Role Model

by Rachel Reid

  “It was okay?”

  “I said I loved it.”

  “We still have to, like, officially disclose the relationship,” Troy said.

  “I know. It’s just a formality. No one will care.”

  “Okay. Can I kiss you?”

  “Everyone is probably watching.”

  “Then I’d better make it a good one.”

  Troy placed a firm hand on Harris’s back, dipped him slightly, and went for it.

  Everyone whooped and clapped around them, as Troy kissed Harris like he’d just returned from the war. Harris did his best to return it, and not just get swept away. He was so fucking proud of Troy, and still more than a little overwhelmed that somehow Troy thought Harris was worth all this upheaval. That he wanted to be with Harris enough to face his deepest fears.

  When they broke apart, Troy straightened and waved awkwardly at his rowdy teammates.

  “Way to go, Harris!” Bood yelled.

  Harris knew he was blushing, but he also couldn’t stop smiling. “See you later?” he asked Troy.

  “If these guys ever stop making fun of me, yeah.”

  He said it as if he was annoyed, but Troy’s smile and misty eyes said he was anything but.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Troy was getting used to waking up next to Harris’s warm, naked body. Whether they were at Harris’s place or Troy’s, greeting the day with gentle, sleepy kisses while bundled comfortably in sheets that smelled like last night’s sex had quickly become Troy’s favorite thing in the world.

  This morning, when his eyes fluttered open, he found Harris sitting up, and grinning at his phone. For a moment, Troy just watched him, his heart swelling with affection.

  “What is it?” Troy finally asked in a raspy voice.

  “Bood and Cassie had their baby last night. A boy. They named him Milo.”

  “That’s awesome. Cute name.” He kissed Harris’s elbow, because it was there.

  “No pictures yet, but I can’t wait.” He typed something.

  “Are you talking to Bood?”

  “No, Wyatt.”

  “Ah.” Troy kissed a path down Harris’s flank, then nibbled his sensitive hip bone, making him squirm.

  “What are you up to down there?”

  In reply, Troy took Harris’s soft dick in his mouth.

  Harris inhaled sharply, and put his phone on the nightstand.

  Some amount of time later, they were both sated and tangled up together. Troy never wanted to leave the bed.

  Except.

  “Shit. What time is it?”

  Harris grabbed his phone. “Quarter to ten.”

  “Fuck!” Troy scrambled out of bed. “I have a video meeting at ten! I’m fucked.”

  “Whoops. Sorry. You want me to write you a note?”

  Troy didn’t bother answering that. He didn’t have time. He brushed his teeth, splashed some water on his face and threw some sweats on. Harris met him at the door wearing only boxer briefs as Troy shoved his boots on.

  “Not going to work yet?” Troy asked.

  “No, I have an appointment with my doctor today. I’ll work from home. You mind if I let myself out later?”

  “Of course not.” Troy’s gaze snagged on Harris’s scars. “Everything okay?”

  Harris folded his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah. Just a routine checkup. I feel great.”

  “Good.” Troy was super late, but he spared a moment to give Harris a proper goodbye kiss. “See you later. Dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah. There’s a Lebanese place I want to take you to.”

  “Sounds good.”

  One more kiss, and Troy began his mad dash to the arena.

  * * *

  Troy was late, of course, but Coach just waved him in without comment. Again, Troy marveled at how different he was from every coach he’d ever had.

  The meeting was mostly positive, and Troy could feel the excitement buzzing in the room; there was a very good chance that the Ottawa Centaurs were going to the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. Even a couple of months ago no one would have believed it.

  Despite Coach Wiebe’s upbeat energy, Troy had a hard time concentrating on the video clips he was breaking down. Lately Troy’s brain seemed to be full of nothing but Harris, little floating hearts, and creeping anxiety about Pride Night. The game was in three days, and he still wished it were against anyone other than Toronto.

  But he was also determined. He knew he didn’t need to come out publicly, and he certainly didn’t have to announce it with the video Harris was helping him put together, but he felt it was the right decision. Once he did this, it would be over. Everyone would know, and he wouldn’t have to worry about people finding out anymore. That energy could be spent on creating positive change in hockey, and in himself. It could be spent on loving Harris. Because he was pretty sure he had a lot of energy for that.

  When the meeting was over, Wyatt turned around in his chair and, with a big grin, asked, “Did you hear the news?”

  It took Troy a moment to remember Bood and Cassie’s baby. “Yeah! It’s great.”

  “I know. I’m stunned, honestly. But, man, he fucking deserves whatever’s coming to him.”

  Okay. That was a weird way to show excitement for someone becoming a father. “I...guess.”

  Dykstra, who was sitting next to Wyatt, said, “I hope he never plays again.”

  What the—

  “Why do you hope that?” Troy asked, beyond confused.

  Wyatt’s brow furrowed. “I assumed you’d feel the same way.”

  “Are we talking about the same thing? Bood, right?”

  “What?” Dykstra asked. “No—why wouldn’t we want Bood to play hockey again?”

  “I don’t know!” Troy said, exasperated.

  “We’re talking about Kent,” Wyatt said.

  Troy’s heart stopped. “What about Kent?”

