Page 19 of Role Model

Troy finished the Gatorade. “Thanks. For this.” He held up the empty bottle.

“Rest today. Play good tonight. Don’t do this again.”

“I won’t.”

Ilya went to the door, then paused before opening it. “Family can be hard. Fathers.”

It was a weird thing to say, and Troy didn’t know how to respond. He went with, “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Ilya nodded, then left. Troy blew out a breath and headed for the shower.

Troy did his best to make himself look presentable, but he shoved an Ottawa Centaurs ball cap on his head to partially obscure his face just in case his eyes were still red-rimmed. On top of being hungover, he felt dangerously close to crying.

Troy couldn’t believe his dad was here. Except it also completely made sense; a rotten cherry on top of the trash sundae that his life had become.

He saw Curtis Barrett right away, lounging in one of the armchairs in the middle of the lobby. He stood when he spotted Troy, and the two men sitting in the chairs opposite him stood too.

Of course Dad had brought friends. He loved to show off his NHL star son.

“Troy! Jesus, you look like you were up all night.” Dad clapped Troy hard on the shoulder. “I hope she was worth it.”

Curtis’s laugh was as aggressive as everything else about him, and Troy struggled not to flinch. As Curtis’s friends joined in, braying like ignorant donkeys, Troy had a brief, wild urge to say, “Actually my boyfriend dumped me for another man,” but of course he didn’t.

Instead, he settled himself into one of the chairs, done with standing. “Hi, Dad.”

“This is Brad, he owns Condor Construction. And Darryl, from Harper Demolition. You remember Darryl, right?”

“Sure,” Troy lied. “Of course.” All of Dad’s friends looked kind of the same: middle-aged men with builds that suggested they’d once been athletes, but had grown flabby over the years. Troy would probably look like that himself one day.

“So.” Curtis inspected his son’s Centaurs hoodie and ball cap. “You got downgraded to Ottawa.”

“I got traded.”

“You got punished, is what you got. I don’t know what Kent did to get under your skin, but you’ve gotta watch your mouth, kid. Bad fucking luck having it caught on video.” He made a face. “Practices should be private. What’s said between teammates should stay there. I remember back when I was playing in Kamloops...”

And off he went, sucking all of the oxygen out of the room with tales of his glory days as a junior hockey player. Troy tuned him out. Troy being an actual NHL star had never stopped his father from trying to one-up his every hockey story. Eventually, Troy had just stopped sharing stories at all.

“Of course, you can’t say anything these days,” Dad was saying when Troy became aware that he was still talking. “Social justice warriors lurking everywhere.”

“You got that right,” Brad or Darryl agreed.

“Look at poor Dallas Kent,” Dad said, as if Troy wasn’t sitting right there. “People can say anything on the internet, trying to ruin a man’s career. His reputation.”

Troy wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. His head hurt and his throat was still precariously tight. Dad was now looking directly at him.

“Fortunately no one took what you said seriously,” Dad continued. “Obviously Toronto had to get rid of you, which is a damn shame, but anyone who knows hockey knows that things get said in the heat of the moment.”

Was that what people were telling themselves? That Troy had lost his temper over something during practice and hurled a cheap shot at Kent? That Troy didn’t actually believe that Kent was a sexual predator?

Dad chuckled. “If you’d been opponents instead of teammates, I think using the bullshit those women were accusing him of would be a smart strategy on the ice. Get in his head, y’know? But not your teammate. You two were like brothers. I hope you’ve at least tried to apologize to him. I don’t blame him if he tells you to get fucked, but you’ve gotta man up and try.”

Brad and...the other one...made noises of agreement.

Troy took a long, steadying breath. “You coming to the game tonight?”

“You bet. Bringing these guys with me. Not sure they’ll be cheering for fucking Ottawa, though.”

The three men laughed. Troy didn’t. He almost asked why Dad wasn’t bringing his new wife, but decided he didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of this, and he’d used up his ability to appear fine. It was time to seek refuge in his private hotel room so he could cry until he fell asleep. “Well, like you said, I didn’t sleep much last night, so I should try to rest up before the game.”

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