Chapter Two #2
It had been easy to believe. By the time Troy had read the fourth account, two days later, his blood had boiled with rage.
The comments beneath each of the posts were full of people defending Kent, and saying vile things about his accusers.
When Troy had gone to his next practice, he’d heard his teammates saying similar things about them.
During the practice, he’d watched Kent laughing and having fun, completely unbothered, and Troy had just snapped.
He’d gotten in his best friend’s face and unloaded all the rage that had been churning inside him.
All of the disgust that Kent should have been getting from everyone on the ice. From everyone on earth.
Not that it had done any good. Hockey media was rallying behind Dallas, seemingly only concerned about the mental strain this unfortunate business would cause the young hockey star.
Mental strain. Jesus fuck. If anything, Dallas was probably more angry at Troy than bothered by the accusations. He certainly wasn’t burdened by guilt or shame. He probably wasn’t even a little bit afraid of repercussions. Because why would he be?
Troy was suddenly very tired, and thought about going to bed early even though he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Except, shit. He was supposed to set up an Instagram account. A real one that wasn’t just a burner account for looking at hot men.
So, maybe a less real one.
He deleted the burner account. Maybe he’d set up another one so he could follow hot men again, but he’d start fresh. When he was ready. For now, he would do his homework and start a professional account.
He was in the process of deciding on a password when he got a text message from his mother.
Mom: Look at where you are!
A photo quickly followed that showed a Funko Pop! figure of Troy—in his Toronto uniform—balanced on a balcony railing. Behind it were beautiful misty mountains blanketed in thick blue-green forest.
Troy: Wow. Where are you?
Mom: Hakone. That’s the view from my hotel room! I took it this afternoon.
Troy’s heart lifted a bit. There was no one he wished were here with him now more than his mom. Unfortunately, she was on the other side of the world.
Troy: Isn’t it the middle of the night in Japan?
Mom: Can’t sleep. Ready for your big debut tomorrow night?
Troy: I want to get it over with.
Mom: Has it been bad?
Troy chewed his lip. Mom only knew a fraction of why his life had been hell lately.
Hers had been the first supportive voice he’d heard after the video of him yelling at Dallas had hit the internet, and it had been hard not to break down crying as she’d assured him that he’d done the right thing. That he was a good person.
She didn’t know about Adrian. Not only that Troy had just had his heart broken, but that he’d been dating someone at all. He’d never introduced Adrian even as a friend. He’d been so scared that his parents would see them together and know.
Especially his dad. Troy could almost imagine coming out to his mother, but not his dad. Never.
Finally, Troy wrote, Not too bad. Just different.
Mom: Sometimes bad things happen so better things can happen.
Mom would know that more than most people. After Troy’s father had left her for a much younger woman three years ago, Mom had been devastated. She’d told Troy, one night over a shared bottle of wine, that the worst part was the embarrassment.
“It’s not just that he replaced me with an upgrade,” she’d told him.
“It’s that I’m ashamed of having ever been with him in the first place.
Do you know how many people have told me that they always thought he was an asshole?
” Then she’d apologized for talking about Troy’s father that way in front of him.
Troy had waved her apology away. Curtis Barrett was an asshole.
And now, because of Dallas Kent, Troy knew the shame of standing beside someone for years who was, well. A villain.
Troy: You should get some sleep.
Mom: I’ll try. Charlie says hi.
Troy: Charlie’s awake too?
Mom: No, but if he were awake he’d say hi.
Troy chuckled quietly and typed, Good night, Mom. Love you.
Mom: Love you too. Good luck tomorrow.
He fell back on the mattress, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion and frustration.
He should probably finish setting up his new Instagram account and maybe post something, but he didn’t feel like it.
His last team had barely involved players in their social media outreach, and Troy had been extremely fine with that, but this was a new team with a new vibe, and he should make an effort to fit in.
He opened Instagram again, created a password, and then hit a roadblock when it asked for a profile picture. All he had saved on his phone were promo shots of himself in a Toronto uniform.
He wondered if the team had posted one of the photos Gen had taken today yet. He went to the team’s official account and found his own too-cool-to-smile face staring back at him.
Well, it would have to do.
He was about to take a screenshot, but then he made the mistake of scrolling down to read the comments.
Barrett’s a fucking disgrace.
Always thought he was overrated. Now I think he’s a fucking scumbag.
Barrett believes lying whores over his own teammates. Trash.
Ottawa deserves him. Shit team. Shit player.
I can’t believe we signed this loser.
Troy put the phone down, screen pressed against the mattress.
He was used to being hated by opposing players and their fans.
But that had been because of his skill and, yes, because of his mouth.
He’d always been good at getting under people’s skin, if he wanted to.
But this time he was hated for using that mouth to say something that was actually, maybe, right. Something he should be proud of.
The Instagram account could wait. Maybe if he stalled long enough, Harris would drop it. It’s not like Troy would be posting anything interesting anyway. Troy didn’t want to be interesting; he just wanted to play hockey.