Role Model by Rachel Reid

Chapter Eleven

Troy had never been in the visiting team’s dressing room in Toronto before, and he didn’t like it. Everything about being in this building—this city—again was unsettling. He sat in his stall, wearing his Ottawa Centaurs uniform, and tried not to let his face show the panic that was tearing him up inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go out there.

Maybe if he hadn’t been playing like shit since he’d been traded. Maybe if Dallas Kent hadn’t been on fire all season. Maybe if Troy wasn’t returning as a member of the Ottawa fucking Centaurs.

God, he felt sick.

“Walk with me.” Troy glanced up and saw Ilya standing over him.

He obeyed his captain, standing and following him into the hallway.

“You are nervous,” Ilya said as soon as they were alone.

“A little.”

“No. Not a little. What do you need?”

Troy shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not ready.”

“You are not facing them alone. We are with you. We have your back, Barrett.”

Troy managed to hold his gaze for a few seconds before looking away. In truth, he wasn’t confident that his new team did have his back. “Thanks.”

“You don’t believe me.”

Troy shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t have my back.”

Ilya stared hard at him, then let out a huff of exasperated laughter. “Cheer the fuck up, Barrett. We don’t hate you, you know.”

“No?”

“No. Everyone on the other team hates you. Dallas Kent hates you. Everyone in the crowd hates you.”

“All right, I get it.”

“No one on our team hates you. And we want to beat Toronto as much as you do.”

Troy stared at his skates, embarrassed and a little bit touched.

“Okay?” Ilya asked.

“Okay.”

Ilya punched Troy’s padded shoulder. “I have been looking forward to knocking Dallas Kent on his ass. It has been a while.”

Troy managed a bit of a smile. His stomach felt calmer than it had before their talk. “I’ve been wanting to do it for years.”

The crowd booed every time Troy touched the puck.

They fucking booed him. And they cheered on a sexual predator. What the fuck was wrong with the world?

His former teammates were even worse, snarling insults at him every chance they got. Dallas seemed to be on a mission to spend as much of this game as possible attacking Troy. Dallas’s gray-blue eyes flashed with hatred every time he looked at him, and it made Troy furious. How dare this fucker feel anything but shame?

By the middle of the first period, Troy was channeling all of his rage into his game. He played fast, aggressive hockey, the kind he was known for. He went hard to the net, took bodies in the corners, and never stopped battling.

It didn’t matter. Toronto was still all over them. Dallas had a goal and an assist already.

“Merry Christmas, bitch,” he sneered at Troy after he scored.

Dallas had practically spat every word he said to Troy during the game. And then he’d punctuate it by literally spitting.

“How’s it feel to lose everything, traitor?” Kent asked him after a whistle in the second period.

“You’re going to really lose everything, one day,” Troy warned. “I can’t fucking wait.”

Dallas shoved him. “Your dad must be pissed. He likes me way more than he likes you.”

Troy shoved him back. “Because you’re both shitheads.”

The ref broke them apart, but Dallas got one last dig in. “You fucked yourself, Barrett. Was it worth it?”

Troy skated away without answering.

In the third period, Troy scored a fucking goal. Finally. It was off a perfect pass from Ilya, and watching the puck sail past the goalie felt fucking incredible. The crowd booed louder than ever, but Troy didn’t care. He was too busy hugging his new teammates.

“Tell your dad I said hi,” Dallas said as Troy skated past him.

“That sounds like you want to fuck my dad,” Troy shot back.

Dallas looked horrified. “Blow me, fuckhead.”

“That sounds like you want to fuck me.”

“You wish,” Dallas yelled after him. “That’s probably why you’re so mad, right? You wanted this dick, you disgusting fucking—”

He didn’t get the last word out because Ilya had laid him out on the ice. Dallas was on his back, stunned. Then he started flailing his arms, gesturing wildly toward Ilya. “Hey, ref! What the fuck! You see this fucking psychopath?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kent,” Ilya said in a low, dangerous tone.

“Why? Is Barrett your boyfriend? Did you take a break from fucking Hollander to shove your dick in Barrett’s—”

Ilya hauled Dallas up by his jersey, yanking him roughly until he was fully standing. Then Ilya shook his other glove off and punched him in the face.

“Holy shit,” Troy muttered.

The refs, who had been taking their time breaking things up between Ilya and Dallas considering this was all during a stop in play and very illegal, came rushing in. Ilya was swiftly handed a game misconduct, but he didn’t seem to mind. He winked at Troy before he left the ice.

During the final minute of play, Troy was battling Dallas in a corner for the puck. He could already see the bruise forming on Dallas’s cheek where Ilya had punched him.

Troy shoved up against him, hard, trying to knock him off the puck. Dallas shoved back and said, “You’re the piece of shit, Barrett.”

“Cool. You finally came up with a comeback.”