  Wyatt and Dykstra grinned at each other. “You didn’t hear?” Wyatt said. “He got charged. Five women came together and pressed charges. He was arrested right before this meeting.”

  “What?” Troy couldn’t believe it. Was Dallas actually going to get punished? He knew that being charged didn’t mean he’d be convicted, but still. This was huge.

  “Amazing, right?” Dykstra said. “Those women are brave as hell.”

  “Yeah.” Troy reached into his pocket for his phone, then realized he’d forgotten it at home in his rush to get to the meeting. Harris must have sent him a million texts about this already.

  “Is there video footage of Dallas being arrested?” Troy asked, because he wasn’t entirely a nice guy. Not yet.

  “Hell yes there is,” Wyatt said, and held out his phone so Troy could watch the short clip. There was Dallas Kent, head down, expression dark. He looked more annoyed than anything, like he expected this to all be over soon. Troy desperately hoped it wouldn’t be.

  And, holy shit, this meant Dallas wouldn’t be playing in the Pride Night game. It was a selfish reason to be excited, but damn. What a fucking load off.

  “This is the best movie I’ve ever seen,” Troy said, as it played for the second time.

  “Yeah, well,” Dykstra said as he stood and patted Troy’s shoulder. “Let’s hope it has a happy ending.”

  As soon as Wyatt and Dykstra left, Coach Wiebe walked over to Troy. “It’s something else, huh?”

  “Yeah. It’s, um. I can’t believe it, really.”

  “I think this should keep Crowell off your back. I’m sure he blames you for this in his twisted way, but what can he do? It’s a legal matter now.”

  Troy wasn’t sure Crowell would back off, but at least this would make it harder for the league to defend Kent.

  “Are you okay?” Coach asked, and Troy was surprised to se
e concern in his eyes.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Kent was your friend,” Wiebe said simply. “I wouldn’t blame you if you felt conflicted about this.”

  “I don’t,” Troy said quickly. Then he acknowledged the knot in his stomach. Dallas wasn’t a good person, but he’d been Troy’s first friend in the NHL. Most of Troy’s good memories with him were tainted now, but they’d spent many hours in hotel rooms and on planes talking and making each other laugh. “Maybe a bit. I don’t know. I shouldn’t feel bad for him. It’s just weird, I guess. We were tight for a long time.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to stop caring about someone, no matter how much you know you should.” The way Wiebe said it made Troy think he was probably speaking from experience, but he didn’t ask.

  Instead he just said, “I’ve got better people to care about now.”

  * * *

  “Wow,” Troy said. “This is really...professional.”

  Harris chewed his lip, unsure if Troy liked the video or not. It was the morning of the Pride Night game, and Harris had barely slept because he’d been working hard on the video, obsessively tinkering with it to make it perfect. Now they were standing beside each other, hunched over Harris’s computer monitor in his office. “If it’s not how you pictured it, I can change it.”

  “No,” Troy said quickly. “No, I like it. I’m just kinda blown away. Like...you made this.”

  “We made it.”

  Troy shook his head. “You filmed it, edited it, and basically wrote the words I’m saying. You made it.”

  “I didn’t write what you’re saying. I just helped you tweak it a bit.” Harris’s heart sank. “I didn’t steamroll you, did I? This is so personal and I don’t want it to feel like—”

  Troy stopped his babbling by putting his hand on top of Harris’s. “I love it. It’s just a little surreal, watching it. Watching me say those words.”

  The video had featured Troy talking over some footage of him playing hockey, and doing some of the off-ice community stuff. Harris had included video footage from the team’s hospital visit, Troy and Ilya’s Christmas photo shoot, Troy playing with Chiron, and from team practices, as well as some game highlights. He’d cut it with video he’d shot of Troy sitting in the same chair he’d sat in when he’d done the Q and A video. His voice was steady and strong as he told the world that he was gay, and then explained why he was choosing to come out now.

  It was a good video. Harris knew he had done a good job, and he was proud of Troy for deciding to make it. It had been a really tough season for Troy already, and this would no doubt complicate things even more. But Harris was confident that Troy’s decision would ultimately make his life better.

  “So, um,” Troy said, standing back from the desk. “When should I post it?”

  “It’s up to you. You could post it now, or this afternoon. Or right before the game.”

  Troy stared into the middle distance as his jaw worked.

  “Or,” Harris added, “you don’t have to post it at all.”

  Troy’s gaze snapped to Harris. “You worked hard on it, though. You were up all night.”

  “Not all night.”

  “I woke up a million times last night, and every time you weren’t in bed.”

  “Okay, fine. I could use a nap, sure. But you don’t have to post it. Really. If you’re not ready—”

  “I’m ready.” Troy sounded so sure, and Harris felt an intense swell of affection rush through him.

  “Okay. Well, maybe you could post it just before—”

  There was a knock on the door, and both men turned to face it. One of the security guards, Remy, was poking his head in. “Hey, guys. I was told Troy was in here, and I’ve got a guy named Curtis who says he’s your father. Said you weren’t expecting him.”

  Harris looked at Troy, whose face had gone ashen.

  “Oh,” Troy said. “He’s...here?”

