Page 30 of Role Model

Right. No one wanted Troy here. He shouldn’t have come.

Dykstra elbowed Troy and said, “I’m just joking, man. Good to see you. Rule one of being a Centaur: if Bood invites you to a barbecue, you go. Wait’ll you taste his shit. Fucking incredible.”

“Cool,” Troy said. He held up the case he was carrying. “Where should I put this?”

“Bring it to the patio. Bood’s got a beer fridge out there that might still have some room in it. I’ll show you.”

Harris had already wandered off to talk to a woman Troy was pretty sure was Wyatt’s wife, so he followed Dykstra to the back of the house. They passed the living room, where a group of the younger players were engaged in a lively Super Smash Bros. battle.

Bood’s back deck was enormous, with a slatted wood ceiling that was lined with lights. It gave the illusion of being indoors, except for the flurries of snow that caught in the light. Despite the weather, the space was warm with electric heaters, people, and the mouth-watering aroma of grilled meat.

People lounged on cushioned furniture, some in a circle around a firepit, some on the built-in benches that lined the perimeter of the deck. Most of the people were Troy’s teammates, and some were women who were probably their partners. The party seemed very laid-back and intimate; nothing like Kent’s ragers that were packed with young women, live DJs, and party drugs. Everyone was friends here.

“Bood!” Dykstra called out. “Harris brought cider.”

Bood was standing at a massive grill, turning chicken parts with some tongs. “Awesome. I love that shit. Oh hey, what’s up, Barrett?”

“Not much.”

Zane Boodram was a little taller than Troy, a little shorter than Dykstra. He had warm, light brown skin and dark curly hair. His muscular arms were both covered in tattoo sleeves that incorporated nautical stuff, tropical flowers, and the Trinidad and Tobago flag.

“Make yourself comfortable. Grab anything you want from the fridge. I got a fuck ton of food out on the table over there.” He gestured with his tongs. “And this chicken is going to be done soon. You like spice?”

“Say no,” Dykstra warned. “Bood takes it as a challenge.”

Bood laughed. “Nah, you’re just a lightweight, D.”

Troy and Dykstra went to the beer fridge and unloaded the bottles of cider. Then they each took one and Dykstra said, “My wife, Caitlin, she’s not here tonight, but she loves that you yelled at Kent. She volunteers at a charity that helps women who are, y’know. Victims. Of that sort of thing.”

It made so many hockey players uncomfortable to talk about sexual assault. Troy wasn’t particularly comfortable talking about it either, but he appreciated Dykstra making this unexpected effort to reach out.

“That’s cool that she does that,” Troy said, and Dykstra shuffled his feet uncomfortably for a moment, then nodded.

“I know a lot of the guys in the league don’t believe what those women are saying about Kent, or don’t want to. Not that long ago, I probably would have thought they were lying too, honestly. But I’ve learned a lot from Caitlin, and from, y’know. Reading stuff. Plus, I figure you know Kent pretty well, so if you believe those women, then I sure as fuck do.”

Warmth filled some of the emptiness that Troy had been made of for the past week. “I believe them,” he said firmly.

“Good enough for me.” Dykstra took a sip from the bottle he was holding, and changed the subject. “You try this cider yet?”

Troy hadn’t, so he took a sip from his own bottle. The cider was crisp and not as sweet as he’d been expecting. Refreshing. “It’s good.”

“Harris’s sisters know what they’re doing, that’s for sure. But you can get surprisingly fucked up on this shit, so be careful.”

Troy only planned on having one drink tonight. Given his mood, he knew two drinks could easily turn into too many. “I’ll go easy.”

Another defenseman—Nick Chouinard—called Dykstra over to the firepit area. Troy didn’t follow, instead heading for the food table. He got there just as Bood plunked down a huge platter of grilled chicken.

“Okay,” Bood said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, “I’m gonna give you a tour. We’ve got jerk chicken here, and that’s the real shit, so don’t fuck with it if you don’t like spice. We’ve got chicken with my secret recipe barbecue sauce over here.” He gestured to the platter he’d just added to the table. “It’s more sweet and smoky than spicy. It’ll go fast, so grab it now. Ribs, obviously, over there. Peas and rice, slaw, callaloo. Got some of my homemade pepper sauce. That’s hot as fuck, but if you like it, I can give you a bottle. I make tons of it.”

“Wow. Jesus. This all looks great.” Troy grabbed a plate and a jerk chicken leg, which made Bood grin.

“Going for the heat. I love it.” He clapped Troy on the shoulder. “And, listen. I played junior with Kent, same team, and I hated the little fucker. I’ll be totally honest and say that I always thought you were a piece of shit too, by association.”

What was Troy supposed to say to that? He was a piece of shit by association. And maybe just on his own too. “Makes sense” was what he came up with.

“I’m hoping you prove me wrong, is all I’m saying. We’ve got a good group here. Don’t fuck that up.”

“I won’t,” Troy said weakly.

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