Page 96 of Role Model

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.”

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