Work Text:
Troy snaps two months into the regular season.
Cooper doesn’t say anything to him, which is why the video of their altercation makes Troy look like a violent instigator. The camera doesn’t catch Cooper gesturing for Troy to follow him to his office. All that can be seen is Troy skating to get off the ice after practice, and then he punches Cooper across the face as he yells “Fuck you”. Then Troy rears back to get another punch in, but the backup goalie pulls him back before the hit lands.
Troy is traded one day later to the Ottawa Centaurs.
The league wants Troy to explain why he did it. So does the media. And his teammates.
Troy refuses to explain; in fact, he barely speaks at all. He pays a fine to the league, accepts a three-game suspension, publicly apologizes, and then packs up and leaves the city.
Troy arrives at the Centaurs’ practice rink on a Wednesday. He holds his hockey bag tight to his side as he navigates the winding hallways. He had wanted to drop his bag off before meeting with Coach Weibe, but he’s running late because his alarm hadn’t gone off this morning, and now he can’t find his new coach’s office.
Finally, Troy spots the young coach on the phone through the glass of the office door. He knocks softly, and the man looks up and waves him in. Troy opens the door and hears the coach end the call with, “-yes, I’ll send him down after practice. Thanks, Harris.” Weibe hangs up and says, “Barrett, take a seat.”
Troy folds himself into the stiff chair. His hockey bag takes up most of the floor space, and Troy regrets not leaving it outside the office. His new coach is silent as he leans back in his chair and evaluates his new player.
Then Weibe says, “I want you to know that I don’t tolerate violence of any kind from my players. While you are with us, you will show respect to your teammates and the staff. If I hear any complaints against you, you’ll be benched. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Weibe gives a quick nod. “Good. I’ll bring you down to the locker room and introduce you to the team. Practice starts in thirty, and then I’m going to have you meet with our team doctor, Terry, and then with our head of social media, Harris, who is acting as our director of communications while Theresa is on maternity leave.”
Troy doesn’t want to be introduced to any of these people, but he repeats himself. “Yes, Sir.”
Cooper always made Troy call him ‘sir’, but Weibe says, “Coach is fine.” Weibe stands from his desk, and Troy has to pick up his bag so his coach can get to the door. “Follow me.” Troy follows Weibe to his new locker room.
Most of the team has already arrived, but none of the guys look ready for practice. Boodram is still wearing casual clothes, and Rozanov is shirtless as he playfully argues with Dykstra. The rookie, Haas, is the only one who looks like he is getting ready, pulling on a compression shirt as Troy and Weibe walk through the door.
The coach walking in gets most of the guys’ attention, but Rozanov still calls out, “Hey! Coach is here.” That stops all conversations, as the team turns to hear what their coach has to say.
Troy unsuccessfully tries to hide behind the man as Weibe says, “I wanted to let you know that Barrett will be joining us for the remainder of the season. Roz and Bood stick close to him during practice and get him up to speed. See you all on the ice in thirty.” Weibe heads back to his office, leaving Troy to the wolves.
Troy hears Dykstra mutter, “What the fuck?” as other players whisper their displeasure to the teammate closest to them. This was the reaction Troy had been expecting and dreading.
He turns and heads to the lone empty locker, which is luckily tucked far away from most of the players. LaPointe has the locker next to him, and the young defenseman looks away from Troy as he starts unpacking his gear.
Troy feels someone come up behind him and forces himself to relax his shoulders. He hears, “Are you going to lose it on us?” in a thick Russian accent. Troy turns to face his new captain. Rozanov has laid Troy out on the ice a few times over the years, and Troy knows the Russian wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
Troy keeps his face neutral and his hands still as fear licks up his spine. He says, “No,” and it comes out colder than he wants it to.
Rozanov’s demeanor doesn’t change as he evaluates his new player. The crease between his eyebrows tells Troy that he isn’t impressed with what he sees. The captain’s question must loosen the other guys’ tongues because Dykstra asks, “Why’d you do it?” at the same time Boyle says, “What’d Cooper do to deserve that?”
Troy could tell them any lie. That Cooper had called him a name, that Troy had anger issues, or that there was more to the altercation than what was in the video. Anything but the truth would work, but Troy knows that his team wouldn’t like any of those answers either, so he says, “Doesn’t matter.”
He supposes it's a version of the truth because why Troy did it was less important than the fact that it had happened, and Troy was now doomed to play for a terrible team until the league forgets about him and he quietly retires.
Rozanov deadpans, “We won’t tolerate that here.”
