by Rachel Reid
Ilya squeezed Troy’s shoulder before he walked away, which made Troy blush again for some reason. Then Ilya tossed his hat and sweater on the table and left quickly. It was kind of strange, the sudden departure, but Ilya was generally strange.
Without Ilya there to tease him, Troy’s face fell into its usual blank stare, which looked hilarious set against an elf hat, a loud sweater, and a puppy. Harris couldn’t wait to see the photos later.
“Okay,” Gen said. “I think we’re good.”
Troy carefully set Chiron on the floor, then removed his costume pieces. “Those were probably terrible photos. Sorry.”
“They’re great,” Gen said as she scrolled back through the images she’d captured on her camera. Harris could tell she was barely suppressing a giggle. “Very festive.”
Harris took Troy’s sweater and hat from him. “Thanks for helping out.”
“No problem. Um. Does Chiron need a walk?”
Chiron let out a happy bark at the word walk. Harris laughed. “Sounds like it. You want to take him?”
“Sure. Can you come too? Or if you’re busy I could—”
“I’m not busy. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I can clean up here,” Gen said. “You boys go on your walk.”
It was a blatant attempt to get Harris and Troy alone together, and Harris tried to shoot daggers at her but probably failed because he’d never shot daggers at anyone in his life. “You sure?”
“Oh, I’m definitely sure.” Gen seemed to be under the ridiculous assumption that Harris’s weird friendship with Troy was going to blossom into something more. As if Harris could turn the head of an NHL player.
“I’ll get my jacket,” Troy said. “And, uh, my pants.”
“Probably a good idea,” Gen said. “It’s December.”
Troy walked quickly out of the room, and Harris rounded on Gen. “What the hell, dude?”
“What?”
“Why not just wear a T-shirt that says Harris is into you?”
“Oh, come on. He’s a hockey player. He doesn’t pick up on stuff like that.”
“He’s smart!”
She made a face that said is he, though?
“You’re mean.”
She laughed. “Seriously, I like him. And he’s sweet to you, which I also like. So even if he just wants to walk dogs with you and bring you coffee, I support it.”
Harris relaxed. “Thanks.” He grabbed his latte off the table and went to the door. “See you in a bit.”
“I’ll send you the best Troy photos.”
“Yeah. Because it’s your job.”
“And your job is to walk a puppy with Troy Barrett. Go.”
Harris was going to argue that this wasn’t his job at all, but that would waste valuable walking-a-puppy-with-Troy time, so he left.
* * *
“So is it acceptably eggnog season now?” Harris asked. They were halfway down the first length of the arena parking lot, Troy holding Chiron’s leash. Harris was holding the latte, trying not to drink it too quickly.
“Yeah. It’s Christmas next week.”
“Eggnog has a one-week window?”
“It has a zero-week window for me.”
“There must be a Christmas treat you like, though.”
Troy shrugged. “Turkey?”
Hoo boy. Harris decided to change the subject. “The Toronto game seemed intense.”
“It was pretty rough.”
“I couldn’t believe it when Ilya punched Kent.”
Troy’s lips curved up. “That was awesome.”
“What did Kent say to him to make him lose it like that?”
Troy’s jaw worked for a moment, then he said, “Nothing really. Just typical bullshit.”
Harris wasn’t sure he believed that, but he let it go. “Was it awful, being back in Toronto?”
“It was weird. And pretty terrible. I thought I was going to be sick before the game. Ilya talked me down, actually.”
“He’s good at that.”
“Mm.”
They finished a lap of the massive parking lot, and Harris was about to start a second one after tossing his empty cup into a garbage can, but Troy stopped walking.
“Um,” Troy said.
Harris waited. Troy handed him the leash, then reached into his own jacket pocket.
“I got you something.” He said it like one word, then thrust a small, shiny object at Harris.
“You did?”
Harris took the object and saw that it was an enamel pin in the shape of an apple. With a little rainbow heart in the middle.
His own little rainbow heart fluttered in his chest. He beamed at Troy. “Where did you find this?”
“New York. It’s, y’know. The Big Apple. And that pin was from Pride, I guess. So. Yeah.”
“Big Gay Apple.”
Troy huffed. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I love it!” Harris pinned it on to his jacket immediately, then smiled at it. Troy had been thinking of him on his trip.
“Ilya took me to that bar Scott Hunter and Eric Bennett own. That’s where I saw the pin. And the bartender gave one to me when I asked about it.”
Harris’s mouth dropped open. “You went to the Kingfisher? Shit, I’m so jealous. I love that there’s a gay bar in New York that’s owned by two NHL players. Who would have ever thought, huh?”
“I know, it’s kinda unbelievable. But it’s a nice bar. And the bartender who gave me the pin is, uh, Eric’s boyfriend, I guess.”
“Oh yeah. I heard Eric Bennett was dating the manager of the place. They met there, before Eric and Scott bought it. They were regulars, apparently, which is adorable. Christina told me his boyfriend is super hot.”
“Christina?”
“The Admirals’ social media manager. We’re friendly. So is it true? Is the boyfriend hot?”
