Page 143 of The Long Game
Troy frowned at the table. “Yeah. I’m just...thinking about something.”
“Harris?” Ilya guessed.
Troy’s lips curved up a bit. “No. I mean, yeah. Kind of.” He glanced up at Ilya. “We’re together now, by the way.”
Ilya beamed and put a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “This is great! Where is he now?”
“Still working. But he’ll be here soon he said.” He fiddled with a paper coaster on the table. “So, I’m thinking about coming out. Like, all the way out. Publicly. Maybe the day of the Pride Night game.”
Holy shit. For a moment Ilya was speechless as a confusing swirl of excitement, shock, and jealousy rose inside him. The Pride Night game was at the end of February, only a couple of weeks away. “Oh yes?” was what he finally managed to say.
“Yeah. I’m tired of hiding. And now that I’m with Harris, I don’t think Icanhide, y’know?”
It was true. Ilya was sure the whole team would notice how Harris and Troy looked at each other soon, if they hadn’t noticed already. “I am very happy for you. And for Harris. And of course I will support you. The whole team will.”
“You think so?”
“Troy! Yes. Of course. This team is the best.”
A silent question hung in the air: Then why wasn’t Ilya out? Ilya let it hang.
“The Pride Night game,” Troy said. “It’s against Toronto. So. That sucks.”
Ugh. Thatdidsuck. It was hard enough for Troy to face his former team without anything else added to it.
“The Pride Night game is just a league thing, you know? Is not, like...it does not have to be when you come out.” Ilya was doing a terrible job of explaining what he meant. “Like, is for show, kind of. Do not feel pressure to have to come out.”
“I know. I just think it would be nice, maybe?”
Ilya could see that. Pride Night games had always felt weird to him. Performative, mostly, but also uncomfortable because he felt guilty for not being out.
“Then you should do it,” Ilya said. “And we will make sure to embarrass your old team that night.”
“You are such a big boy now,” Ilya said as he scratched Chiron’s ears. “You are like two Chirons.”
Harris had brought Chiron into the locker room at the end of practice to visit the team, but Ilya suspected he had an ulterior motive. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Harris asked, “Was Troy not here today?”
Ilya smiled at the dog. “He is here somewhere. Showers, probably.”
Harris glanced toward the showers, but managed to keep himself from running in there to get an eyeful of wet, naked Troy. “Chiron got some bad news last week,” he said. “I mean, maybe he’s not too sad about it.”
A million horrible possibilities flashed through Ilya’s brain. “What news? What is wrong?”
“Turns out he’s not therapy dog material. At least according to the trainers.”
“Impossible,” Ilya said, because clearly Chiron was the best dog in the world and the trainers were fucking idiots if they couldn’t see that. “What will happen to him?”
“Nothing bad,” Harris assured him. “He’s still going to be the official team dog, but he’ll need a home away from the arena.”
Ilya almost offered to take him. He wanted to so badly. But there was another option that made way more sense. “You will adopt him,” he told Harris.
Harris, as it turned out, had already been thinking the same thing. So Ilya was doubly glad he hadn’t tried to steal Harris’s dog.
Ilya smiled at Chiron. “You are going to be the happiest dog ever.” He meant it. Harris loved dogs, and his family had a big farm that Chiron could visit and run around at.
Troy emerged from a back room—not the showers—looking sweaty and, yes, sexy, so Harris’s attention left Ilya immediately. Ilya sat on the floor and played with Chiron, still wearing most of his gear. He removed one of his elbow pads and waved it around, letting Chiron chase it and chomp on it when he caught it.
He definitely needed a dog.
