Role Model

by Rachel Reid

  Troy was a monster. Harris was so good and sweet, and Troy kept feeding from him like a vampire.

  Fuck, the things Troy wanted to do to him. He wanted to absolutely take him apart, but then he wanted Harris to be there for him when it was over. Comforting him. Caring about him.

  Troy was so fucking selfish.

  He nuzzled into Harris’s thick hair, breathing him in. Trying to memorize everything about this perfect moment before he forced himself to leave.

  Harris let out a long, content sigh and wiggled slightly against him. His ass nudged Troy’s morning wood, causing a soft moan to escape.

  “G’morning,” Harris slurred sleepily.

  Troy jerked his hips away from him. “Hi.”

  Harris placed a hand on Troy’s forearm and pressed it tighter against his chest. “I could stay here all day.”

  So could Troy. He was utterly, wonderfully cozy and relaxed in a way he didn’t even think was possible for him.

  Which was exactly why he couldn’t stay.

  He retrieved his arm, then left the bed while he still had the willpower to do so. Harris rolled to his back and blinked at him, sleepy and confused. His hair was rumpled, and one side of his face was pink from where it had been pressed into the pillow. Troy wanted to eat him alive.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah. I, uh, I should get back to my own room. Y’know.” The last thing Troy wanted was for anyone on the team to know that he’d spent the night with Harris. For Harris’s sake, more than his own.

  “Right.” Harris sounded dejected.

  “So, okay. See you later, I guess.”

  Harris sat up. “Are you sure we shouldn’t talk first?”

  God, he looked so hurt. But the kindest thing Troy could do for him was leave.

  “Nah. I’m gonna—” He pointed to the door, then after one last glance at Harris’s miserable face, left.

  * * *

  Well.

  Harris certainly wasn’t going to let this stand.

  He would give Troy some room, let him enjoy his day off in Florida as much as he still possibly could, and then he would talk to him. Because they needed to talk.

  There was a chance that last night had been Troy’s first sexual experience with a man. If it had been, then Harris knew his brain must be a mess of confused thoughts now. Everything about last night, from the plane to falling asleep in each other’s arms, had been overwhelming and surreal. Harris wouldn’t let Troy deal with all of that alone, no matter how self-sabotaging the guy was.

  Harris eventually left the bed to take a shower. He’d have to get in touch with his boss, figure out a plan for today after the airplane incident. Let her know that he needed a new laptop. This was still a work trip, even if everything was fucked.

  God, he didn’t want to look at his phone. He was sure the team had released an official statement, and would have posted that to the social media accounts themselves. He probably had a million worried texts and voice mail messages from his family.

  At least he could honestly tell them that his heart was doing its job. Props to the surgeon who installed his mechanical aortic valve three years ago. Props to whoever invented the mechanical aortic valve too. Holds up during near death experiences on airplanes, and hot and heavy make-out sessions with NHL hunks.

  When Harris was dressed—excited to be wearing shorts and a T-shirt in January—he retrieved his phone from the bottom of his suitcase and turned it on. As he suspected, there were a ton of messages. He sent a group text to his parents and his sisters, assuring them he was fine and that he would call them later. He sent an email to his boss, Theresa, to let her know about the laptop situation and to see what she wanted him to do today now that no one on the team was in the mood for fun videos.

  There was a text from Gen. What the fuck!!!! Are you ok?????

  Harris: I’m fine. A bit shaken up. Everyone is, I think.

  Gen: No shit. This team can’t even win at days off.

  Harris laughed out loud at that.

  Harris: I wonder if they’ll be ok playing tomorrow night.

  Gen: We’ll see. Also...you have to get on a plane again!

  Harris: Or we could stay here forever.

  He added some palm tree emojis.

  Gen: Fuck you. It’s minus twenty-five here today.

  Harris: Can’t relate.

