Chapter Text
"You okay?" Harris asked, squeezing Troy's hand as the plane hit a patch of turbulence.
It was Troy's first flight since they'd found out about the pregnancy, and he was looking a little green.
"Yeah, but thank God it's a short flight," Troy said, pressing his other hand to his stomach. "Baby is not enjoying this."
"I'll try to limit any future appearances Miller wants you to do to either local or video calls," Jasmine said from across the aisle, her laptop open on her tray table. "No more flights unless absolutely necessary."
"Thank you," Troy said gratefully.
"How are you feeling?" Harris asked. "Outside of the nausea?"
Troy was quiet for a moment, watching clouds pass by the window. "Honestly? Kind of like an idiot."
Harris frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I thought things would be better with Miller," Troy admitted, his voice low. "I really did. And yeah, he's the lesser of two evils compared to Crowell, but he still isn't actually supportive. It's all about image either way." He turned to look at Harris. "Crowell wanted me gone. Miller wants me visible. But neither of them actually cares about me."
Harris's expression softened with understanding. "You're not an idiot for hoping things would be different."
"Maybe not," Troy said. "But I feel pretty stupid. He came in talking about progress and support, and I actually believed him for a minute."
"He's good at what he does," Jasmine said, looking up from her laptop. "That's why he's dangerous in a different way than Crowell. Crowell's hatred was obvious. Miller's exploitation is wrapped in rainbows and good intentions."
Troy huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah. That about sums it up."
***
"Troy, so nice to meet you. Welcome to the Today Show." The interviewer extended her hand with a warm smile. "This should be pretty quick and painless...five minutes max."
"Okay, that's fine," Troy said, shaking her hand and forcing a smile.
"Great! Did you want to pop into wardrobe real quick? They can get you all squared away." She glanced at his jeans and faded Centaurs hoodie.
"I think Troy's fine," Jasmine interjected smoothly.
"Of course!" The interviewer's smile didn't waver. "Just wanted to make sure you had the option. You look great. Very authentic."
Troy tugged the hoodie a little tighter, suddenly very aware of the small bump visible beneath it.
"Shall we get you into makeup? Just some powder for the lights."
Troy nodded, grateful that at least one battle had been won before the interview even started.
About thirty minutes later, Troy was settled on a very uncomfortable couch, bright studio lights blaring down on him. Harris sat just off-camera, close enough that Troy could see him if he needed to. Jasmine stood beside one of the producers, arms crossed, watching carefully.
Troy's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the microphone clipped to his hoodie would pick it up.
"My next guest today has been making waves recently with a shocking revelation that has shaken up the sports world," the interviewer—Sarah? Stephanie? Troy couldn't remember—said with practiced enthusiasm. "Troy Barrett is the first-ever pregnant NHL player. This news has led to Commissioner Roger Crowell being placed on administrative leave amidst allegations of discrimination and harassment."
Troy tried to smile as the camera swung to focus on him.
"Troy, thank you so much for being here."
"Thanks for having me," Troy managed, his mouth dry despite the water they'd given him in the green room.
"So let's start with the big question everyone wants to know. How are you feeling?"
It was such a simple question, but Troy felt the weight of a thousand possible answers. Terrified. Angry. Overwhelmed. Nauseous. Protective.
"I'm doing okay," he said, defaulting to the safest response. "It's been a lot to process, but I have an amazing support system."
"That is so important. How has your team reacted to the news?" she asked.
"The entire Centaurs organization has been wonderful. It's really like a family," Troy said.
"Speaking of family, you never knew that you were a carrier, right? Were you never tested, or...?"
Troy froze. His father. She was asking about his father. The topic that was supposed to be off-limits.
"I, uh..." Troy's hands gripped the armrest of the couch. "I never knew. I found out when my team doctor ran bloodwork two weeks ago."
He could see Harris tense off-camera,
Jasmine already moving toward the producer.
"That must have been quite a shock," the interviewer pressed. "Did your family know? Your father?"