“Understood.” Rozanov must accept that there is nothing else that can be done right now because he leaves Troy alone. Troy changes quickly, hiding the yellowing bruise that stretches across his low back and over his right hip.
Troy performs well in practice. He scores a few on Hayes and gets a few good clears during their scrimmage, but his passes are a little off as he gets used to his new linemates. Rozanov and Bood talk him through their plays while their line is subbed out. Weibe tries Troy out with different lines, but ends up leaving him with Rozanov and Bood.
After practice, Troy waits until the rest of the team is done showering before quickly rinsing off the sweat. Then he throws his joggers and T-shirt back on and goes to meet with the team doctor. Terry gives him a standard evaluation, asking him about his medical history and about current injuries. Troy tells him that he has no injuries to report as he leans forward so that his bruise won’t press against the treatment table.
Troy gets lost again heading to the media office. He’s exhausted from his frantic move yesterday and from pushing himself in practice in an attempt to please his new coach. He once again regrets not leaving his hockey bag somewhere else as he lugs it down the long hallways.
Finally, he reaches the media office. A man around his age is sitting with his back to the door. Troy can see that he’s reading a lengthy email while music from a YouTube video plays in the background.
Troy softly knocks and says, “Hello?”
The blonde man, whom Troy assumes is Harris, turns to look at him. “Hey, Barrett, right?” Troy nods as he puts his bag down in the hallway and takes a step into the office. “Take a seat and give me one minute.”
Troy sits and looks around the office as Harris finishes reading the email. Two people obviously share this office, as two desks are crammed into the space. One is tidy, with a framed photograph of two women, a fake plant, and a cup of pens on the desk. Harris’ desk is covered with papers, two disposable coffee cups, a Centaurs-branded waterbottle, multiple framed photos, and a half-eaten sandwich. Troy resists the urge to reach across and brush the crumbs off the desk.
A minute later, Harris turns to face him again. “Sorry about that, it’s been busy with my boss on maternity leave. Now what did Weibe tell you?”
Troy has no idea why he is here. “Um, nothing? He just said to come see you.”
Harris doesn’t seem phased by the fact that Weibe didn’t share anything with Troy. Harris explains, “I run the team’s social media and help with the players’ personal socials, too, but right now I’m also covering for our director of communications, so I’ll be helping with post-game press coverage and some PR stuff.”
Troy is trying to process everything Harris is saying, but his exhaustion is making it hard to focus. Harris must sense his confusion because he says, “Basically, it’s my job to get the fans to like you.”
Troy scoffs. “I hope you’re a miracle worker then.” Troy’s misery seeps into his delivery, and Harris’ lips downturn at the edges. Troy tries to apologize, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it-”
Harris interrupts, “It’s fine.” His clipped words convey that it isn’t. Troy feels like an asshole; Harris is obviously trying to help him.
Troy goes to apologize again, but Harris keeps talking before he can get the words out. “I saw your Instagram account, and it looks like you usually just repost team stuff.” There’s no question, but Troy nods. “I’m hoping to let fans get to know you a little more. Would you be open to posting more personal photos? Or we could do an interview or a photoshoot here if you prefer?”
Troy doesn’t want to do either of those things, but he figures that agreeing to post personal photos will get him out of this office quicker, so he picks that option.
The next day, Troy wakes up early and drives a little out of the city to a snowshoeing trail. He puts spikes on over his winter boots and climbs five kilometers to a hut. He takes a picture from the top, and when he gets back to his car, he posts it with the caption: Excited to be in Ottawa. He adds a hockey stick emoji.
Two days later, Harris emails him to either remove the post or turn off comments because the response from the fans has been so nasty. He turns off the comments and doesn’t post again.
Troy avoids his teammates as much as he can. It’s made easy by the fact that no one invites him to team events outside of the rink, and no one talks to him in the locker room.
Their first away game is in Detroit. When Weibe first reads out the room assignments, Troy is with Haas, but then, when he gets to his room, Rozanov is there. It’s easy for Troy to figure out why there was a switch; no one wants him alone with the young rookie.
Rozanov doesn’t acknowledge his presence, and that’s fine.
Their second stop on the road is Chicago. The Centaurs are down by one at the beginning of the third period. Troy has gotten taunts from every team they’ve played against since the video of him punching Cooper leaked, but tonight is the worse. The team’s enforcer, Duncan Harvey, has been all over Troy, goading him with nasty jeers and quick shoves when the referee isn’t looking.
