by Rachel Reid
He felt, he realized, the same way he did when he was around Harris. Overwhelmed and disoriented because he’d found a small space where his two worlds existed together peacefully. He was a hockey player, and he was a gay man, but he’d never tried to be both at the same time.
Scott and Eric both seemed so happy. Completely relaxed and comfortable in their own skin. Would Troy ever be like that? Would Troy ever overcome the effects of being burdened by years of, first, denial, then self-loathing, shame, fear, jealousy, and longing? He wanted to be comfortable here. To be comfortable everywhere. To be himself and not give a shit who had a problem with it.
It occurred to him, suddenly, that he could come out. Right now. To the group he was with. He barely knew any of them, but they would all accept him and support him.
Troy’s heart pounded as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Holy fuck. He could come out.
Someone entered the bathroom and shot Troy a curious look before heading to one of the urinals. Great. Now Troy was the one being weird in a gay bar men’s room.
He left, mind racing with possibilities. He could do this. He could just...do it.
He could not do it. As soon as he saw Scott, Eric, and Ilya, he lost his nerve. He pivoted and went to the bar instead.
“Hey, handsome,” Kyle said with a flirty smile. “What can I get you?”
“Can I just get some water?” It felt like the room’s temperature had increased twenty degrees in the last five minutes.
“No problem.”
Troy leaned on the bar, needing the support. He wished, suddenly, that Harris were there. Harris would love this place, and he would love knowing that Troy was here, with these guys. He’d be so excited about it.
Troy was grounded a bit by the thought. He could tell him all about it when he saw him again.
“Here you go.” Kyle set the water in front of him. “Anything else?”
“No,” Troy said. “But, um...are you dating Eric Bennett?”
“Been together for months. Why?”
“I didn’t know he was...uh...”
“Spoken for? Sorry.”
Troy knew Kyle was teasing him, but he still flushed with embarrassment. “No! I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Troy gave a nervous laugh, which was a testament to how much the whole evening was fucking with his head because he never did that. “Sorry. I’m just a little, um, out of my element here.”
Kyle’s eyebrows shot up. “First gay bar?”
“Uh, yeah. Actually.”
“Don’t worry. As long as you leave by midnight. That’s when the floor opens up to reveal the sex pit.”
Troy’s laugh was a little less nervous this time. He liked this Kyle guy. “Thanks for the warning.”
“If you wanted to stick around for the sex pit, though, I’ll bet Cutie over there wouldn’t be sad about it.” He nodded subtly to Troy’s left, and when Troy turned to look he spotted a very attractive man with olive skin and stylish glasses checking him out.
Oh.
Troy looked away. Then looked back. Then away again. What if he talked to him? What if he just went over and talked to him? And flirted with him? And went home with him? Jesus, Troy could have sex tonight. He could pick up a man in a gay bar and have sex with him.
He downed half of his water in one go and forced himself to look anywhere but the handsome man who was trying to catch his attention. His gaze landed on a bulletin board behind the bar that was neatly displaying flyers for various upcoming events. In one corner, there was a small enamel pin in the shape of an apple with a rainbow flag heart in the middle.
Holy shit.
“Hey,” he asked Kyle. “Where can I get one of those pins?” He pointed to the bulletin board.
Kyle looked confused. “That’s just an old New York Pride pin. I think I have a few under the bar here still. You want one?”
“For a friend,” Troy said, probably too quickly. “I know someone who would love it.”
Kyle ducked below the bar and came back with an identical pin. He handed it to Troy. “All yours.”
Troy held the pin like it was something precious, stroking his thumb over the raised metal ridges. His face must have given everything away, because Kyle smiled at him knowingly.
“He’s an apple farmer,” Troy explained, trying to sound cool, but unable to keep the uncharacteristic giddiness out of his voice. “And he’s gay. And he loves pins. So this is, like, perfect.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Tell your gay apple farmer to come visit the Kingfisher the next time he’s in Manhattan.”
“I will.” Troy tucked the pin carefully into the pocket of his jeans and tried to ignore the weird fluttery things your gay apple farmer did to his stomach.
He returned to the table, where Scott was frowning and Ilya was grinning, so Ilya must have been making fun of him.
“Was Kyle flirting with you?” Ilya asked Troy cheerfully.
“Uh.” Troy glanced uneasily at Eric.
“Probably,” Eric said. He didn’t sound bothered.
“You would be an attractive couple,” Ilya continued. “Both very pretty. And the same age. Kyle would probably like that for a change.”
“Shut it, Rozanov,” Scott said.
But Eric just smiled. “I don’t think Kyle is looking for a change, but if Troy was interested, I’m sure Kyle would be more than willing to—”
“Nope.” Troy put up his hands. “Not interested. Your boyfriend is hot, but—” He froze. Had he really just said that? “I mean, he’s probably considered to be attractive. And it’s cool that you, um, are open-minded about, uh.” He needed to shut up. Right now. So he did.
Ilya cracked up. “Your face!”
Troy knew how red his cheeks must be right now. He took a big gulp of his water, trying to cool his burning flesh.