  Gen didn’t reply, which was normal for her. She often abruptly vanished during a text conversation. Harris decided to go see about some breakfast. It was almost noon, but he was sure there was an IHOP or a Denny’s or something around. He could crush some pancakes right now.

  He hated to eat alone, so he texted Wyatt. He got a reply almost immediately.

  Wyatt: Hell yes.

  Harris: See if anyone else wants to go. I’ll meet you in the lobby.

  Wyatt: I’ll try to get Roz to go. I think he needs it. Haas, too.

  Half an hour later, Harris was sharing an IHOP booth with Ilya Rozanov, Wyatt Hayes, and Luca Haas. Luca, the rookie, was bleary-eyed behind his glasses. Too much to drink last night or not enough sleep. Wyatt seemed more or less his normal, cheerful self. Ilya barely spoke, and had been staring at some spot over Harris’s shoulder for several minutes.

  “I texted Barrett but didn’t hear back,” Wyatt said. “Not a surprise, I guess.”

  “He probably is tired,” Ilya said mildly. He glanced quickly at Harris with raised eyebrows.

  Harris blushed into his coffee mug. How did Ilya always know everything?

  The server brought their ridiculous piles of food. They’d all ordered massive breakfast combos, except Ilya, who had ordered black coffee and toast.

  “What are the kids doing today?” Wyatt asked Luca.

  “We were going to rent scooters, but after last night I don’t know. Everyone is...”

  “Blah?” Harris offered.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Too bad Chiron isn’t here,” Harris joked. “That would cheer everyone up.”

  Ilya’s head shot up, eyes burning with shock and indignation. “Then Chiron would have been on the plane. What the fuck, Harris? He would have been so scared!”

  Harris put his hands up. “I was just saying. A puppy would be nice right now.”

  Ilya took an aggressive bite of his toast, his eyes still full of warning. Harris changed the subject. “Well, at least the team got a bus for the trip to Ft. Lauderdale on Friday.”

  “Thank fuck,” Wyatt agreed.

  “We still have to get on a plane on Sunday. Back to Ottawa,” Ilya pointed out.

  Silence hung over the table, thick with the anxiety of men who weren’t used to being terrified. Or at least weren’t used to talking about it.

  Harris came to a decision. “We should have fun today.”

  Ilya snorted. “Doing what?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go to the beach. Let’s...play mini golf.”

  Ilya looked like he had something to say about that, but Wyatt cut him off. “Sure. I’m in. Better than sitting around worrying about the flight home.”

  Luca glanced at Ilya, as if waiting for guidance. Ilya sighed. “Fine. Yes. Let’s lie on the beach.”

  Luca smiled, and it made him look even younger than his twenty years. He worshipped Ilya and everyone knew it. “I’ll go too.”

  This time Harris got to raise his eyebrows at Ilya. The Centaurs captain shut down his silent teasing with a glare and one sentence: “Did Barrett pack a bathing suit, do you think?”

  * * *

  Troy’s sneakers pounded the sand as he pushed himself one more mile. The sun was hot, the air humid, but he didn’t want to stop running. Not yet.

  It felt great, being able to run outdoors like this. On an endless beach with the sun beating down on his chest and back. His sweat-soaked T-shirt h
ung from the waistband of his shorts, brushing his thigh with each stride.

  Finally, when his lungs couldn’t take any more, he slowed to a jog, and then a walk. He could see the hotel ahead, not too far. He pulled his shirt from his waistband and wiped his face.

  He couldn’t stop thinking. About Harris. About the plane. About the game they were supposed to somehow play tomorrow night. About the impending flight home. About Dallas Kent. About Ryan Price. About how many years Troy had spent being mean, so full of anger and fear that he’d been incapable of making a good decision.

  He also thought about the way Harris had cried out Troy’s name when he’d climaxed, so loudly that Troy had frantically tried to silence him. And about how wonderful it had felt to wake up with Harris in his arms. He shouldn’t have left him the way he had that morning. He should have talked to him. Harris probably never wanted to talk to him again, after that, and Troy couldn’t blame him.

