeter of it. Troy held Chiron’s leash and patiently let the puppy sniff every rock, puddle, and crumpled Tim Hortons cup they passed.
“I’ve never walked a dog before,” he said.