Chapter Eleven #3
“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.”