Page 94 of The Long Game
Ilya heard moaning, and creaking, and shuffling, and then a bleary-eyed, and mostly naked, Troy Barrett opened the door. He reeked of alcohol and sweat, and his room was a mess. But he was, as Ilya had suspected, alone.
Ilya didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed past Barrett, wrinkling his nose as he took everything in. “Smells terrible. You got drunk last night.”
“A little,” Troy mumbled.
“Not good, Barrett.” Ilya was legitimately annoyed. Troy had joined the team less than a week ago and already he was letting them down. Ilya held out the Gatorade. “Drink this.” Then, because Troy looked like he was about to topple over, Ilya added, “Sit down.”
Troy sat down heavily on the bed with a sigh and opened the Gatorade.
“I saw you in the lobby with the liquor store bag. Heading for the elevators,” Ilya explained before Troy could wonder how he knew what he’d been up to last night. “You were in a hurry, it looked like.”
Ilya spotted the cause of Troy’s condition—a bottle of horrible, cheap vodka on the nightstand, nearly empty. “This is something you do a lot?” he asked as he inspected the bottle’s label. He sniffed at the liquid inside. Disgusting.
“No,” Troy said miserably.
“We play tonight.”
“I know. It was stupid.”
“Yes.” Ilya wanted to be angry with him, but he found it difficult when Troy looked so pathetic, sitting on his bed in his underwear, curled over a bottle of Gatorade that he was clutching like it was precious.
“It won’t happen again,” Troy said in a small, tired voice. Ilya noticed the shimmer of tears in his eyes before Troy looked away. “I’m sorry. It was—”
His voice broke, and he pressed his lips together. The last of Ilya’s annoyance with him evaporated. “This is your town, yes? Where you are from?”
“Yes,” Troy said, barely more than a whisper.
“Your personal life is personal. If it does not affect your game, it does not matter to me. Coach will say the same thing.” About that, Ilya was confident. Coach Wiebe was kind and fair.
Troy didn’t really know Coach Wiebe yet, though. “Are you going to tell him?”
“Not this time.” It sounded a bit threatening, but Ilya couldn’t help that. He needed Troy to understand that this couldn’t be a habit.
Troy didn’t say anything. He just stared into the Gatorade bottle, probably hoping Ilya would leave.
“You look like shit,” Ilya said. “Practice is optional this morning. You are opting out.”
Troy didn’t protest. “Okay.”
Now Ilya had to give him the news he suspected Troy did not want to hear. “Also your dad is in the lobby.”
Troy’s face went even paler than it had been before.“What?”
“Yes. He introduced himself to me.” Ilya probably wasn’t able to hide how he’d felt aboutthatinteraction. Nevertheless, if Troy needed someone to get rid of his father, Ilya could stomach talking to the man again. “He is still there, but I can tell him you are...”
Thankfully, Troy refused his offer, insisting that he deal with his father himself. Ilya wasn’t sure it was the best idea, given Troy’s condition, but he didn’t argue. Troy thanked him for the Gatorade, and Ilya suggested he spend the day resting before the game.
Before he left the room, Ilya paused and said, somewhat awkwardly, “Family can be hard. Fathers.”
Troy seemed to understand. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
Ilya nodded and left. It was possible he had more in common with Troy Barrett than he would have guessed.
Chapter Nineteen
Shane wondered, as he traveled the dark highway between Montreal and Ottawa, how many times he’d done this drive in his life. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, and was in fact in danger of doing that now. It was after midnight, and he was exhausted.
He could have waited until tomorrow morning to make the drive. He’d just finished a game in Montreal, and Ilya had played in Winnipeg tonight. His plane back to Ottawa was still in the air, meaning it would be another couple of hours at least before Shane would see him. Waiting until morning would have made sense.