Hayes hears Harvey call Troy a slur and tells the right-winger to brush it off. Hayes has no idea just how much Troy has to brush off every single game.
Towards the end of the third period, Harvey has Troy pushed up against the boards as they fight for the puck trapped between their skates. Rozanov has come over to help Troy dig the puck out, so they can send it to the other end of the rink. Harvey pushes his stick into Troy’s low back as he growls, “Whose dick did you have to suck to stay in the league?”
Troy freezes for a second, his breath catching in his throat. Forgetting the puck, he turns around and shoves the shaft of his stick into Harvey’s chin, drawing blood. The referee blows their whistle, but the enforcer has already dropped his gloves and has one hand gripping the front of Troy’s jersey as the other swings at his head.
The hit sends Troy into the boards. The Chicago fans bang on the glass, thrilled to see a fight between their team’s best fighter and the league’s most disgraced player. Rozanov tries to step in, but another Chicago player skates over and pulls the Centaurs’ team captain into a separate fight.
Troy is left alone with Harvey, who continues to throw punches. Troy takes each hit, not even raising his arms to defend himself. He knows his nose is broken and that he’ll have at least one black eye. Harvey brings Troy down to the ice and climbs on top of him. Harvey gets two more good hits in before two referees drag him off of Troy.
No one comes to help Troy to his feet.
Troy struggles to stand and then starts skating to the penalty box before a referee skates in front of him. “Barrett, go to your locker room.” Troy understands that he’s being ejected from the game for intentionally high-sticking Harvey, and he doesn’t argue.
Troy’s not even listening as the referees announce that he is receiving a match penalty, resulting in a five-minute penalty to be served by his teammate. Harvey gets two minutes for fighting, so it will be four on four for the first two minutes. Troy bypasses his bench without a word and heads to the locker room. He smashes his stick against the tunnel walls, breaking it into three pieces. The roaring from the crowd mixes with the rushing in his ears.
Troy locks himself in a bathroom stall and dry heaves over the toilet as Harvey’s words replay in his head. He tells himself that there’s no way the Chicago player knows. There’s no way anyone knows.
When his body has stopped shaking enough that he can stand, Troy opens the stall door and finds Harris standing in the locker room. Troy hadn’t heard the man come in. Harris asks, “Are you ok?” Troy is embarrassed that Harris heard him have a panic attack and dry heave, so he just gives a slight nod.
Then Harris asks, “What the fuck happened out there?” He sounds more confused than angry, although there is certainly some hostility laced in his words.
Troy can’t tell him the truth, and no lie would excuse his actions, so he stays quiet. When Harris realizes he isn’t going to get an answer, he says, “I am trying to help you, but nothing is going to get better if you don’t stop attacking other people. You need to either figure out another way to handle your anger or quit the team.”
Troy figures he won’t have to do either because the league will surely suspend him for this, and then Weibe will drop him. Troy might get paid for the rest of the season, but no team will sign him knowing that two teams have already gotten rid of him for behavioral issues.
Harris leaves to go back to the press area.
The Centaurs lose 4-2.
Troy is sitting in his full gear when the team pours in. A few of the guys look at Troy with disdain etched into their frown lines, but most ignore him. Rozanov yells, “Are you happy now? Or do you want to hit one of us, too?” Troy flinches at the man’s anger, but stares at the ground, unable to look his captain in the eye.
Troy doesn’t talk to anyone for the rest of the day or on their flight home the following day. The day they get back to Ottawa, someone from the league calls to tell him he’s been suspended for five games and fined $5,000.
Coach Weibe calls him into a meeting the day after that. Troy is nauseous his whole drive to the practice rink. He swallows the saliva that fills his mouth and tries not to gag at the metallic taste. He grips the steering wheel hard, willing his hands to stop shaking.
Troy doesn’t want to be alone with his coach, especially on a Saturday when the rest of the offices are empty. Weibe could do whatever he wanted to Troy, and no one would know.
Troy goes straight to Weibe’s office, remembering the route from his first day. Troy doesn’t knock because the door has been left open. Coach Weibe does not look thrilled to be at work on a weekend, dealing with the player who had promised him just three weeks ago that he wouldn’t be violent again.
Weibe stares at him, but Troy stays silent. He waits to hear he’s been cut from the team. Finally, Weibe asks, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Troy’s mouth is moving before he knows what he’s going to say. “I messed up. I let him get to me, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.” He keeps his apology short to avoid his voice cracking.
