Page 39 of Role Model

Troy wasn’t sure why he was doing this. The last thing hospitalized children needed was to be forced to spend even five seconds with him.

But here he was, at a children’s hospital in Ottawa, wearing a Centaurs jersey and ball cap and holding a small stack of postcards of himself and a Sharpie.

He’d been paired up with Wyatt, which was good because the kids would probably be way too excited about meeting the star goaltender to even look at Troy.

“They’re probably bored of me,” Wyatt said, contradicting everything Troy was thinking. “The long-term patients anyway. I’m here a lot because Lisa works here.”

Right.

Troy followed Wyatt into the first room they were visiting. It had two beds, both occupied by very young children who were hooked up to machines, and Troy wanted to leave immediately.

He focused on the parents who were standing beside the beds. They were smiling, obviously thrilled to see Wyatt and Troy, so maybe things weren’t so bad, right?

“Jenny,” Wyatt said, giving one of the women standing beside one of the beds a hug. Then he turned his attention to the little boy in the bed. “Danny. What’s up, man?” He held out his fist, and Danny bumped it more heartily than Troy would have expected.

Wyatt went to the other bed, all smiles, and said, “We haven’t met yet. I’m Wyatt. Would you like to tell me your name?”

“Nathan.”

“Nice to meet you, Nathan. Would you like a fist bump?”

“Okay.” The kid held out his fist—the one that didn’t have an IV connected to it—and Wyatt gently bumped it. He turned to the father and shook his hand, chatting pleasantly with him for a moment before turning his attention back to both kids.

Troy was happy to linger near the door and just watch Wyatt put on a clinic on how to talk to sick kids. He noted the way Wyatt asked permission directly from the kids before he did anything.

“Would you like to meet my newest teammate?” Wyatt asked, and both kids nodded.

Nathan’s dad said, “Yeah!”

Troy held up his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi.”

“This is Troy Barrett,” Wyatt said. “He used to play for Toronto like me.”

“Boooooo!” said Danny.

Wyatt pointed at him. “Exactly! Boo, Toronto! Right, Troy?”

Troy managed something close to a smile. “Yep. Boo.” He took a step toward Nathan’s dad, because he seemed enthusiastic about meeting him, and extended his hand. “Troy. Nice to meet you.”

“Greg. I’m a big fan. We’re excited you’re here in Ottawa now.”

The pleasure that fizzed through Troy’s body at this basic compliment was startling and ridiculous. “Excited to be here,” he mumbled, then turned to the kid, Nathan. “Are you a hockey fan, Nathan?”

“Yeah,” Nathan said quietly.

“Do you, um, want an autograph? I have postcards.” Troy held up the stack. Christ. Could he have sounded more like he wanted to get this over with?

But Nathan looked thrilled by his offer. “Okay!”

Troy’s handwriting was terrible, but he tried his hardest to write legibly when he scrawled To my friend Nathan. Then he added his mess of a signature and, after a moment’s hesitation, a little happy face. Because maybe he could be the kind of guy who drew little happy faces next to his autograph.

He handed the postcard to Nathan, who smiled and immediately showed it to his dad, Greg. “Wow, that’s awesome, Nate,” his father said, as if he hadn’t just watched Troy sign the thing. Jesus, what that man was probably going through.

“Would you like one?” Troy asked him.

“Oh.” Greg looked embarrassed, but Troy could also tell he really wanted to say yes. “You should save them for the kids. Y’know.”

“I have tons. Here.”

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