  “Yeah. You want to see him, or...”

  For a moment, Troy didn’t say anything. Then he blinked and said, “Okay.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Harris said.

  “No.” Troy’s voice was sharp, with a hint of panic. “Don’t.”

  Harris wanted to argue, but Troy’s expression told him he shouldn’t. “All right. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Troy nodded, eyes wide and terrified, and left.

  * * *

  “Dad, what are you doing here?”

  Curtis narrowed his eyes at him, and Troy glanced down at his own T-shirt. It had the official Ottawa Centaurs Pride logo on it. Every member of the team was wearing the same shirt today, but Troy still felt like he’d been outed.

  “Why do you think I’m here? I thought it would be fun to see you play against Toronto.” He smiled, but it wasn’t kind.

  “It’s a good rivalry,” Troy said quietly. God, he sounded as scared as he felt.

  “Thought I’d see Kent play, but then all that bullshit happened. Poor kid.”

  Anger flared up in Troy. What a fucking douchebag this guy was. “It’s not bullshit.”

  “And,” Dad continued, ignoring him, “I didn’t know this was happening tonight.” He waved a hand at Troy’s T-shirt.

  Troy swallowed hard. What could he say? A few minutes ago, he’d been ready to come out to the world. Possibly minutes away from posting that incredible video Harris—his boyfriend—had made. He’d been excited about tonight. Nervous, yes, but ready.

  Now he felt like he’d been hurled back in time to the not-so-distant past where he would rather die than have anyone find out his sexuality. What if everyone looked at him the way his father was looking at his T-shirt right now?

  “Troy?”

  The voice came from behind him, and he turned to see Harris standing a few meters away. Troy had asked him not to follow, but he was grateful he’d disobeyed. He needed the reminder, right now, of what was important.

  He liked who he was with his new teammates. He almost loved who he was with Harris. He couldn’t stand that Dad was here to tarnish all of that.

  “Harris. This is, um. This is—”

  Of course, Harris walked confidently up to Curtis and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Harris Drover, the social media manager for the Centaurs.”

  Curtis seemed to have a hard time deciding what to snarl at hardest: Harris’s own Centaurs Pride T-shirt, the array of Pride-themed pins on his denim jacket, or at the outstretched hand. Troy knew there was no way Dad was going to shake it.

  “Social media, huh?” Dad said. “So they let you hang out with the team?”

  “Every day,” Harris said. His voice was cheerful, but Troy could hear the underlying irritation in it.

  Curtis glanced at Troy. “In the locker room?”

  A jolt of fury rocketed through Troy so forcefully that he almost lunged at his father. Instead, he curled his hands into fists at his sides and said, “I think you should leave.”

  Curtis looked baffled. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want you here. You’re a bigot and a shitty father.”

  “Troy, what the hell are you—”

  “Leave before I get security,” he said between gritted teeth.

  Curtis looked at Harris, as if he was going to help him, then back at Troy. “Are you serious? You wouldn’t be in the NHL if it weren’t for me. I paid for all your hockey growing up, all those elite teams and camps. Taught you everything I knew. You’d be nothing without me.”

  “I’m happy without you,” Troy said steadily. “You never cared about me or Mom. You only care about yourself.”

  Curtis huffed. “Your mother. Figured this had something to do with her. What ideas has she put in your head?”

  Troy raised his chin. “That I can be myself, and she’ll still love me.”

  �
��The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  Troy could say nothing. He could get Remy and have Curtis escorted out of the arena right now. This could be over. But instead, he reached for Harris’s hand.

  Harris gave him a questioning look, and when Troy nodded, he took his hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing.

  The color drained from Curtis’s face.

  “Harris is my boyfriend, Dad. I’m gay.”

  Troy took comfort from Harris’s warm hand as he braced himself for Dad’s response to that bombshell.

  Curtis just gaped a moment, then said in the quietest voice Troy had ever heard him use, “What?”

  “I’m gay,” Troy repeated, refusing to cower. He held his father’s gaze with his shoulders back and his head high.

  “You—” Dad said. Then he shook his head, clenched his jaw, and turned away.

  He didn’t look back, and Troy felt a chill run through him as he watched him exit the arena. An adrenaline drop, probably.

  “Come on,” Harris said quietly, and gently tugged on Troy’s hand. “Back to my office.”

  Troy had no memory of how he got from the security desk to Harris’s office, but suddenly he was safely behind a closed door, alone with his boyfriend.

  And then he collapsed to the floor, curled up with his head on his bent knees. He was crying, but he didn’t even know why. It was over. He’d never have to be afraid of his father again.

  Harris was beside him instantly with an arm over Troy’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Troy. That was awful.”

  Troy couldn’t speak. He just nodded against his knees.

  “But I’m proud of you. God that was brave.”

  He let Troy cry for a few minutes, rubbing his back and murmuring reassuring things. By the time Troy got himself under control and raised his head, he was sure his face was a mess.

  “I’m relieved, mostly,” he said in a small, battered voice. “I think I’m just letting some pent-up emotion go.” He sniffed. “This is good.”

  Harris grabbed a box of tissues off his desk and handed them to him. “I think so too.”