by Rachel Reid
Troy used the tissues to get himself cleaned up a bit. He felt calm now, like he’d released a million burdens at once. He’d let so much bullshit, so many toxic people, guide him in the past. He’d made so many terrible decisions, and valued all the wrong things.
But somehow it had all led to this moment, sitting on the floor of a drab office while his wonderful boyfriend handed him tissues.
“I love you,” Troy said.
It was terrible timing; he had red eyes, a snotty nose, a hoarse voice, and they were both at work, but he couldn’t help it. He loved Harris, and he needed him to know.
Harris’s eyes were suddenly a little wet too. “Troy...” he whispered.
Troy started laughing, his body shaking with as much force as when he’d been crying. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked out.
But then Harris’s arms were around him, fierce and tight. Harris kissed his temple. “I love you, too. God, Troy. Of course I do.”
Troy’s heart felt like it would burst out of him. Everything bad was a distant memory. “I could have picked a better time to tell you,” he said, his laughter subsiding.
“It’s okay,” Harris said. “We’ll get it right eventually. I plan on saying it a lot.”
Troy pulled back so he could see Harris’s smile. It didn’t disappoint.
They kissed, even though Troy was a mess. Harris didn’t seem to mind at all, climbing into Troy’s lap and devouring him.
By the time they stopped kissing, Troy was sprawled out on the floor, Harris on top of him.
“Well,” Harris said. “This is unprofessional.”
“I should probably let you work.”
“Yeah,” Harris sighed. “I do have a ton of stuff to do, honestly.”
He pushed himself up off Troy, and offered Troy his hand to pull him up. They both looked like they’d been making out in a hurricane.
“I’m going to post the video now,” Troy said.
“Yeah?”
Troy spotted his phone where he’d left it earlier on Harris’s desk. He opened Instagram, then frowned. “Wait. How do I post it?”
Harris laughed, and held out his hand for the phone. “I’ll do it.”
Troy watched as Harris did whatever needed to be done, then handed the phone to Troy to write the caption underneath. Troy kept it simple: This is me.
He added emojis of a rainbow flag, a heart, and a hockey stick. Then he posted it.
Holy shit. He fucking posted it.
Harris wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
Troy covered one of his hands with his own, holding it tight over his own heart. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” He turned so he could face Harris. “I love you.”
Harris beamed at him. “Better already. I love you, too. And you can thank me by kicking Toronto’s ass tonight. Don’t make me have to post about losing after all this!”
Troy grinned. “They don’t stand a chance.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Troy didn’t look at Instagram for the rest of the day after he posted the video. He told Harris not to tell him what the reaction was, and not to read him any of the comments. He needed to play this game with as clear a head as he could manage.
Now he was in the dressing room, getting ready for the warm-ups. Everyone on the team was wearing their Pride jerseys that featured rainbow Centaurs logos on the chest, and had their sticks wrapped with rainbow tape. They wouldn’t wear the jerseys during the game—they would be sold online to raise money for local LGBTQ charities, and the sticks would be swapped for ones wrapped in black or white tape; most hockey players were particular about their tape colors during games. Troy had already decided he would use rainbow tape on his stick for the entire game, even if it was a bit flashy. He figured he may as well go all in.
The room was as lively as ever before a game. Music was playing and there was lots of yelling and laughter. Troy was quiet, but it wasn’t because he was miserable. He was simply trying to absorb this moment.
No turning back.
When it was time to head to the ice to warm up, Troy spotted Harris in the hallway outside the locker room. He was taking video with his phone of the guys leaving the room. When he saw Troy, he nearly blinded him with his smile. Troy tried to keep his expression neutral for the camera, but it probably wasn’t working. Especially not when he noticed the tears in Harris’s eyes.
“Don’t start,” Troy warned. “You’ll get me going.”
Harris stopped filming. “Can’t help it. Wait’ll you see the replies to your—”
“Nope. Shut it. Later, okay?”
“Okay.” He pressed his lips together, as if that was the only way he could stop himself.
Bood nudged Troy playfully in the back as he walked by, causing Troy to stumble into Harris. “Kiss him for luck, Barrett.”
Harris smiled at him. “It might work.”
So Troy kissed his boyfriend, a little awkwardly because he was wearing full hockey gear and his skates made him a couple of inches taller than usual. Harris didn’t seem to mind. He went up on his toes and kissed Troy like he was made of cookie dough ice cream.
“Wow,” Troy said when they broke apart. “You really went for it.”
“Hockey gear. You know what it does to me.”
“I can’t believe they let you work here, pervert.”
Harris kissed his cheek. “I’m proud of you. Now get out there and win.”
“It’s just warm-ups.”
“Then stretch better than anyone has ever stretched before.”
Troy laughed, and turned to face the entrance to the ice. Then, after a deep breath, he stepped on the ice for the first time as an openly gay man.
He kept his head down for the first lap around the Centaurs’ end of the ice. He could admit to himself that he was scared to look up.