  He sat down hard on the sand, and called his mom.

  “Troy? Oh my god, I just heard about—”

  “I’m okay. I’m fine. It was scary, but we’re all okay.”

  “Are you okay? You sound a little rough.”

  “I just finished a run.”

  “Oh.”

  Troy pulled his knees up and fixed his gaze on the ocean. “Sorry. Where are you? Did I wake you up?”

  “I’m in New Zealand. Auckland. Just got here yesterday. It’s about six in the morning here, so don’t worry about it.”

  New Zealand. Jesus. It hit Troy suddenly just how far away his mom was, and how desperately he wanted her with him.

  “I miss you,” he said, sounding as wrecked as he felt.

  “Oh, honey. You don’t have to act brave for me. You must be traumatized.”

  “It’s not that.” Troy exhaled. “I don’t know, it’s probably partly that. But it’s everything. I keep fucking up.” He grimaced. “Sorry. Messing up.”

  She laughed gently. “I’ve heard that word before. Talk to me.”

  Troy wasn’t sure he could. Not without telling her everything. And if he was going to come out to his mom, he didn’t want it to be like this.

  Except, fuck. He’d almost died yesterday. He could have died without her ever knowing, and for some reason he hated that thought.

  He took a breath.

  And went in a completely different direction.

  “I feel useless. Like, with Dallas. Nothing bad has happened to him. I can’t stop thinking about his victims and no one else seems to give a shit. He was just named Player of the Week! Like... I don’t know if there’s anything I can do, but maybe there is.”

  Mom was silent a moment, then said, “That’s a lot to carry.”

  “Like, I wasn’t a witness to anything, but only because I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I should have been. I could have stopped him. I could have—”

  “First of all, I understand what you are saying and why you feel that way. But, Troy, you know it’s not your fault, right? Dallas was the one who assaulted those women. Dallas is the bad guy.”

  “He was my best friend.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I just...want to be better. I want to be, I don’t know, proud of myself. I want to be worth looking up to.”

  “Well, you’re not bad at hockey.”

  Troy huffed. “I know. But that’s not enough.”

  “As far as Dallas goes, there’s not much you can do. None of his victims are pressing charges, and, like you said, you’re not a witness. But you can help in other ways.”

  “Like what?” God, Troy would do anything. “What ways?”

  “Off the top of my head, and remember, it is very early in the morning here, but you could donate to charities that help victims of sexual assault. You could use your social media to promote those organizations, and to provide general support for victims.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I could do that.” Troy was getting excited. “What else?”

  “Pay closer attention. I was with your father for nearly thirty years, so I know all about seeing someone through rose-tinted glasses and overlooking bad behavior. I’m more careful about who I spend time with now.”

  Troy hoped he was already ahead of the game on that one. “I’ve made some new friends here. Kinda. Good guys. Better guys.”

  “You can be friends with women, too, Troy. Don’t forget that.”

  Troy flushed. “I know. I’m just around men mostly.”

  “That might be something worth changing.”

  It seemed easier said than done since Troy wasn’t even great at making friends with his teammates, but it was something to consider. He’d add it to his homework list. “All right.”

  “It sounds like you’re feeling better already.”

  “I am. Thanks.” He decided to end the call before he started crying on a public beach. “I’ve gotta go. I love you.”

  “I love you too. I’m proud of you.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  He sat with everything Mom had suggested to him for a few minutes. He’d never been afraid of putting in hard work when it came to improving himself physically. It was time to be brave about improving the rest of him.

  * * *

  Harris was a professional, first and foremost, and he would never use his access to the team as an opportunity to ogle NHL stars.

  But.

  He was, at that moment, on a beach surrounded by very fit, very attractive hockey players, most of whom were only wearing swimming trunks. It wasn’t terrible.