Dallas rammed his shoulder into Troy’s chest. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Yeah? How many accusations have there been so far? There was a new one yesterday, right?”

Dallas cross-checked Troy with his stick, then dropped it and shoved him again with both hands. “They’re liars.”

Troy snorted and shoved him back. “All of them?”

“Yes.”And then Dallas tackled Troy to the ice, the puck forgotten.

Troy tried to roll Dallas off him, but Dallas was hitting him wildly with one gloved hand, while holding him down with the other.

“You were my friend!” Dallas screamed. His eyes were wild with fury and hurt as he kept hitting Troy.

“I shouldn’t have been,” Troy spat back. The refs finally showed up to haul Dallas off him. Troy raised himself up to his knees and yelled, “You’re disgusting, Dallas.”

Dallas shot him one last look, over his shoulder, and Troy was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

Good. Fuck him.

The game ended with Ottawa losing 4-2. Ilya was already showered and changed into his suit when the rest of the team returned to the dressing room. Troy went to him right away.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said. “But thanks.”

“I loved it. Why play hockey if you can’t enjoy it, right?”

Troy’s lips curved up. “Right.”

Ilya nodded at him. “Nice goal. Feel better?”

“Yeah. Thanks for that pass.”

He went to get undressed. The thing that didn’t sit well with Troy was that Ilya had gotten angry when Kent had accused him of doing gay shit. Troy had known, when he’d been suggesting that Dallas wanted to fuck his dad, that it would make Dallas angry because he was a homophobic trash bag. It was disappointing to see Ilya get so offended from the same kind of taunts.

But that was exactly why Troy had kept his sexuality a secret all these years. Accusing an opponent of being gay was still the lowest insult you could hurl.

He tried to focus on positive things. His first game against Toronto was over with, he’d finally scored a goal, and his teammates had supported him, especially Ilya.

It would have been nice to win this one, though. To rub Dallas’s face in it. Not just Dallas, but the entire team, especially Coach Cooper. And every fan who booed Troy. Fuck them all.

It was over. The two teams wouldn’t meet again until February, and Troy would make sure he was less of a mess by then. For now, he would put this one behind him, and focus on their next game in New York.

Troy knew it was Ilya Rozanov knocking on his hotel room door before he opened it. There was a confidence to his knocking that matched the confidence he did everything else with.

“Get your coat,” Ilya said.

“Why?”

“We are in New York and we are going out. I am meeting friends and you should come.”

“Where? Why?”

“A bar. And because you need to have fun.”

Well, Troy could think of worse things than going to a bar in New York with Ilya Rozanov. “Okay. One sec.”

The taxi took them a short distance into a neighborhood that had a lot of rainbow flags.

“Is this...” Troy started, then stopped. “Where are we going?”

“The bar that Scott Hunter and Eric Bennett own. Is nice, sort of.”

Okay. Wait. Troy knew that Hunter and Bennett bought a bar together, but... “Isn’t it a gay bar?”

Ilya frowned at him. “Is that a problem?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean—I’m just—” Troy shook his head. He wasn’t against gay bars, obviously. He’d just never been to one. And now he was going to go to his first gay bar with Ilya Rozanov, apparently. “Just surprised. I didn’t even know you liked Hunter.”

Ilya made a face. “He is okay. But you are in love with him, so I thought you would like this.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Troy grumbled as the cab came to a stop in front of a pub called the Kingfisher. A minute later, Ilya was holding the door of the bar open, and Troy had to force his feet to move, and to not let his panic show on his face.

The bar didn’t look much different inside from any other tavern Troy had gone to. A little nicer, maybe, and decorated for Christmas. There were flat-screen televisions showing sports, pop music playing, and pitchers of beer sitting on dark wood tables surrounded by people talking and laughing. Regular bar stuff. The patrons were mostly men, which wasn’t unusual for a sports bar, but the fact that most of those men were probably attracted to men was kind of blowing Troy’s mind. And making him feel queasy.

There were a few flags and decals around the bar that designated it as a queer-friendly space; not just the rainbow Pride flag, but a few others that Troy had seen before, but wasn’t sure exactly what they represented. Because no one knew less about his own community than he did.

Ilya led him to a round table in one corner with a reserved sign on it. Troy hoped the table was meant for them because he wouldn’t put it past Ilya to claim it anyway. As soon as they sat down, a very attractive blond man who looked about Troy’s age came over.

“Hey, boys,” the man said. “Eric said he and Scott will be here soon.” He smiled at Rozanov. “Hi, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded at him. “Kyle. The place looks better.”

“All the bar needed was a little hard work and some rich new owners who gave a shit. Here.” He slid something across the table to Ilya. “New cocktail menu. Changes monthly.”

Ilya glanced at it. “You still have beer, yes?”

