Role Model (Game Changers, #5)

by Rachel Reid

Troy wished the league gave a shit that one of their biggest stars was a monster. He wished he’d never met the guy. He wished he’d never been his roommate on the road, his linemate on the ice. His best friend.

“Harris said he was bringing a puppy today.”

The back of Troy’s neck heated with embarrassment. This was how it was going to be if he wanted to keep playing hockey: teammates who either hated him for ever being associated with Dallas Kent, or who hated him for being a traitor. Friends weren’t going to be an option. Probably for the best. Friends sometimes turned out to be monsters.

Rozanov studied him another moment, then finally extended his hand. “Welcome to Ottawa. I hope you like boring museums.”

“You are in trouble already,” Ilya said. His tone was flat, but his eyes were playful. “Bad start.”

He was going through the motions of being an NHL player on autopilot, knowing that if he paused to examine his shattered heart he may never move again.

Ilya didn’t used to use it, but now he’s super into taking photos of random stuff in different cities.” Harris laughed. “I wish he’d turn the camera around sometimes. The fans would probably rather see their hero than a weird fire hydrant, right?”

Ilya went to the door, then paused before opening it. “Family can be hard. Fathers.”

He noticed a second tattoo, less famous and probably more recent, on Ilya’s arm, near his shoulder. It was a bird of some sort. A loon, maybe. Kind of a weird choice.

“Score a goal for you if you need to,” Ilya said, “but think about what you can do for the team. You are, I think, what we have needed.”

Troy had worn that mask full-time until he’d met Adrian. At that party two years ago, Troy had been utterly defenseless in the face of all of Adrian’s beauty and charm. It had been difficult, every time, to put the mask back on after leaving Adrian’s apartment, but Troy had needed to go back to his life as a hockey player, and he’d been nowhere near ready to be out and proud like Scott Hunter. He still wasn’t ready. But he didn’t want to wear the fucking mask anymore either.

Maybe he should ask Ilya for Shane Hollander’s number. Shane was a fucking babe.

Harris wished he’d had a chance to go home himself and change before the party, but he never looked any fancier than he did right now anyway.

And there it was. Wyatt talking easily about his sister and her wife. Without fear of his teammates judging his family because no one on this team was a bigot. Once again, Troy felt like an intruder.

“I guess. Hey!” Bood stood up and yelled in the direction of the beer fridge, “How many is that, Haas?”

He couldn’t imagine it. Not really. Even the idea of it made his stomach twist. His father would never speak to him again, and even though that shouldn’t bother Troy, it did. Curtis was a fucking asshole, and someone Troy probably should have cut out of his life years ago, but he was still his dad. And Troy was still scared of him.

Over the next week, Harris was visited by Troy three times. He felt like Ebenezer Scrooge, except instead of spirits, he got a sullen hockey player who was, like, the Ghost of Christmas Mixed Messages.

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?

“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.

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.

“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.”

“People like Kent stand in the way of other people being happy. For no reason. I am always glad to punch people like that.”

“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.”

Ilya Rozanov was wearing a Santa hat and a snowman sweater, and was holding a puppy. Harris loved his job.

“I like you, too,” Troy finally said. He glanced around them nervously, then dropped his voice even lower. “Harris, I—”

He heard Troy suck in a breath beside him, then Harris realized that his own hand was being held in Troy’s tight grip. Harris squeezed back and said, as calmly as he could manage, “It’s going to be okay.”

Across the aisle, Ilya was frantically typing something on his phone.

There was definitely heat in Troy’s gaze, but Troy looked away before Harris could get lost in it.

“Exactly. I liked it a lot, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sitting here thinking it means more than it does.” Please tell me it means more.

Harris caught Troy’s gaze and winked at him. Troy smiled back, easy and effortless. He’d bet he could smile all the time if he had enough of Harris in his life.

“I am fucking tired of losing,” Ilya said. “Enough. We are going to win this game tonight, and we are going to keep winning. We are going to fill every seat in this fucking arena. We are going to surprise everyone and we are going to the playoffs this year. Not next year. Not in the future. This fucking year.”

Ilya sidled up to the urinal next to Troy, which was...cozy. Ilya was a weird guy, though, so it made sense.

“Not the goal. The posts you made. Instagram. It was good shit, Barrett.” “Oh. I didn’t know you saw those.” Ilya’s lips quirked into a teasing half smile. “I follow you. Did you not see?” “I didn’t really check after I posted those.” “You should. People like them. Especially after I shared them.”

“Let’s take our coats and shit off first. Feels weird to be wearing a parka with my dick out.”

He took him deep, because that was something Troy was good at. Hockey and deep throating, his top two skills.

“I honestly don’t know how I would have dealt with anything this season without you.”

Shane Hollander shoved Ilya hard against the glass, and Troy almost laughed at the way Ilya was grinning about it. Ilya shoved Hollander back, which made Hollander’s linemate, Hayden Pike, step in.

“Oh yeah,” Wyatt agreed. “He’s always in a good mood when we beat Montreal. I guess being Shane Hollander’s friend doesn’t stop him from loving to destroy him on the ice.”

Ilya grinned. “Fabian and Ryan is like Beauty and the Beast. Wait until you see.”

Troy spread his arms out on the bed, and found Harris’s stuffed giraffe in one corner. He grabbed the toy and held it over his face. “I think I’m in love with him, Mr. Neck-Neck.”

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.

“Sometimes it’s hard to stop caring about someone, no matter how much you know you should.”

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.