Chapter Fifteen #2
Troy wasn’t sure he could. Not without telling her everything. And if he was going to come out to his mom, he didn’t want it to be like this.
Except, fuck. He’d almost died yesterday. He could have died without her ever knowing, and for some reason he hated that thought.
He took a breath.
And went in a completely different direction.
“I feel useless. Like, with Dallas. Nothing bad has happened to him. I can’t stop thinking about his victims and no one else seems to give a shit. He was just named Player of the Week! Like... I don’t know if there’s anything I can do, but maybe there is.”
Mom was silent a moment, then said, “That’s a lot to carry.”
“Like, I wasn’t a witness to anything, but only because I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I should have been. I could have stopped him. I could have—”
“First of all, I understand what you are saying and why you feel that way. But, Troy, you know it’s not your fault, right? Dallas was the one who assaulted those women. Dallas is the bad guy.”
“He was my best friend.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“I just...want to be better. I want to be, I don’t know, proud of myself. I want to be worth looking up to.”
“Well, you’re not bad at hockey.”
Troy huffed. “I know. But that’s not enough.”
“As far as Dallas goes, there’s not much you can do. None of his victims are pressing charges, and, like you said, you’re not a witness. But you can help in other ways.”
“Like what?” God, Troy would do anything. “What ways?”
“Off the top of my head, and remember, it is very early in the morning here, but you could donate to charities that help victims of sexual assault. You could use your social media to promote those organizations, and to provide general support for victims.”
“Okay. Yeah, I could do that.” Troy was getting excited. “What else?”
“Pay closer attention. I was with your father for nearly thirty years, so I know all about seeing someone through rose-tinted glasses and overlooking bad behavior. I’m more careful about who I spend time with now.”
Troy hoped he was already ahead of the game on that one. “I’ve made some new friends here. Kinda. Good guys. Better guys.”
“You can be friends with women, too, Troy. Don’t forget that.”
Troy flushed. “I know. I’m just around men mostly.”
“That might be something worth changing.”
It seemed easier said than done since Troy wasn’t even great at making friends with his teammates, but it was something to consider. He’d add it to his homework list. “All right.”
“It sounds like you’re feeling better already.”
“I am. Thanks.” He decided to end the call before he started crying on a public beach. “I’ve gotta go. I love you.”
“I love you too. I’m proud of you.”
“Bye, Mom.”
He sat with everything Mom had suggested to him for a few minutes. He’d never been afraid of putting in hard work when it came to improving himself physically. It was time to be brave about improving the rest of him.
Harris was a professional, first and foremost, and he would never use his access to the team as an opportunity to ogle NHL stars.
But.
He was, at that moment, on a beach surrounded by very fit, very attractive hockey players, most of whom were only wearing swimming trunks. It wasn’t terrible.
The beach excursion had proven to be more popular than the IHOP breakfast, and there were about a dozen members of the Ottawa Centaurs gathered on the sand in a loud and happy cluster. It was nice to hear them laughing, and to see them looking almost relaxed.
Harris was one of the only ones wearing a shirt, but it was a tank top, so he felt practically naked. He was tossing a Frisbee with Bood and Dykstra, which was a physical activity he was actually good at.
He’d engaged in another physical activity he was good at last night, so he was on a real fitness kick lately. Practically a decathlete.
He’d been trying to go about his day as a normal guy who’d been forced to face his own mortality, and not a guy who had faced his own mortality and then gotten off with Troy Barrett.
It was difficult because he kept hearing the way Troy had gasped his name.
The way he’d gently stroked Harris’s wrist. Those first careful, precious kisses to the back of Harris’s neck.
And, whoops. He missed the Frisbee.
“My fault.” He jogged after the Frisbee, which had landed a few yards behind him. He picked it up, and when he stood he spotted something that nearly made him drop it back in the sand.
Troy Barrett. Shirtless and sweaty. Walking toward Harris.
“Oh. Hey,” Troy said, when he got close. He glanced around at his frolicking teammates. “What’s going on? Beach party?”
“Beach,” Harris said faintly. It was the best he could manage. He hadn’t actually seen Troy bare-chested in person before and, wow. It was a whole experience.
His gaze traveled over Troy’s wide chest with its smooth, sculpted pecs and dark nipples, down to the ridges of his six-pack abs and the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.