Harris enjoyed the color that bloomed on Troy’s cheeks. “He’s a good-looking guy.”
Harris was sure he had nothing on the good-looking guy who was standing in front of him right now. Harris admired his new pin, and made sure it wasn’t crooked on his jacket. He wondered how difficult it had been for Troy to ask the bartender for it. How difficult it had been for him to be in a gay bar at all.
When he turned his gaze back to Troy, he found the man smiling shyly at him. He looked pleased with himself, which was so cute Harris couldn’t stop himself from hugging him. “Thank you.”
For a few seconds, Troy’s arms hung stiffly at his sides. His whole body seemed to freeze. Then, slowly, he placed one hand on Harris’s back, then the other. “No problem,” he said. His breath tickled Harris’s cheek. His arms tightened, holding Harris closer.
Harris tilted his head, just slightly. Just enough to inhale the spice of Troy’s aftershave.
Then Troy took a step back, and stumbled because Chiron had managed to wrap his leash around their legs as if he was doing his own matchmaking.
Harris reached out and grabbed the front of Troy’s jacket to keep him from falling backward. Momentum brought Troy close again as he was pulled upright. His nose brushed against Harris’s own, and for an endless moment, they just stared at each other. Troy’s eyes were wide and bright and maybe a bit scared.
Harris wanted to kiss him so badly. He couldn’t remember any reasons why he shouldn’t.
But Troy laughed nervously and bent to untangle their legs from the leash. “Shit, Chiron. What did you do?”
Harris didn’t bend to help. He used the distance to clear his head and take a few deep breaths. What the hell had he been thinking?
Troy got the leash sorted, then stood and took a few steps backward. “I’m gonna go work out. But, um, thanks for the walk.”
“Oh. Okay.” H
arris didn’t want him to leave, but he couldn’t think of a way to make him stay. “Thanks for the pin. And the latte.”
Troy glanced at the pin, and his mouth bent into that rough-hewn smile of his. “Merry Christmas.”
Then he left without another word. Again.
“I know what you were trying to do there with the leash, buddy,” Harris said to Chiron. “I appreciate the effort, but I think we need to let this one go.”
* * *
No boyfriends showed up at Troy’s apartment to surprise him on Christmas Eve, but at least he was in an actual apartment and not a hotel room.
The apartment was nice enough. It was a spacious two-bedroom, fully furnished, and everything looked fairly new, if slightly bland. He’d had some of his stuff shipped from his storage unit in Toronto—clothes, mostly—so he was officially no longer living out of a suitcase. The building had a pool and a gym, and underground parking, basically everything Troy needed.
Except maybe some company.
This was the first Christmas that Troy would be spending completely alone. He didn’t care about Christmas much, but it felt weird to spend it by himself. Part of him hoped for a text from Harris, inviting him to look at more Christmas lights. Or maybe a second invitation to dinner at his family’s farm. Troy wasn’t sure he’d say no this time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Harris’s face had lit up when Troy had given him that apple pin. He wanted to keep giving him things so Harris would keep smiling at him like that. Not that it took much to get a smile out of the guy.
Troy frequently found himself wondering what it would take to get a moan out of him. Or a gasp of pleasure. What would fill those green eyes with heat?
He realized he was lazily brushing his fingertips over his stomach as he lay on the leather couch that had come with the apartment. His dick twitched with interest, and Troy’s hand slid lower, seemingly on its own. He gave his thickening cock a squeeze through his loose-fitting gym shorts, and grunted softly into the empty room.
Troy could make this Christmas Eve even sadder than it already was by jerking off to fantasies of the total sweetheart who was way too good for him, or he could find something distracting to quickly cool his blood.
With a lot of effort, Troy removed his hand from his dick and grabbed the television remote off the coffee table. He found a sports highlights show that was counting down the top NHL goals of the year.
Dallas Kent’s face filled the screen, and that quashed Troy’s boner in a hurry.
“Fuck you,” Troy said to the man on his television. And then felt silly about it.
Troy remembered the goal they were showing. It’d been epic, the way Troy had gotten around both San Jose defensemen, then knocked the puck over to Dallas, who took it and flew to the net. He’d faked out the goalie perfectly and scored the game-winning goal.
On the television, Dallas was jumping into Troy’s arms, and they were both smiling and yelling and hugging. Like friends. Like brothers.
He changed the channel, and after some rapid flipping, stumbled upon an episode of Adrian’s superhero show. Because Troy’s life was an endless parade of shit. On the screen, Troy’s ex-boyfriend was shirtless, battle-ravaged, and breathtaking.
Troy turned off the television. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling, not moving. His brain ran in circles, trying to work out how exactly his life had gotten to this point. What had made him so mean? Why had he always been so quick to make fun of other people? Was it only a defense mechanism, or a way to protect his secrets, or was he just a total dick like his father? Why did he gravitate toward people whose senses of humor were based entirely on putting other people down?
And, most importantly, could Troy change that? Could he actually be friends with someone like Harris, who seemed determined to see the best in people? Who, when he teased Troy, made it feel like a hug, rather than a jab.
Eventually, Troy got himself off the couch. He ordered sushi and ate it at his kitchen counter while he, for the first time, checked out the Ottawa Centaurs Twitter account.
