Chapter Seven #3
Another defenseman—Nick Chouinard—called Dykstra over to the firepit area. Troy didn’t follow, instead heading for the food table. He got there just as Bood plunked down a huge platter of grilled chicken.
“Okay,” Bood said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, “I’m gonna give you a tour.
We’ve got jerk chicken here, and that’s the real shit, so don’t fuck with it if you don’t like spice.
We’ve got chicken with my secret recipe barbecue sauce over here.
” He gestured to the platter he’d just added to the table.
“It’s more sweet and smoky than spicy. It’ll go fast, so grab it now.
Ribs, obviously, over there. Peas and rice, slaw, callaloo.
Got some of my homemade pepper sauce. That’s hot as fuck, but if you like it, I can give you a bottle. I make tons of it.”
“Wow. Jesus. This all looks great.” Troy grabbed a plate and a jerk chicken leg, which made Bood grin.
“Going for the heat. I love it.” He clapped Troy on the shoulder. “And, listen. I played junior with Kent, same team, and I hated the little fucker. I’ll be totally honest and say that I always thought you were a piece of shit too, by association.”
What was Troy supposed to say to that? He was a piece of shit by association. And maybe just on his own too. “Makes sense” was what he came up with.
“I’m hoping you prove me wrong, is all I’m saying. We’ve got a good group here. Don’t fuck that up.”
“I won’t,” Troy said weakly.
“Cool. I gotta clean the grill.” Bood grinned and nodded at Troy’s plate of chicken. “Enjoy.”
Troy found a quiet bench seat in one corner.
The patio was filled with the happy chatter of a group of people who obviously knew each other well.
Before he’d gotten here, Troy had assumed that the Ottawa players must be the most miserable bunch of people in the world.
How could you have fun together—or even like each other—when you couldn’t win on the ice?
When your arena was only half full most games?
How were you not completely embarrassed all the time?
But this group loved each other. Troy hadn’t even been on this team for two weeks yet and he could see it clearly. He just couldn’t see himself being a part of it, even if his teammates had been decent to him so far.
The food was delicious. Troy hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he tore into the jerk chicken, and, yeah, it was spicy, but it was so fucking tasty too. He cooled his mouth with more of the cider.
As if summoned by the cider, Harris was suddenly in front of him. “Hey.” He was holding his own plate of food and a bottle. “Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.”
Harris sat next to him. “Having fun?”
“I guess. It’s a nice patio.”
“It’s property porn, is what it is. I’m glad Bood likes to entertain so much.” He picked up a rib and sank his teeth into it.
Troy went back to his own food, eating in silence until Harris asked, “You talk to anyone?”
“Um. Dykstra a bit. Bood.”
“You meet Cassie yet? That’s Bood’s wife.”
“No.”
Harris gestured to a tall blond woman standing near the firepit. “That’s Cassie. She’s supercool.” When she turned, Troy could see that she was pregnant.
“Is this gonna be their first kid?”
“Yup! They’ll be the best parents.” Harris nudged Troy. “Don’t tell any of the other dads I said that.”
“I don’t even know who the other dads are.”
“Dykstra has a daughter, Susie. She just turned one. Chouinard has three kids, Boyle has twins...” He went on to name every dad on the team, and all of their kids’ names and ages. Then he proceeded to list and detail everyone’s pets. Troy tried to retain at least some of it.
“Wow. Do you know all their allergies too?”
Harris laughed. “I like people. And I like my job.”
“What if the player is a fucking dick, but you still have to do promo shit to make him seem great?”
“It’s never happened. This team only ever has good people.”
He seemed awfully sure of himself, considering Troy was sitting right next to him as hard evidence that Ottawa did not only sign good people.
“Did you like being home for a couple of days?” Harris asked. “I’ve only been to Vancouver once. It lives up to the hype.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Wyatt loves the Vancouver trips. His sister lives there with her wife and their son.”
Troy’s attention snagged on one word. “Wife?”
“Yeah. You didn’t know? He talks about them all the time. I assumed he did in Toronto too.”
Even if Wyatt had talked about his family when he’d played for Toronto, he wouldn’t have talked to Troy about his queer sister. Not the way Troy had radiated homophobia. Given the culture of the Toronto team, there was a good chance Wyatt hadn’t talked about his sister to anyone.
Maybe to Ryan Price. Wyatt had been friends with Ryan. Probably because no one else had been.