“You did. Is there anything else you want to say?” Troy’s not sure if Weibe is deciding his future based on his answer, but he can’t say anything else. Troy gently shakes his head, and Weibe looks disappointed. His coach leans back in his chair. “You know, Bood was mic’d up for the game. I heard some of the things Harvey said to you.”
Troy jerks his head up. He tries to remember how close Boodram was to him when he fought Harvey.
Weibe continues, “I don’t know what he said to make you react like that, but it must have been pretty bad because he was riding you hard all night. Harris sent some of the clips to the league, but I doubt they’ll do anything to Harvey. There would be too many angry fans if the enforcer faced repercussions after you intentionally hit him.”
Troy considers apologizing again, but it’s clear what Weibe wants is answers, and Troy won’t give him that.
Weibe stares at his player. “So do you want to tell me what he said to make you hit him?”
Troy keeps his eyes fixed on his coach’s desk as he defeatedly says, “No, Coach.” Troy would rather be cut from the team than repeat Harvey’s words.
“I don’t understand you, Barrett. I know your Junior’s coach, and I reached out to him before signing you. He said you were a great player to coach. Never talked back, worked hard, got along with your teammates, rarely fought on the ice. I rewatched some of your Toronto games, and you didn’t start fighting until the end of your third year. So what changed?”
Troy remembers telling Cooper he wanted to come out at their pride game two seasons ago. He remembers the cruel way Cooper laughed. He remembers the smell of whiskey on his coach’s breath, and his coach’s breath on his neck.
Troy can’t get any words out, and he feels tears gathering in his eyes. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Weibe, so he considers walking out of the meeting and never coming back.
His coach must notice his panic because he softens his voice. “Barrett, you can tell me what happened. Was someone coercing you? Making you fight for the team?” Troy shakes his head no. He chose to start every fight. “Was someone hurting you?” His breath catches. He never thought his new coach would guess; no one in Toronto ever had.
Coach Weibe goes to say something else, but Troy can’t handle any more questions. Troy asks, “Am I off the team?” He says it so quickly that the words blend.
Weibe purses his lips as he thinks. “No, but this can’t happen again.”
Troy stands, ending the conversation. He mutters, “Thanks, Coach,” as he goes to leave.
Coach Weibe stops him. “But Troy?” Troy is caught off guard by his coach calling him by his first name. “If you want to talk about any of it, I’m here.” Troy nods and rushes out of his coach’s office.
After Troy’s suspension ends, he tries to be better. He’s the first one to the rink and the last to leave. He tries to engage with his teammates, who show little interest in him. Troy can feel Rozanov’s eyes on him whenever he tries to start a conversation with one of the guys. Rozanov barely speaks to him, but he slowly stops waiting for Troy to mess up again.
Troy goes two months without lashing out.
Then the team heads to Toronto. Rozanov sits next to Troy on the flight and gently puts his hand on Troy’s bouncing knee to hold it still. Troy yanks his leg away from his captain’s touch. Rozanov says, “Sorry.” Troy doesn’t reply. A minute later, the Russian asks, “Are you going to lose it?” Everyone on the team can tell that Troy is wound tight.
Troy answers honestly, “I don’t know.”
“That is not comforting.” Troy unconsciously starts bouncing his leg again. “Do you need to sit out this game?” Troy wants to say yes and realizes that this is the first time in his career that he doesn’t want to play. He wonders if he should stop waiting for the league to cut him and just quit. “Barrett?”
“I don’t know.” Troy’s arms are crossed, and he squeezes his ribs, hoping the pressure will stop the bile in his stomach from coming up. He says, “Sorry. Nauseous,” in an attempt to explain his behavior to his captain.
For the second time, Rozanov puts his hand on Troy, this time on his shoulder. Troy can’t move away from the touch, so he rushes to say, “Please don’t touch me.” He knows he’s being rude, but he’s already close to losing it.
Rozanov removes his hand quickly.
The two men don’t speak for the rest of the short flight, but Rozanov stays by Troy’s side.
The captain is still next to him as Troy puts on his gear. He puts everything on in the same order every game, so his mind wanders as he laces his skates. Rozanov had asked Troy again if he needed to sit out for the game, but Troy insisted that he could play.
Troy sees his old coach for the first time in almost three months. Cooper is wearing his signature light grey suit and a blue button-up. His arms are crossed, and there’s a beat-up whiteboard underneath one of his arms. The coach’s lips are pressed into a straight line, and his eyes are locked on Troy.
Troy looks away and rejoins his team for their warmup. He doesn’t notice his captain glancing between him and his former coach.