He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he found it comforting, reading things Harris had written. He could hear Harris’s voice when he read the posts, and recognized his sense of humor in them.
Harris posted a lot. Maintaining the team’s social media accounts seemed like a ton of work. Each day had dozens of posts, and they were all fancy, with graphics and GIFs and videos and clever emojis. All of the posts were written in both French and English, and it hadn’t even occurred to Troy that Harris could speak French. He supposed it would be a job requirement, though, in a bilingual city like Ottawa.
The most recent post was one of the photos of Troy and Ilya posing in front of the Christmas tree with Chiron. Troy looked ridiculous in the picture, but he also looked...happy. Or at least not miserable.
There were quite a few posts about Troy. Pictures of him at the children’s hospital, and with Chiron in the locker room. Pictures of him during practice—including one where he was laughing at something Bood said. Troy stared at that one for a long time, barely recognizing himself with his eyes crinkled in amusement.
It occurred to Troy, later when he was in bed for lack of anything else to do, that Harris probably had a personal Instagram account.
It didn’t take long at all to find it. His profile picture was the apple pin Troy had given him. Troy could have sworn he felt his heart inflating like a balloon when he saw it.
The posts had almost nothing to do with hockey. There were lots of photos of his family’s farm, and of dogs that Troy assumed lived there. There were photos of live bands and of friends in crowded bars. A few selfies, but almost always with his arm around another person. Troy wasn’t surprised; Harris seemed like a person who was rarely alone.
When Troy looked at pictures of Harris—when he thought of Harris at all—he felt the opposite of the anger and shame that surged through him when he’d seen Dallas and Adrian on his television. His stomach twisted in an entirely different way, full of a nervous energy that was fueled by excitement and anticipation, instead of dread and anxiety.
Maybe Troy would never be as good a person as Harris, but he could at least try to be as good a person as, like, Ilya. That guy made fun of people all the time, but he was just so damn likable. And he balanced it by genuinely caring about people, and starting a charity, and being an impressive team leader in his own weird way.
The kind of leader who was able to make Troy comfortable enough to come out to him, which Troy still couldn’t quite believe he’d actually done.
Troy slept in the next morning, because there was no reason not to. He awoke to find “Merry Christmas” messages on his phone from both of his parents, and a third, more surprising one.
Harris: Merry Christmas!
Troy’s heart lifted. He was sure Harris had sent the same message to everyone on the team, and probably everyone he had ever met in his life, so it would be silly to reply. Besides, if he replied, he would only spend the rest of the day hoping for a reply that would definitely never come. It was Christmas morning and Harris was with his family, busy and full of festive cheer.
Troy: Thanks. You too.
He cringed at himself, then put his phone down on the bed. Then picked it back up again.
Harris: How’s the new place?
Oh. That was a question specifically for Troy.
Troy: Fine. Quiet.
Harris: Ha. This house is the opposite of quiet.
Troy smiled at that, and wished Harris was with him, filling his lonely apartment with earsplitting laughter. While he tried to think of something to write back, Harris wrote, I actually just stepped outside for a moment. It’s totally calm and peaceful out here.
Then he sent a photo. Snow was gently falling on a giant yard, with trees behind. Troy could see Harris’s truck off to one side.
&nb
sp; He wanted Harris to send a picture of himself. He wanted to see him with snowflakes in his hair. He just wanted to see him.
Troy: Looks nice.
Harris: Perfect Christmas weather.
Harris: But I’m looking forward to being in Florida next week.
That message was followed by a string of palm tree emojis. Troy had almost forgotten that Harris would be joining the team on their road trip down south. The thought warmed him more than the Florida sun probably would.
Troy: Me too.
In an attempt to be cute, Troy added a flamingo emoji.
Harris didn’t reply, which meant Troy spent most of his Christmas Day staring at that damn flamingo. Finally, around nine o’clock at night, Harris wrote, Just got home. Did you do anything fun today?
Troy sat up from where he’d been lying on the couch, grinning like a loon, and wrote, I called my mom, which was true and sounded cooler than I spent the whole day hoping you’d text me again.
Harris: Aw. Where is she today?
Troy: Brisbane. Australia.
Harris: Holy shit, really? I’ve always wanted to go there.
Troy had never given much thought to going to Australia himself. The few times he’d traveled for non-hockey reasons, it had been to Mexico or the Caribbean with teammates. He and Adrian used to make vague plans to go to Hawaii together one day.
Harris: I love Australian accents.
Troy smiled and wrote, G’day, which was close to flirting without being too obvious about it.
Harris: If you’re trying to seduce me, it’s working.
Heat raced up Troy’s neck, but he laughed and wrote, LOL to let Harris know that he wasn’t taking that seriously. His dick was, but Troy wasn’t.
They texted back and forth for over an hour, and in that hour Troy saw at least eight emojis that he hadn’t even known existed.
All in all, it was one of his best Christmases.
Chapter Thirteen
“Stop working so fucking much!”
Harris grinned up at Bood from his plane seat. “I can’t! A big win like that means I have a ton of work to do.”