Ilya fell into stride beside him. “Is nice, right?”
Troy finally raised his head, and then slowed to a stop.
The first thing he saw was a giant hand-painted banner hanging from the second level of seating. It said We love you, Troy in rainbow letters with big hearts on either end. As he turned to look all around him, he saw rainbow flags and fan-made signs with his name on them everywhere.
“Holy shit,” he murmured.
Ilya draped an arm over his shoulders. “Not bad. Must be how it feels to be Scott Hunter.”
A weird sputter of laughter burst out of Troy. Dammit, now his eyes were damp. “This is for you, too, you know. Even if they don’t know it.”
“Yes. And maybe they will know, soon.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I hope so.” Ilya removed his arm. “We are all using the rainbow tape sticks tonight. For the game, not just warm-up. To show support.” Then he grinned and skated away.
Troy had to put his head back down to hide the raw emotion on his face.
* * *
Harris was impressed with himself for not falling apart completely during the presentation before the game. The team had invited two local LGBTQ activists to drop the puck for the ceremonial face-off, and instead of Ilya meeting the Toronto team captain to do it, Troy was chosen to represent the Centaurs.
When Troy’s name was announced, the crowd gave him a standing ovation. Harris could see, on the big screens, that he was struggling to keep his emotions under control. He waved at the crowd a few times, lips pressed tight together. He nodded stoically and seemed a little embarrassed, but the ovation just kept going. Eventually, Troy had to cover his face with one of his big hockey-gloved hands.
Harris fell apart a tiny bit.
The Toronto captain seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing, but who cared about that guy? This wasn’t about him. After the puck drop, the two activists each shook the Toronto
captain’s hand, and then gave Troy a hug. With a final wave at the crowd, Troy skated back to stand on the blue line. Harris noticed Ilya nudging him when he got back. He also noticed that Ilya’s eyes didn’t look entirely dry.
This was a huge night. Not just for Troy, but for hockey. For Harris. He’d grown up loving hockey, and knowing it would have been a rough place for him if he’d played. There would be queer kids watching tonight that this presentation would give hope to.
It was also a very busy night for Harris, but he’d never enjoyed his job so much. He would do the best job he could documenting the game, and hopefully Troy would want to look at it all someday.
And if not, well, Harris was going to be watching the video footage of Troy’s standing ovation roughly one billion times.
His phone lit up with a text from Anna. That was so beautiful what the hell. Are you ok?
Harris grinned. His whole family was at the game, all wearing Troy Barrett T-shirts and waving rainbow flags. Troy had seemed touched and surprised when Harris had told him they were going, and maybe a bit sad. Harris understood, and he wished Troy’s mom could be here. He wished his dad weren’t a worthless prick.
He replied to Anna: I’m not a total puddle yet.
Anna: I am!
Harris laughed, and yes, it was a little wet sounding.
* * *
Troy almost regretted being named the first star of the game. He had earned it, certainly, by scoring two of Ottawa’s four goals. They had won the game, and Troy knew he would never forget this incredible night.
But when he skated out to salute the crowd after being named first star, there was another standing ovation that went on far longer than usual. He felt fragile after his emotional roller coaster of a day, as well as the hard-fought game, and this was too much.
There were so many signs. A lot that said We Love You, Troy and Proud of Troy Barrett and similar things. Troy couldn’t really process it.
He gave a final wave and left the ice, eyes burning. He didn’t have enough fluid left in him to cry right now.
The game had been tough because Toronto was a good team, even without Dallas Kent, but they had been unusually quiet. Troy hadn’t gotten the insults and slurs he’d been expecting, and maybe that was because of the fans’ massive show of support, or maybe it was because his teammates made it clear that they had Troy’s back. Maybe losing Kent had taken some of the wind out of the Guardians’ sails. Whatever it was, Troy was grateful. He hadn’t wanted to have to punch someone in a building that was so full of love for him.
The energy in the locker room was sky-high. When Troy walked in, everyone cheered.
“Enough,” Troy said, though he couldn’t stop smiling. “Please.”
Ilya wrapped him in a hug. He was bare-chested, so Troy’s face was mashed against his ugly grizzly bear tattoo. “Amazing,” Ilya said. “Like a Disney movie.”
“The one where the prince gets hugged by a sweaty oaf at the end?”
Ilya released him. “I hope you are ready to talk to the press for hours.”
Troy groaned. The night had been awesome, but he really wanted to go somewhere private with Harris and maybe alternate rounds of sex with bouts of happy crying.
The press did come, and they did want to talk to Troy forever. He answered their questions as best he could, but mostly he was trying to peer through the scrum for Harris. Finally, the cluster of reporters broke apart, and there he was, smiling at Troy and holding a bouquet of flowers.
Troy stood and went to him. “These for me?”
“Nope. But you can have them.”
Troy laughed and shook his head, then kissed his boyfriend. There were catcalls. It also occurred to him that the press were still in the room, and were definitely taking pictures.
“You okay with them photographing us?” Troy asked.