“I didn’t know. That’s cool, though.”
“I’ve never met his sister, but she sounds awesome,” Harris said.
They both finished their food, and then Harris stood and said, “I see seats available at the firepit. Let’s check it out.”
Troy glanced at the happy group of people who were chatting and laughing in the glow of the fire. He didn’t need to intrude on that. “Oh, uh. That’s okay.”
Harris grabbed Troy’s mostly empty paper plate and stacked it on top of his own. “Come on.”
The plates got tossed into a giant garbage can that was strategically placed near the door. Then Harris headed for the firepit and Troy, not sure of what else to do, followed.
“Harris! Come sit,” Wyatt said cheerfully. “Hey, Barrett.”
“Hey.”
Harris sat in the empty chair next to the love seat Wyatt was sharing with his wife. Troy sat in a chair across from them.
Bood was perched on the arm of the chair that his wife, Cassie, was sitting in. Nick Chouinard was next to them, and next to him was a woman who Troy had not met before but guessed was Nick’s wife.
“Wyatt was talking our ear off about his nephew,” Bood said to Troy.
“Yeah. Because he’s amazing,” Wyatt said.
“How old is Isaac now?” Harris asked.
“Three. Cute as hell too. I can’t wait to see him again, but it won’t be for a long time. Kristy and Eve, too. But mostly Isaac.”
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.
“You’re from Vancity, right, Barrett?” Nick asked.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Did your family go to the game?”
“Yeah.” Everyone stared at him, probably waiting for him to elaborate, but Troy just stared at the fire.
He hadn’t spoken to his father after the game. Dad had sent him a text that had basically made fun of how shitty the Centaurs were, and how terribly Troy had played in particular.
But Mom had texted too. She’d sent him a photo of his little action figure on the table of a restaurant in Tokyo, and had also said, Next time you’re in Vancouver I’ll make sure I’m there too.
God, he missed her.
Loud laughter jolted Troy out of his thoughts. The conversation had clearly moved on without him.
“Oh, shit, Barrett,” Bood said. “You haven’t met my wife, Cassie.”
Cassie waved at Troy from across the fire. She was stunningly beautiful, with hair and skin that suggested a lot of professional care. “Hi, Troy. Welcome to Ottawa.”
“And this is Selena,” Nick said.
“Hi,” Troy said. Nick’s wife was tiny compared to her husband, almost disappearing under the giant arm he had wrapped around her.
She was blond and beautiful like Cassie, and Troy couldn’t believe she was the mother of three children.
Nick was only in his mid-twenties like Troy, and she looked about the same age.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. She had a Quebec accent like her husband. “We know how hard being traded can be.” She shared a look with her husband.
“At least you don’t have kids, Barrett,” Nick said. “Easier to move when it’s just you.”
“Are you with someone?” Selena asked. “Wife or girlfriend?”
Troy ignored the ache that pulsed in his chest at the reminder of being recently dumped, and of being different. “No one right now.”
“You remember Lisa, right?” Wyatt asked, gesturing to his own wife.
Troy had completely forgotten her name. He’d probably only talked to her once in Toronto. “Of course. Yeah. Hi, Lisa.”
“Good to see you again, Troy. You settling in okay?” Lisa looked very different from the other two women in the circle.
She had dark hair, cut short, and she didn’t seem to be wearing makeup.
She was very pretty, but where a lot of Troy’s teammates’ wives over the years had looked like models, Lisa looked more like a fitness instructor.
Or, he supposed, like a doctor. Because that’s what she was.
“More or less. Never been traded before, so it’s all kinda weird.”
“Never Been Traded Club,” Bood said, extending his arm and offering Troy his fist. Troy bumped it. “Well, I guess you’re out of the club now.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you still at the hotel?” Lisa asked.
“For now. I need to figure out a place to live.”
Lisa nudged Wyatt. “Give him the details of that building we lived in when you got traded here. You’ll love it, Troy.
Fully furnished, right downtown, concierge service for cleaning and laundry.
It was perfect for us, while we were waiting to see if Wyatt would be staying in Ottawa after that season. ”
“I’ll email you about it,” Wyatt said. “You should definitely check it out.”
“Okay. Thanks. Sounds good.” It sounded perfect, actually. Although the proximity to the arena was nice, Troy was getting really sick of the hotel. And he needed something easy and temporary, just to last him until he could figure out how to get off this team.