Chapter Nineteen #2
He needed a break from these dark thoughts.
He knew they weren’t true. Troy had fixed that intense, cobalt gaze on him enough times to let Harris know that he saw something he liked.
He had, in fact, told Harris that he liked him when they’d decided to end the physical side of their relationship.
He just needed space, and Harris needed to give it to him without pouting about it.
And, besides, being friends with Troy was.
..nice. They got along well, and Troy seemed happier lately, laughing and smiling more easily, and throwing himself into helping victims of sexual assault however he could.
In short, he was continuing to be wonderful and handsome, while also maintaining a commitment to friendship without benefits. It was basically killing Harris.
“Tell Troy I said hi,” Gen said.
“I’m not going to see Troy.”
“Sure.”
Troy probably wasn’t even in the building. Maybe. Harris supposed it was the usual time for him to be working out in the team gym.
He wished he could stop thinking about their last night together. God, the way Troy had fucked him. He’d given Harris exactly what he’d needed and it had been incredible.
And then he’d held him all night, and talked to him while they’d relaxed in bed together the next morning. He’d washed Harris’s hair, blown him in the shower, teased him about his slow cooker.
Harris liked him so much.
Of course Harris walked past the entrance of the team gym, and furtively peeked inside. He wouldn’t go in, but he wanted a glimpse of Troy. Just a taste.
Troy wasn’t there.
Probably just as well. Harris kept walking, pulling his phone out to check Twitter as he rounded a corner.
And crashed right into Troy.
“Shit! Sorry,” Harris said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Troy had his hand over his heart, and he exhaled loudly. “Jesus. Wasn’t expecting that.”
Harris held up his phone sheepishly. “You know me. Addicted to my phone.”
Troy just stared at him, and that’s when Harris noticed how upset he looked.
“What’s wrong?” Harris asked.
Troy’s eyes darted from side to side. Then he nodded his head in the direction behind him. “This way.”
They walked to the end of the hallway, putting distance, Harris noticed, between them and the gym where Troy’s teammates were. Then Troy turned to face him and said, just above a whisper, “The commissioner called me.”
“The commissioner?” Harris didn’t understand. “Crowell?”
“Yeah. Like, he actually called me. Roger Crowell himself. On the phone.”
“When? Why?”
“A few minutes ago. He’s concerned.”
“About what?” Harris had a sinking suspicion that he already knew. The NHL’s commissioner was not, in Harris’s opinion, a force for good.
“About my Instagram account. About, y’know, everything. Starting with what I said to Dallas.” Troy scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fuck! I don’t want... I was trying to be good. Instead I’m just pissing people off.”
Harris put a hand on Troy’s arm. “You are doing good, Troy. Tell me what he said exactly.”
“He asked me some questions about Dallas, to make sure I hadn’t actually witnessed anything.
And based on that, he said I shouldn’t be fanning the flames of.
..shit. I forget what words he used. But basically he wants me to stop talking about sexual assault victims. He said it was, like, admirable, but also that I shouldn’t do it.
I don’t know. I’m really fucking confused now.
Have you ever talked to him? He’s intimidating as fuck. ”
Harris had never heard Troy babble before and he didn’t like it. “No, I haven’t. But I get the gist of what he’s like from interviews and press conferences and stuff. Did he threaten you? Offer an ultimatum if you don’t stop posting like you have been?”
“He said he hoped the matter was settled because he didn’t want to have to take things further, whatever that means.”
“Fucker,” Harris grumbled.
Troy blanched like Harris had just blasphemed.
“Listen to me,” Harris said, placing his hands firmly on Troy’s biceps.
“You are playing incredible hockey, and that’s all you owe this team or this league.
You aren’t doing anything harmful or illegal.
You’re using your fame and influence to help people who often don’t have a voice, and there’s nothing bad about that. Fuck Crowell if he says otherwise.”
Troy swallowed. “He said Dallas Kent is one of the league’s biggest stars, and that it reflects badly on the entire league if we give credit to his accusers’ stories.”
Harris felt a very rare urge to punch something. “What else?”
“He was laughing about it, like we were old friends having a beer or something. Laughing about women trying to get their five minutes of fame or whatever. Can’t believe what they say. Fuck, Harris. The way he says things, he had me doubting myself. Doubting everything.”
Harris shook his head. “He’s wrong. You know he’s wrong.”
“Do I? I didn’t see anything. Maybe I just wanted to believe them because Dallas was getting on my nerves.”
Harris kept his voice steady. “Is that really what you think?”
Troy took two slow breaths. “No. I think Dallas did it. I know he did it. All of it.”
“Okay.”
“It’s not like he’s the only one. I’ll bet this league has been protecting predators for a hundred fucking years.”
“Probably,” Harris agreed.
“I know I can’t fix everything, but I just want to help. A little. If I can.”
Troy slumped back against the wall, looking so defeated Harris wanted to hug him. So he did. Troy returned it immediately, pulling Harris close.
“I keep dumping all of my shit on you,” Troy said into his shoulder, his arms tight around Harris’s back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I want to help. We’re friends, right?”
Troy took a slow breath that tickled Harris’s neck. Then another, as if he was inhaling Harris’s scent.
“Apples?” Harris teased gently.
“Mm.”
Troy stayed there for a minute, then pulled back. Their mouths were inches apart. It would be wrong to kiss Troy here, especially now that he was so vulnerable.
“I should get back,” Troy said, stepping back.
“Right. Okay.” Harris regained his senses. “But we should talk more about this when you have time.”
“All right. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I might stay off Instagram for a while.”
“Makes sense.”
Troy nodded, then took a step toward the gym.
“What are you doing Friday night?” Harris blurted out.
Troy turned back. “I don’t know. Nothing. Why?”
“Fabian Salah is playing a show in town that night.”
Troy’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“The musician. We were listening to him in my truck once. He’s dating Ryan Price.”
“Oh. Right.”
“I have two tickets. I bought two because I knew it would sell out and I wanted to make sure I could bring someone, and it just occurred to me that you might like to go. Maybe.” Harris was lying. He’d bought the second ticket with Troy in mind. “Anyway, you should come. If you want. With me.”
“It’s this Friday?”
“Yep. The first night of your week off.”
Troy seemed to think about it. “Sure. Okay.”
Harris lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. It will be, um, nice. Hanging out with you, away from here. I’ve kind of been...wanting to.” Troy’s shy smile was devastating.
“Me too,” Harris said.
Troy looked at him seriously. “I honestly don’t know how I would have dealt with anything this season without you.”
Oh.
Harris managed a shaky smile. “Happy to help.”
“I know. It’s one of the things I love about you.” His eyes went wide. “I mean—thanks.”
He jogged away before Harris could reply.
“Oh man,” Harris muttered to his patched-up heart. “I think this guy might destroy us.”