“That goal you scored last night must have felt good,” Scott said, changing the subject in a very obvious way that Troy was grateful for.
“Yeah. It felt great.”
They talked about hockey for a while. In fact, nearly two hours had passed before Ilya pushed back from the table and said, “Time for bed. Game tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Same.”
“You should have been in bed hours ago, old man,” Ilya said. “You’ll feel it tomorrow on the ice.”
“Against you guys? I doubt it.”
Eric glanced toward the bar, and Kyle. “I’m going to stick around for a bit. Because I don’t have a thing to do tomorrow.”
Ilya clapped his shoulder. “I miss scoring on you, Eric.”
“And I miss shutting your ass down.”
When Ilya and Troy left the bar, Ilya said, “We could walk. Let’s walk.”
It was a weird suggestion, but it had seemed like a short cab ride so, sure. They could walk. Plus, walking around New York City was neat.
“You seem like you want to ask something,” Ilya said once they started walking. “Or tell me something.”
“No,” Troy lied. Then he blurted out, “Why did you punch Dallas Kent?”
Ilya laughed. “Many reasons.”
“I know, but why exactly did you punch him? Because I thought it was because he insulted you by saying that you were, like, gay. Or whatever. But then you took me to a gay bar, so I’m pretty confused right now.”
“I did not punch Kent because of that. I am not so fragile.”
“Oh. I just thought, because most hockey players would rather be accused of murder than be accused of liking dick—”
“I am not most hockey players.” There was an edge to Ilya’s tone. “And I have not ever said I was straight.”
Troy stopped walking. “What?”
&
nbsp; Ilya turned back to face him. “People assume things. They are idiots. Dallas Kent said something hateful about something that is—about something he does not know anything about.”
“That’s sort of his whole deal, yeah.”
There was a visible tightness to Ilya’s jaw, and anger burned in his eyes. “People like Kent stand in the way of other people being happy. For no reason. I am always glad to punch people like that.”
Troy wanted to throw his arms around him. It was a wild, ridiculous impulse, like when he’d wanted to kiss Harris in his truck the other night. Why had Troy wasted so much energy on the worst people?
“Can you keep a secret?” Troy hadn’t even realized he was asking the question before the words were out, hanging between them with their clouds of breath on a Manhattan sidewalk.
Ilya’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Yes. Very well.”
Troy’s heart pounded against his ribs. He might throw up. Or he might collapse. But he was going to say these words, dammit. “I’m gay.”
For a moment, Ilya didn’t react. He just surveyed Troy calmly. Then he said, “You have not told anyone.”
“Not really, no.”
Ilya tilted his head in the direction they needed to go and resumed walking. Troy fell into step beside him.
“That must have been very hard. In Toronto,” Ilya said.
“It wasn’t easy.”
“I’m sorry.” They walked a few more steps, and Ilya brightened and said, “Was that your first gay bar?”
“Yeah, it was.”
Ilya burst out laughing. “Incredible.”
Troy shook his head, but the absurdity of the whole night hit him all at once, and he started laughing too.
“What did you think?” Ilya asked.
“It had more NHL players than I was expecting.”
Ilya’s laugh was a high, delirious-sounding giggle that only made Troy laugh harder.
“But it was okay?” Ilya asked, more seriously despite his grin.
“It was okay,” Troy assured him. “I liked it. Maybe I’ll even go to another one someday.”
Ilya’s smiled faded. “It would be okay, I think, if you told the rest of this team. When you are ready.”
“I know. I don’t know if I want to, though.”
Ilya nodded. “I can understand that very well.”
“I’m not really into that kind of attention. So I probably won’t tell anyone.”
“There is someone you would like to tell, though, yes?”
Ilya’s teasing smile had returned. How the fuck did he know? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay.” Another few steps, and Ilya said, “Is very normal for an NHL player to spend most of his free time in the social media guy’s office.”
Troy wanted to die. Who else had noticed? “I was just—oh god. Does everyone know? Is it obvious?”
“No. Not everyone is as, um, notices things?” Ilya furrowed his brow, and Troy helped him out.
“Perceptive?”
“Yes. I am the most perceptive.”
Troy hunched his shoulders against the cold and against everything he was feeling. “I like him.”
“I know. We all like Harris. But you want to kiss him.”
Troy didn’t bother denying it. “I won’t. He deserves better, and there’s probably a work conflict thing that makes it wrong.”
“Yes. Maybe the social media guy will give you a Twitter advantage if you blow him.”
Troy let out an uncharacteristic yelp of shocked laughter. “Oh my god.”
“You will get all the good GIFs.”
“Okay. Enough.”
Ilya turned so he was directly in front of Troy, walking backward with that irritating grin on his face. “He likes you too, I think.”
“Come on.”
“He does not think he has a chance with you.”
“Are you psychic or something?”
“No. Just per—fuck. I forget the word already.”
“Perceptive.”
“Perceptive,” Ilya repeated. Then said it three more times, drilling it into his brain. “Good word.” He returned to walking beside Troy instead of in front of him.
Jesus, Troy had just come out to his team captain. And his team captain had...sort of come out to him?
