More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Troy had such a crush on this guy.
The bio for TroyBarrett17 sent a clear message: NHL player for the Ottawa Centaurs. I believe victims of sexual assault.
The first post was a selfie, taken in the team gym.
The caption read: Working hard. Always room for improvement.
He was facing the starting left wing player for New York, and he did, in fact, know who he was, but Ilya had inspired him. “Hi. I’m Troy. What’s your name?” The man—Cale Wagner—narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you.” “Nice name. Pretty.”
Troy bumped Wyatt’s blocker pad with his glove. “That was beautiful, Hazy.” “I’m not sure how I did that,” Wyatt said. “Because you’re awesome.” Wyatt grinned at him from behind his goalie mask. “I almost forgot. Thanks for the reminder, Barrett.”
Troy shook his head, still grinning as he bent down across from Cale Wagner. “Hi again,” Troy said. “Wilson, right? Or Wagon? Sorry, I keep forgetting your name.” “Why don’t you ask your mom?” “Nah. There’s no way she’s heard of you.”
“You have been saying that for years,” Rozanov said with a big grin. “But I am still here.”
“I think he likes you,” Troy told Ilya. “Of course he does. I’m great.”
“I like those show-off goals of yours a lot more when we’re on the same team.”