Troy looked toward the ocean. “I should take a dip. I’m a mess.”
“Yeah.” There was sand clinging to Troy’s glistening skin, on his thighs and calves, on his forearms. There was some on his neck. Harris knew that, in practice, it would be awful, but he really wanted to lick it all off.
Then Troy was removing his socks and sneakers, leaving them in a pile with the T-shirt he removed from his waistband. “Wanna come?”
“Uh.” The waves looked really inviting, and Harris couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to swim in an ocean, but he also didn’t want to take his shirt off.
He wasn’t ashamed of his body or anything. Sure, it didn’t quite stack up to the Adonises he was surrounded by, but that didn’t really bother him. It was that there were things he didn’t want Troy to see. Things that would lead to questions that Harris didn’t feel like answering right now.
Troy was already walking toward the surf, shorts clinging to his muscular ass. “Fuck it,” Harris muttered, and followed him. He’d leave the shirt on. It would dry.
The water was warm and wonderful, and Harris laughed when the first wave crashed over him, nearly knocking him over. Troy dived into the next wave, using perfect form. When he surfaced he shook his head, flicking droplets of water into the sunshine like a merman.
The next wave did knock Harris over, but only because his legs were basically jelly at that point.
“Are you okay?” Troy asked. He waded over to him, gripping Harris’s bicep with one strong hand.
Harris coughed a couple of times, and grimaced at the taste of salt water. “I’m fine. Thanks.” He realized he had a hand on Troy’s shoulder, using him for balance. He took a risk, and said, somewhat seductively, “My hero.”
There was a flash of something in Troy’s eyes—heat? fear?—and then he stepped back. “Watch out for sharks.”
“It’s not the sharks you should be worried about. It’s the Portuguese man-of-war.”
“The what?”
“Jellyfish. Their stingers are deadly, and they can grow over a hundred feet long!”
Troy stared down into the water around his body. “They have those here?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
Troy glared at him. “Why’d you have to say that, man?”
Harris laughed. “Sorry. I mean, I think they’re more a South Florida thing.”
“Then why’d you fucking mention them? Jesus, now I can’t think of anything else.” Troy glanced warily out to sea, and Harris couldn’t resist reaching out and gently brushing the back of Troy’s calf with his toe.
To his delight, it made Troy scream.
“Fuck! What the fuck? Was that you?”
Harris was laughing too hard to answer.
“Oh, fuck you.” And then Troy was tackling Harris, both men landing hard on the sand under the shallow water. Harris sat up, still laughing, Troy kneeling between his sprawled legs. Troy was laughing too, really laughing, eyes crinkled, as water dripped from his hair and off the tip of his nose.
He stopped laughing when he noticed the way Harris was staring at him. For a few seconds, they held each other’s gazes, both breathing hard. Obviously Troy wasn’t going to kiss him here, in public, in front of half of his team, but damn. Maybe he wanted to?
Instead, Troy playfully splashed water in Harris’s face and stood up. He offered Harris his hand and pulled him to his feet. There was definitely heat in Troy’s gaze, but Troy looked away before Harris could get lost in it.
Oh yeah. They definitely had some things to discuss later.
Troy was exhausted, slightly sunburned, and a little bit tipsy by the time he returned to his hotel room that night.
It had been, all things considered, a very fun and relaxing day. Ilya had mentioned to Troy that it had been Harris’s idea, getting everyone to go to the beach. Troy wasn’t surprised.
By the end of the afternoon, nearly all of the players, and most of the coaches and other staff, had joined in the fun. At six o’clock, Bood announced that he had managed to book them a bunch of tables at a Mexican restaurant, so the party had moved there.
The only stressful thing about the day was Troy’s struggle to stop himself from openly staring at Harris.
He tried to keep some distance from him, especially after he’d been nearly overcome with the need to kiss him in the ocean.
He’d looked so adorable, soaked and laughing with the sun highlighting all of the shades of green in his eyes.
His wet tank top had clung to his chest, and Troy had seen the outline of chest hair and firm nipples pressed against the fabric.
Troy hadn’t sat at the same table as Harris at the restaurant, but he’d kept stealing glances at him. He’d been able to hear his cheerful voice and ridiculous laugh throughout the meal, and he’d been a bit jealous every time he heard one of the other guys laughing at one of his jokes.
God, Troy had such a crush on this guy.