Page 93 of The Long Game
I’m trying to get better.
He finished the cigarette, stamped out the butt, then picked it up and put it in his coat pocket. Smoking was one thing, but littering was one bad habit too far.
When he got back to the hotel, he felt somewhat better. Alone in his room earlier, his mind had been reeling and he’d felt claustrophobic after the long plane ride. It was late now, though, especially when translated to Ottawa time, and he needed to get as much sleep as possible before their game tomorrow.
Troy Barrett was standing by the elevators, holding a paper bag that couldn’t more obviously be concealing a liquor bottle. Ilya hadn’t spoken much to Barrett since he’d joined the team earlier that week. He should probably talk to him now, as team captain.
The elevator doors opened and Barrett stepped on. Ilya didn’t move. He knew he was being irresponsible, but he was too exhausted to care. And it seemed hypocritical of him to be lecturing anyone about vices right now.
Truthfully, he wanted to ask Barrett to share whatever was in the bottle.
Deciding he needed to focus on himself tonight, Ilya waited for the next elevator.
Ilya woke later than he should have the next morning, but not late enough to miss breakfast. He filled his plate with scrambled eggs and various breakfast meats from the buffet line and joined Wyatt and Bood at a table.
“You find some trouble last night or what?” Bood asked.
Ilya smiled mysteriously. He’d learned that the best way to hide his secrets was to pretend he was hiding entirely different ones. “Did you see your sister?” he asked Wyatt. “And your nephew?”
“Yep! Saw the whole gang. They’ll be at the game tonight, so I’ve gotta put on a show.”
Ilya glanced around the banquet hall the hotel had provided for their private team breakfast. “Have you guys seen Barrett?”
“This morning?” Bood asked. “No.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Haven’t seen him since yesterday when we arrived. Why?”
“No reason.” Ilya hadn’t been a good captain last night when he hadn’t stopped Barrett from taking a bottle of alcohol back to his hotel room, but maybe he could be a good captain today by respecting his privacy until Ilya had a good reason not to.
When he’d finished eating, he headed to the hotel lobby to see what kinds of chocolate bars they were selling in the little shop there. As he was crossing the middle of the room, where all the couches and chairs were for guests to lounge on, someone called his name.
“Ilya Rozanov.”
Ilya stopped walking, and turned in the direction of one of the couches. He couldn’t think of anyone he wanted to talk to who would call out his full name in a busy public place.
He found three men he didn’t recognize—two sitting, and one standing—grinning at him. “Yes?”
The standing man strode over to him like they were friends. He was older than Ilya, probably in his fifties, with piercing blue eyes, gray-flecked dark hair, and a reasonably fit physique for a man his age, though he was several inches shorter than Ilya. He extended his hand when he reached Ilya.
“Curtis Barrett,” he said in a loud, confident voice. “Troy’s father.”
“Oh. Okay,” Ilya said, and shook his hand. “I have not seen your son yet today.”
“Knowing him, he’s probably trying to kick some girls out of his hotel room.” He laughed, and it was horrible. “Fun’s over, ladies, right?”
Ilya wasn’t sure if he liked Troy, but hedefinitelydidn’t like his father. “I can tell him you are here,” Ilya offered, mostly to get away from him.
“Sure, if you see him. I’ve been calling and texting all morning, but he forgot how a phone works, I guess.”
Ilya smiled tightly. “I will let him know. If I see him.”
He left quickly, continuing his journey to the store at the other side of the lobby. He bought himself a Caramilk bar and, after a moment’s consideration, added a bottle of Gatorade.
He checked the room assignments on his phone while he rode the elevator back up to the team’s floor, then walked directly to Troy’s room and banged on the door. “Barrett. Wake up.”
“What is it?” called the tattered remains of Troy’s voice. “What?”
“Open the door.”