They both ordered lagers, and Kyle left to fetch them. Troy had already told himself that he was only going to have one beer, first because they were playing a game tomorrow night, and second because there was no way he was getting anywhere near drunk when he was in a gay bar for the first time. With a group of his fellow NHL players.

He still didn’t understand why they were here. Sure, Scott Hunter, the superstar captain of the New York Admirals, owned it with recently retired superstar Admirals goaltender, Eric Bennett, but hockey players owned lots of ridiculous businesses. If Troy patronized them all he’d never drink anything except terrible wine from their vineyards.

Troy’s gaze kept traveling over the room. There were a lot of handsome men in the bar tonight. Tall, fit men. Distinguished-looking older men. Young pretty men. Big burly men. It was a tantalizing buffet. And one that Troy wasn’t going to pay any attention to.

Kyle brought their drinks just as Scott and Eric arrived. A man who Troy recognized as Scott’s husband, Kip, was with them.

“I’m just saying hi,” Kip told the table. “I’ll let you hockey boys have your private time.” He turned to Troy. “You’re new.” His gaze traveled over Troy in a blatantly assessing way. “Damn. How do you play hockey and stay that pretty?”

“Hey!” Scott said with mock offense.

Kip laughed and offered Troy his hand. “Kip. Nice to meet you.”

Troy shook his hand. “Troy.”

“Oh shit! You’re Troy Barrett, right? You’re my new hero.”

“Same,” Scott said, which made Troy’s eyes go wide. Scott Hunter—his idol—was looking at him with so much approval and warmth that Troy couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not a hero,” Troy mumbled, ducking his head to hide his darkening cheeks. Especially not compared to Hunter, who had bravely kissed his boyfriend on live television after winning the Stanley Cup a few seasons ago, and had been an activist ever since. All Troy had done was get mad at someone who deserved it. It’s not like he accomplished anything by it.

The last time Troy had spoken to Hunter was during the All-Star weekend in January. He’d been so nervous, when he’d approached Scott at the hotel bar, because he knew that Scott hated Dallas Kent, and probably hated Troy by association. Scott had seemed wary at first when Troy had awkwardly introduced himself, but had quickly relaxed when Troy had congratulated him on his engagement, and, in the clumsiest way possible, attempted to articulate how inspiring it was for Scott to have come out as gay. Without, y’know, actually saying that.

He wondered if Scott had understood what Troy had been really trying to say. The way he was looking at him now—considering, knowing—suggested that he probably had.

Kip waved goodbye to the table full of hockey players, then kissed Scott. Troy held his breath, waiting for disgusted reactions, but of course no one was bothered or even interested. There was a whole world of people that had no problem with men kissing each other or falling in love. Troy had just been hanging out in the wrong circles.

Then Kyle, the bartender, kissed Eric Bennett full on the mouth. They smiled at each other when they broke apart, eyes full of adoration, and Troy was floored. He glanced around the table to see how everyone else was reacting, but again, no one seemed to care.

Wasn’t Eric straight, though? He’d been married to a woman for years, until recently. Maybe he was bisexual? Whatever he was, he definitely seemed to be fucking a very hot—and much younger—man. So, go Eric.

Eric sat, and Ilya said, “Enjoying retirement?” with a knowing little smirk.

“I really am,” Eric said, then took a sip of the cocktail Kyle had left on the table for him. He turned to Troy. “Good to see you again, Troy. How’s Ottawa treating you?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“I was impressed that you stood up to Kent. Scott was too.”

“Damn right,” Scott confirmed. “That took guts.”

Troy shifted in his chair. “It’s not like it did anything.”

“Change needs to start somewhere,” Scott said with authority. “I know nothing’s happened to Kent, so you probably feel like your words meant nothing, but I’ll bet they meant a lot to his victims.”

Troy’s cheeks heated. “I doubt it.”

“It’s one thing to stand up for yourself,” Eric said calmly. “But standing up for others, for people who aren’t even there and you’ve got nothing to gain from it? That’s shows courage, and it shows you’re a good person.”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone, even Ilya. Troy hadn’t been prepared for this level of attention at all, and he didn’t like it.

“I’m gonna hit the men’s room.” He stood quickly and darted away before anyone could see the uneasiness on his face.

And then Troy was in the men’s room at a gay bar. A place that had been the punch line of countless awful locker room jokes.

If only Dad or Dallas Kent could see him now.

The bathroom honestly seemed pretty normal. There was only one other guy in there and he took care of business quickly and left without even looking at Troy. There didn’t seem to be any orgies happening in the stalls, or whatever his former teammates had imagined went on in these places.

Troy took a few deep, settling breaths after he washed his hands. Nothing is weird. You’re at a normal bar with three NHL stars because you are an NHL star. At least two of them are queer, but guess what? So are you, buddy, so pull yourself together.

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?”

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.”