Page 64 of Role Model

He still wanted to kiss Harris. That was the thought that was bouncing around his brain as he followed his teammates into the hotel lobby. It would be easy to say the urge had been a heat-of-the-moment thing, and that it wasn’t something he actually wanted, but it wasn’t true. He wanted. He wanted so fucking much that he could barely stand to look at him.

“Well,” Coach Wiebe said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a drink.”

There were murmurs of agreement, and some scattered laughter that sounded like relief. They had survived together, and now they would get drunk together.

They filled the bar area. Every available table was taken up by players, coaches, trainers, doctors and other team staff. Harris sat at one of the larger tables. Troy went to the bar and took one of the empty stools. He needed to think.

He sat for a while with his whiskey and his thoughts. If the plane had crashed, how would Troy have been remembered? An NHL All-Star? The guy who got in an argument once with Dallas Kent?

Who would even mourn him? His mother, definitely. He expected he would be hearing from her as soon as the news got to her. His dad might care. Adrian would at least feel weird about it.

Jesus, what if he and Adrian had still been together? If the plane had crashed and Troy had died, Adrian wouldn’t have been able to mourn him. Troy had never imagined a scenario where one of them died while they’d been together, but now his stomach twisted thinking about how devastating it would have been if he had lost Adrian when no one even knew what they’d been to each other. How awful it would be to have to hide his grief. It had been hard enough when Adrian had broken up with him.

It wasn’t fucking fair that this was how Troy felt he had to live. To love in secret, to feel everything in secret.

Someone took the bar stool next to him, and he saw in the mirror behind the bar that it was Ilya.

“What are we drinking?” Ilya asked, his words a little slurred. His accent a little heavier, and he smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.

“Whiskey.”

“Perfect.” He got the bartender’s attention, then pointed to Troy’s empty glass and then to the empty space in front of himself. “How are you?”

Troy huffed. “Alive.”

“Yes.”

Their whiskeys were delivered, and Ilya immediately tossed half of his down his throat. He grimaced, set his glass down, and said, “When you think you are going to die, there is...what is it? Important things. In your head.”

“Like a clarity,” Troy said. “Yeah.”

Ilya nodded slowly. “Makes you think about things. What is important. What is not.”

“It does.” Troy found Harris in the mirror again. He was at a different table now, leaning in close to Luca Haas with a hand on his arm. Listening, offering comfort in that effortless way Harris always did for everyone.

Who was taking care of Harris?

“I think,” Ilya said, “that what you think in that moment...it is correct, yes?”

Harris caught Troy looking at him. Their eyes met in the mirror for a second, then Troy looked away. “Maybe.”

“I think so.” Ilya downed the rest of his whiskey, then clapped Troy on the shoulder. “What you wanted on that plane. Go for it.”

Ilya left, seemingly headed for his hotel room. Troy should probably do the same. He needed to get out of this suit, at the very least.

He got to his feet and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the stool, then stole another glance at Harris.

His heart hurt when he looked at him. He was everything Troy wanted, and everything he didn’t deserve. All Troy had done so far was take from him, but maybe tonight he could give something back.

Chapter Fourteen

An hour later, Harris was mourning the death of his laptop.

He couldn’t sleep; he couldn’t even keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds before all of the screams and sobs from the plane came back to him.

He’d gotten checked out by one of the medics who had been on the scene at the airport. The medic had assured him his heartbeat and blood pressure were only slightly elevated, which, of course, was normal for anyone who had been through something so terrifying. But she’d suggested he take it easy, and to go to a hospital if he felt off later.

Harris felt a lot of things, now that he was alone. He was rattled and still buzzing with a restless energy despite feeling drained at the same time. He was also startlingly horny. And that was why he wished he had a working laptop. Not that he needed porn, but he would welcome the distraction right now. He didn’t want to look at his phone, though. In fact, he had turned it off, and buried it in his suitcase.

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