Page 94 of Role Model

“This is Roger Crowell. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to talk.”

Suddenly Troy found the ability to walk again and was on his feet. Roger Crowell, the commissioner of the entire NHL, was calling him. Troy had never spoken to him in his life beyond a handshake on his draft day. There was no way this phone call was for a good reason, though.

Troy walked quickly out of the room, ignoring Bood’s questioning glance. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“Good. How are you, Troy? How’s Ottawa?”

The questions were bland and friendly, but Crowell made them sound like a trap, and Troy’s chest tightened as he walked. “Fine. Ottawa’s good.”

“Beautiful city,” Crowell agreed. “Cold, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah.” Troy found a quiet spot at the end of a hallway, and leaned back against a wall, waiting for Crowell to reveal his reason for calling.

“Probably doesn’t have the nightlife Toronto did. Nothing to amuse you during your free time.”

Troy didn’t know what to say to that, so he only swallowed.

“You’re causing quite a stir with your Instagram account, Troy.”

Oh god. “Am I?”

“It’s a noble effort. The league wants its players to be engaged in the community, and of course the cause you’re bringing attention to is important.”

Troy knew better than to relax at this apparent praise. He’d had too many years of experience talking to intimidating men like Crowell to fall for that. “I think it is, yes.”

“If any other player had been posting about sexual assault, I’d be nothing but pleased, but with you, Troy... Well, I have to wonder about your motivation here.”

“Motivation?”

Crowell sighed somewhat theatrically. “I don’t know why you and Kent stopped being friends, and frankly I don’t care. Shit happens, right? Maybe he slept with your girl. Maybe you were jealous of his talent. But this personal vendetta you have against him isn’t good for anyone, Troy. Not the league, not your team, and certainly not for you.”

“I—that’s not why—” Troy stammered.

“Those women, the ones who have been saying things about Kent, I can see why you might jump on that opportunity, if you were mad at your friend. You don’t have a clear head right now because you’re angry. But...” Crowell laughed, and it sounded cold and cruel like Troy’s father’s laugh. “You know those girls are only looking for their five minutes of fame. People can say anything on the internet and they don’t even have to sign their names. It disgusts me because there’s no integrity in it. In the hockey world, and in the business world where I’ve been for decades, integrity is important. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have much respect for anyone who won’t own up to the things they say. Hurling accusations in the dark is cowardly, and creating lies to ruin a talented young man at the pinnacle of his career is monstrous.” Crowell paused, and Troy could imagine a slow, sickening smile creeping across his face. “At least, that’s my opinion.”

Troy’s heart was racing in his chest. His palms were so sweaty he worried he would drop his phone. He knew every word Crowell was saying was wrong—twisted—but he didn’t know how to defend himself. To defend the women he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

“I don’t think they’re lying,” he managed to say. He hated how small his voice sounded.

“Did you see Kent do any of the things they accused him of?” Crowell asked. His voice was calm, but Troy suspected that this question was the exact reason he was calling. Crowell needed to know if Troy was a real danger.

“No,” Troy admitted quietly.

“So you don’t know if these girls are telling the truth.”

“I think he—”

“You don’t,” Crowell said slowly and clearly, “know.”

Troy couldn’t argue. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He just...oh god. What if Crowell was right?

Except no. He did know. He knew Dallas and he understood enough about how the world treated victims of sexual assault to know that Kent’s accusers had nothing to gain from speaking out.

“The problem is,” Crowell continued, “that your posts, while admirable, have the appearance of being personal attacks at Kent. Little digs. Obviously the best thing for the league is if this whole ridiculous business faded away, but your posts keep fanning the flames. I need you to stop.”

Some of Troy’s fear solidified into anger. He was so tired of being pushed around by men like Crowell. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m trying to help people who need it.”

“There are plenty of causes you can promote, Troy. Homelessness, or poor kids having access to sports. I can have my assistant send you a list of charities and initiatives the league supports.”

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