Troy's jaw tightened. She wasn't supposed to ask this. It was in the contract.
"I don't... I mean..." Troy stammered, his chest constricting.
"We actually reached out to your father for a comment. Would you like to hear what he had to say?" she pushed, leaning forward with false sympathy.
Troy felt like he couldn't breathe. His father. They'd contacted his father.
"Enough!" Harris's voice cut through the studio like a whip.
The interviewer's head snapped toward him, startled. The camera operators looked confused. Troy could hear Jasmine's sharp voice off to the side, arguing with the producer.
"This interview is over," Harris said, already moving toward Troy. "We had an agreement. Troy's father was off-limits."
"We're live—" the interviewer started.
"I don't care," Harris said flatly, reaching Troy and helping him stand. Troy's legs felt shaky. "You ambushed him. We're done."
Troy let Harris guide him off the set, his mind spinning. His father. What had he said? What had Curtis Barrett told a national news program about his pregnant son?
"Troy, I am so sorry. I had no idea. They breached the contract. We can take legal action," Jasmine said, fury and guilt warring in her voice.
"My dad... he made a statement..." Troy tried to steady his breathing as they walked through the building, Harris guiding him with a firm hand on his back.
"Breathe, sweetheart," Harris said gently.
"The baby...the stress...I'm hurting the baby." Troy's hand moved to his stomach, his breathing getting faster, more shallow.
"You're not hurting the baby," Harris said firmly, stopping and turning Troy to face him. "Look at me. You're okay. The baby's okay."
"I can't breathe—"
"Yes, you can. In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me." Harris demonstrated, waiting for Troy to follow.
Troy tried to match his breathing, focusing on Harris's calm voice, his steady presence.
"That's it," Harris encouraged. "You're doing great. Just keep breathing."
Jasmine was already on her phone, her voice sharp as she spoke to someone. "I don't care what their excuse is. They violated a signed contract on live television..."
Troy closed his eyes, still trying to breathe, trying not to think about what his father had said.
Troy's phone rang in his pocket. Harris pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID.
"Barrett, we kill them!" Ilya's voice was so loud Harris had to hold the phone away from his ear. "I will show your father who is disgusting and perverted!"
Troy's eyes snapped open. Disgusting. Perverted. Those were the words his father had used.
Harris's jaw clenched. "Ilya, not now—"
"Is bullshit!" Ilya continued, undeterred. "Complete bullshit! You tell Troy we stand with him. His father is—"
"Ilya," Harris said more firmly, "Troy's having a panic attack. We need to go."
The line went quiet for a moment, then Ilya's voice came back, softer but still fierce. "You tell him we love him. You tell him his real family is here."
"I will," Harris promised, then ended the call.
He looked at Troy, whose face had gone pale.
"You heard?"
Troy nodded, unable to speak. Disgusting. Perverted. His father had called him that. While he was pregnant with his first grandchild.
"Harris. I don't think I can do this anymore," Troy said, his voice breaking.
Harris's face went white. "Troy," he whispered. "You don't mean..."
"No. No, of course not." Troy realized what Harris thought and grabbed his hand. "Not the baby. Never the baby. I just..." He took a shaky breath. "I think I just want to disappear until the baby is born. Hide somewhere. Anywhere people can't find me and turn me into a spectacle."
Harris's relief was palpable, but concern quickly replaced it. "Troy—"
"I can't do this," Troy repeated, gesturing vaguely at the building around them, the cameras, the interview that had just blown up. "The media, the league, Miller using me, my father calling me disgusting on national television. I just want to be left alone."
Jasmine had finished her call and was watching them with sympathy. "Troy, I understand. But disappearing might send the wrong message—"
"I don't care about the message anymore," Troy said flatly. "I care about keeping myself and my baby safe. And right now, none of this feels safe."
"Okay," Harris said. "Then we figure this out together."
"I think...I think maybe we should ask Shane and Ilya..." Troy started.
Harris nodded in understanding. "We're going to the cottage."