  The beach excursion had proven to be more popular than the IHOP breakfast, and there were about a dozen members of the Ottawa Centaurs gathered on the sand in a loud and happy cluster. It was nice to hear them laughing, and to see them looking almost relaxed.

  Harris was one of the only ones wearing a shirt, but it was a tank top, so he felt practically naked. He was tossing a Frisbee with Bood and Dykstra, which was a physical activity he was actually good at.

  He’d engaged in another physical activity he was good at last night, so he was on a real fitness kick lately. Practically a decathlete.

  He’d been trying to go about his day as a normal guy who’d been forced to face his own mortality, and not a guy who had faced his own mortality and then gotten off with Troy Barrett. It was difficult because he kept hearing the way Troy had gasped his name. The way he’d gently stroked Harris’s wrist. Those first careful, precious kisses to the back of Harris’s neck.

  And, whoops. He missed the Frisbee.

  “My fault.” He jogged after the Frisbee, which had landed a few yards behind him. He picked it up, and when he stood he spotted something that nearly made him drop it back in the sand.

  Troy Barrett. Shirtless and sweaty. Walking toward Harris.

  “Oh. Hey,” Troy said, when he got close. He glanced around at his frolicking teammates. “What’s going on? Beach party?”

  “Beach,” Harris said faintly. It was the best he could manage. He hadn’t actually seen Troy bare-chested in person before and, wow. It was a whole experience.

  His gaze traveled over Troy’s wide chest with its smooth, sculpted pecs and dark nipples, down to the ridges of his six-pack abs and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.

  Troy looked toward the ocean. “I should take a dip. I’m a mess.”

  “Yeah.” There was sand clinging to Troy’s glistening skin, on his thighs and calves, on his forearms. There was some on his neck. Harris knew that, in practice, it would be awful, but he really wanted to lick it all off.

  Then Troy was removing his socks and sneakers, leaving them in a pile with the T-shirt he removed from his waistband. “Wanna come?”

  “Uh.” The waves looked really inviting, and Harris couldn’t remember the last time he’d go
tten to swim in an ocean, but he also didn’t want to take his shirt off.

  He wasn’t ashamed of his body or anything. Sure, it didn’t quite stack up to the Adonises he was surrounded by, but that didn’t really bother him. It was that there were things he didn’t want Troy to see. Things that would lead to questions that Harris didn’t feel like answering right now.

  Troy was already walking toward the surf, shorts clinging to his muscular ass. “Fuck it,” Harris muttered, and followed him. He’d leave the shirt on. It would dry.

  The water was warm and wonderful, and Harris laughed when the first wave crashed over him, nearly knocking him over. Troy dived into the next wave, using perfect form. When he surfaced he shook his head, flicking droplets of water into the sunshine like a merman.

  The next wave did knock Harris over, but only because his legs were basically jelly at that point.

  “Are you okay?” Troy asked. He waded over to him, gripping Harris’s bicep with one strong hand.

  Harris coughed a couple of times, and grimaced at the taste of salt water. “I’m fine. Thanks.” He realized he had a hand on Troy’s shoulder, using him for balance. He took a risk, and said, somewhat seductively, “My hero.”

  There was a flash of something in Troy’s eyes—heat? fear?—and then he stepped back. “Watch out for sharks.”

  “It’s not the sharks you should be worried about. It’s the Portuguese man-of-war.”

  “The what?”

  “Jellyfish. Their stingers are deadly, and they can grow over a hundred feet long!”

  Troy stared down into the water around his body. “They have those here?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes.”

  Troy glared at him. “Why’d you have to say that, man?”

  Harris laughed. “Sorry. I mean, I think they’re more a South Florida thing.”

  “Then why’d you fucking mention them? Jesus, now I can’t think of anything else.” Troy glanced warily out to sea, and Harris couldn’t resist reaching out and gently brushing the back of Troy’s calf with his toe.

  To his delight, it made Troy scream.