“So, you’re not straight?” Troy asked carefully.
“I am bisexual. It is not anyone’s business, but, yes.”
“I heard the rumor that Shane Hollander is gay. I don’t know if it’s true, but...that’s what I heard.”
“Did you.”
Something clicked in Troy’s head. “You guys are close, huh?”
Ilya started walking faster. “That is enough sharing for tonight, Barrett.”
Chapter Twelve
Ilya Rozanov was wearing a Santa hat and a snowman sweater, and was holding a puppy. Harris loved his job.
“Stand closer to the tree,” Gen instructed.
Ilya took a step toward the giant, illuminated Christmas tree in the corner of the meeting room. He was unfairly handsome for someone dressed so ridiculously. Chiron had a festive bandanna tied around his neck and looked adorable as he nuzzled Ilya’s face. Harris hadn’t needed to twist Ilya’s arm at all to agree to this photo shoot.
“Ah!” Ilya yelped. “He’s got my pom-pom!”
Chiron had indeed chomped down on the big, fluffy pom-pom on the end of Ilya’s hat and was tugging aggressively at it while Ilya laughed. Harris, thank god, was capturing the whole thing on video with his phone while Gen took rapid photos.
The fans were going to love this.
“Maybe some where you’re kneeling or sitting, Ilya?” Gen suggested. “In front of the presents under the tree.”
Ilya lowered himself until he was sitting cross-legged, which was super cute, and Chiron stood on the floor beside him with his little paws on Ilya’s thigh.
“Ugh, that’s adorable,” Gen said, snapping pictures. “Stay like that.”
“Whoa. What’s this?”
Harris didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Troy who was asking, but he still turned so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Troy was standing in the doorway wearing workout clothes and an honest-to-god smile.
“Hi,” Harris said. He hadn’t seen Troy since their drive together before the road trip, and, damn. He was still very hot. “We’re, um, doing a little holiday photo shoot. It’s like a virtual Christmas card that we’ll post to our accounts.”
“Ah. Looking good, Ilya.”
“I know.”
Troy glanced uneasily between Harris, Gen, and Ilya, then said, “I, uh, brought you an eggnog latte, Harris. But I can just leave it.”
“No!” Harris said, too quickly. “You can stay. And thanks. For the latte.” He took it from him, the warmth of the paper cup seeping into his fingers as warmth from something else glowed inside his chest.
Gen let out a huff of laughter that Harris knew meant you are into this guy and being very obvious about it. To Harris’s alarm, Ilya made an almost identical sound.
He tried to ignore both of them. “We’re almost done, if you want to sit, or...”
“There are other sweaters,” Ilya said, then nodded at the table loaded with Christmas costume pieces. “You should get in here.”
“Oh. No. I was going to do a workout and, um.” Troy gestured to his gym shorts.
“Sweater, hat, shoot from the waist up. Come on, Barrett.”
Harris loved this idea, but only if Troy was into it. “It would be awesome to have two of you in the photo.”
“The fans will like you more,” Ilya said bluntly. “You, me, puppy, Christmas shit. No one can resist that.”
Troy glanced at the table, then at Harris, then back to the table.
“Okay. Sure.”
“Harris, help him pick a sweater,” Ilya said, because he was apparently in charge of this photo shoot now. “No! Chiron! Come back.”
Chiron had lost interest in Ilya and was bounding over to Troy.
“Hey, buddy,” Troy said, crouching and scratching Chiron’s ears. “I missed you.”
Troy glanced up and locked eyes with Harris. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but then he looked back down at the puppy.
Harris went to the table and selected a blue sweater with a Christmas lights design knit into it. “Try this one,” he said. He did not say that it would make Troy’s eyes look amazing. Not that his eyes needed the help.
Troy gave the sweater a rueful look, but accepted it and put it on over his performance T-shirt.
“Is there an elf hat?” Ilya asked.
“No,” Troy said flatly.
“I think you mean yes,” Harris said, holding up a felt elf hat with bells dangling off it. He placed it carefully on Troy’s head then, boldly, he tucked an unruly tuft of black hair behind his ear. Troy’s eyes blazed into him for a moment, brighter than any holiday lights.
“How do I look?” he asked quietly.
Harris didn’t see anything but those eyes. And those lips. “Perfect.”
He swore Troy had started blushing before he’d quickly turned toward Ilya. Chiron trotted after him, tail wagging.
“I hate you for this,” Troy grumbled to Ilya.
“I don’t think you do. Now look cute for Gen and Harris.”
Jesus, Troy was blushing. And smiling. And elbowing Ilya playfully. Who was this guy?
They took a bunch of photos of the two men standing together, holding the puppy between them. They looked like an absurdly attractive couple, but Harris kept that to himself. Troy smiled for the camera, and even laughed a few times, thanks to Ilya. It was nice to see the two of them getting along. They must have bonded on their recent road trip.
Ilya handed Chiron to Troy and said, “Take some photos with just Troy, yes?”
Harris wasn’t sure they needed those, but Ilya was already pulling off his Santa hat and sweater, and Troy did look irresistibly silly.