Page 18 of Role Model

Defeated, Troy dragged himself out of bed and, after making sure he was wearing at least underwear, opened the door. Rozanov strode into the room, uninvited, and made a face. “Smells terrible. You got drunk last night.”

“A little.”

“Not good, Barrett.” He thrust a bottle of Gatorade at Troy. “Drink this. Sit down.”

Troy was more than happy to do both. He collapsed on the bed and cracked open the Gatorade, wondering how Ilya even knew he had been drinking alone last night.

“I saw you in the lobby with a liquor store bag,” Ilya said, as if he could read minds. “Heading for the elevators. You were in a hurry, it looked like.”

In a hurry to not feel anything, Troy thought.

“This is something you do a lot?” Ilya picked up the mostly empty bottle of cheap vodka from Troy’s dresser and frowned at the label.

“No.”

“We play tonight.”

“I know. It was stupid.”

“Yes.” Ilya studied him until Troy was forced to look away.

“It won’t happen again,” he said, though he wasn’t sure that was true because now his reasons for drinking were all rushing back. After a long, lonely plane ride of listening to his teammates laughing and joking like the tight-knit friends they were, all Troy had wanted was to retreat to his boyfriend’s arms. He missed Adrian so fucking much and he couldn’t even call him. On top of that, he’d been ignoring his dad’s phone calls and texts since yesterday because he could not fucking deal with that guy right now.

This was the first time in Troy’s career that he hadn’t enjoyed returning to his hometown. He’d never liked seeing his father, but until this trip, he’d been able to see his boyfriend, or his mother, or both.

Now his dickhead father was the only one left.

The shit with Dallas had happened so quickly after Adrian had dumped him, and then the trade, that the heartbreak had been kind of a vague emptiness that had hovered over Troy like a cloud. Now that he was in Vancouver, the cloud had descended, filling him with rage and despair. The breakup hadn’t seemed real before now, because he and Adrian barely saw each other anyway. Being in the same city and not being able to hold him, kiss him, take him to bed and truly be himself for a few hours, was killing him.

And no one could ever know.

“I’m sorry. It was—”

If Ilya noticed the way Troy’s voice broke, his face didn’t show it. “This is your town, yes? Where you are from?”

“Yes.”

“Your personal life is personal. If it does not affect your game, it does not matter to me. Coach will say the same thing.”

Troy closed his eyes. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Not this time.”

It was a warning, and one that Troy silently promised to heed. Hockey was all he had left. He needed to make the most of things with this Ottawa team or he’d fall apart completely.

“You look like shit,” Ilya said. “Practice is optional this morning. You are opting out.”

Troy almost protested because he had planned on skating this morning, but it would be ridiculous to argue. He was in no condition to do anything more strenuous than take a shower. “Okay.”

“Also, your dad is in the lobby.”

“What?”

“Yes. He introduced himself to me.” Ilya made a sour face that Troy completely understood. “He is still there, but I can tell him you are...”

Fuck. “No. I need to talk to him. Otherwise he’ll just—” Troy stopped himself. His messed-up family was none of Rozanov’s business. “I’ll shower and go downstairs. I’ll text him. Let him know.”

“Yes, okay.”

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