“I am if you are.”
Troy kissed him again. He wouldn’t mind having a professional photo of this moment.
When they broke apart, Troy was surprised to see Remy, the security guard, standing nearby. “Troy,” Remy said, “there’s someone here for you.”
All good feelings evaporated instantly. Troy looked at Harris, who shrugged.
“Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to come to the game,” Troy said. “Why would he?”
“It’s a woman, actually,” Remy said. “Julia Frasier. She says she’s your mom. Your family’s not real big on calling ahead, huh?”
“What?” Troy whispered. He thrust the bouquet back at Harris and took several strides toward the door before he realized how rude that was.
“Sorry,” he called back to Harris. “I love the flowers!”
But Harris was smiling. “Forget about the flowers. Go!”
Troy ran out of the locker room as fast as he could in the slide sandals he’d put on after removing his skates. He was still wearing half of his gear, and was drenched in sweat, but if his mom was really here, he was going to hug her and she was going to have to deal with it.
He rounded a corner and spotted her near the security desk, almost exactly where his dad had been standing that morning. Charlie was standing beside her, but stepped back when he saw Troy coming.
“Mom!” Troy cried out. And then she was in his gross, sweaty arms, her head tucked under his chin. He was probably holding her too tight, and parts of his gear were likely digging into her, but he couldn’t let go.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then they broke apart and Troy said, “How are you here? When did you get here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She laughed. “We wanted to surprise you. When you told me you were planning to come out before this game, I decided I had to be here. So we flew home, and then here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, though? I could have gotten you tickets, I could have—”
“We got our own tickets, and we saw the whole game. I knew you had a lot going on before the game and I didn’t want to add to it.”
Troy hugged her again. “I’m so glad you’re here. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.” When he released her this time, she said, “I think we’re done traveling. We might hang out in Ottawa for a while.”
“Really? That’s awesome! I’ll get you tickets for every game, if you want. Playoffs too. We’re going to the playoffs!”
“I know!” She craned her neck and peered over Troy’s shoulder. “Is that your man back there?”
Troy turned and saw Harris, waving sheepishly at them. Troy waved him over. “Harris, this is my mom, Julia, and her boyfriend, Charlie. Good to see you again, Charlie, by the way.”
“You too,” Charlie said, stepping forward and shaking Troy’s hand. “It was a great game and a really nice ceremony before.”
Harris greeted everyone and shook their hands. Or tried to—Mom wrapped him in a hug, which Harris didn’t seem to mind at all.
“I am so happy to meet you, Harris,” Mom said. “Thank you for making my son smile again.”
“Mom,” Troy protested, but it was weakened by the fact that he was, in fact, smiling.
“My pleasure,” Harris said. “I like his smile.”
“They’re staying in Ottawa for a while,” Troy said.
“That’s great. Are you staying with Troy?” Harris asked. “I can leave you three alone tonight so you can catch up.”
“No way,” Mom said. “We’re not here to intrude. We’ve got a hotel for now.”
As thrilled as Troy was to see his mom, he was relieved to hear her say that. He really needed to be with Harris tonight.
“I need to shower and stuff,” Troy said. “And then, honestly, I’m probably going to need to crash. But let’s meet up tomorrow morning for breakfast.”
There was another round of hugs and handshakes, and then Mom and Charlie left.
“Tod
ay really was like a Disney movie,” Troy said as he watched them walk away.
Harris took his hand. “It was amazing. And I have a great idea for an ending.”
“That sounds like a different kind of movie.”
“There isn’t a Disney movie where the prince’s boyfriend rims him until he begs to be fucked?”
Troy huffed. “I don’t know. I don’t watch Disney movies.”
Harris snapped his fingers. “101 Dalmatians. That’s the one I’m thinking of.”
“You are so fucking weird.” Troy began walking back to the dressing room.
“Can I read you some of the replies on your video?”
“No.”
“Can I tell you that Scott Hunter replied?”
“No. Wait. He did?”
“He’s very proud of you.”
Troy’s belly squirmed. “That’s nice.”
“Tons of other players wrote stuff in the replies too. And liked the video.”
“This is dangerously close to you reading me the replies, you know.”
“Sorry. I love you.”
Troy smiled and stopped walking. “Give me your phone.”
Harris handed it to him. “Are you going to read them?”
“No.” Troy put his head next to Harris’s and held the camera an arm’s length away. “Smile.”
Instead, Harris kissed his cheek, and Troy snapped a few pictures.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Harris asked when Troy didn’t give his phone back.
“Logging into my Instagram. Just a sec.”
“Are you posting that right now?”
“Shh.”
Troy picked his favorite of the photos, uploaded it without a filter, and quickly typed: I am so happy right now. Thank you, Ottawa, for an amazing night, and for being the place where I met my wonderful boyfriend. I love you, Harris. He posted it without a second thought, then handed the phone back to Harris.
“You’ll have to log yourself back in,” he mumbled.
Harris read the post, and then he pressed his fingers to his lips as his eyes welled up.