Kent takes the faceoff against Rozanov. The star-center tracks Troy as he skates to his position. At some point during the first period, Kent switches to guarding Troy. His former captain taunts him just as much as Duncan Harvey had, but his words are more pointed, sharpened from years of playing with Troy.
Kent comments on Troy’s parents, whom he doesn’t talk to, and Troy’s trade to Ottawa, which Kent doesn’t fully understand, and Troy’s new team, who still mostly hate him. Troy doesn’t talk back, and he doesn’t lash out. He pushes himself harder, playing aggressively without breaking his promise to Weibe.
In the second period, Kent, frustrated by Troy’s lack of response, sneers, “Harvey should have finished you off when he had the chance.” The comment doesn’t get under his skin the way Kent wants it to. Part of Troy wishes the Chicago enforcer had finished him off.
Rozanov skates into Kent and slams the Toronto captain into the boards. Rozanov says, “Oops,” as the nearest referee blows his whistle. Rozanov gets two minutes for the bad check, and he winks at Troy on the way to the penalty box.
Rozanov’s move must be a signal to the rest of the team because suddenly, a Centaurs player is always around Troy, checking Kent, or throwing insults at the Toronto Guardians.
Troy keeps his focus on the game and away from Toronto’s bench.
The Centaurs win 3-2.
The two teams line up to shake each other’s hands. Troy doesn’t look his former teammates in the eye as he moves down the line of white and blue jerseys. His eyes stay fixed on Bood’s jersey number until he reaches the end of the line of players. Troy can’t help but glance at his former coach. The man’s blue eyes are cold as they lock on Troy.
Cooper says, “Good game. It’s always a treat to watch you play.” To anyone listening, it sounds like a compliment. To Troy, it’s a reminder that Cooper is watching him, waiting for Troy to let something slip.
Cooper is shaking the hand of the player behind Troy before he fully processes the interaction. His throat feels raw, and he’s not sure how he’ll keep it together for the ride back to the hotel.
Bood comes up to Troy in the locker room and puts one of his large hands on Troy’s shoulder. “Beautiful pass, Barrett.” Troy had assisted Bood for the game-winning goal.
Troy mumbles, “Thanks,” as he moves towards his locker. His heart races and his chest feels tight, making each breath more difficult than the last. He has his gloves, helmet, jersey, and skates off before Coach Weibe starts addressing the team.
“Great game, guys. Bood, congrats on both of your goals, and Barrett, nice pass on that last one. Hayes, nice job controlling the rebound.” Weibe says a few more things, but Troy isn’t listening. When the rest of the team moves towards the showers, Troy leaves the locker room.
This may be his first time on the visitors’ side, but he still knows this stadium well. He ducks into a bathroom two doors down and falls to his knees before he can lock the door behind him. He presses his forehead and forearms against the cool tiles. It’s gross, but the cool sensation feels good against his burning skin. He takes a few panting breaths like this before he moves to sit with his back against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest.
Troy’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see the bathroom door slowly open. Rozanov’s voice pulls him from the dregs of his panic attack. “You ok?” Troy opens his eyes and notices how tall his captain looks from this angle. He feels depleted and small.
“Sorry, just nauseous.” It’s a weak excuse.
His captain sits next to him, but leaves a little space between their shoulders.
Rozanov doesn’t talk, and he doesn’t make Troy talk either. Troy’s breathing evens out, and the room stops spinning as he brings more oxygen in. He extends his legs out in front of him and presses his palms into the cool tiles, hoping it will stop them from sweating.
Eventually, Troy softly says, “Sorry.” He’s not sure what he’s apologizing for.
“It’s ok.” Rozanov waits to see if Troy has more to say, and when he doesn’t, the captain asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Troy knows that Rozanov was behind him in the team’s lineup and realizes that he probably heard Cooper’s words, but the Russian would have no idea why they would set Troy off. He says, “I can’t.”
Troy thinks about Cooper’s threat to out him and get him banned from the league if he ever tells. Troy remembers his coach’s hands on his hips, pushing him into the edge of the desk and leaving behind bruises that everyone assumed were from games.
“Because you don’t want to say what happened or because someone told you not to?” Rozanov’s question tells Troy that he perhaps knows more than Troy thought he did. Troy wonders if Weibe told his captain about their conversation.
“Both.”
Rozanov crosses his arms and stares at their extended legs. Troy isn’t sure how long they’ve been there, but he knows they will miss their bus if they don’t get off this floor. Troy pushes himself up and then offers a hand to his captain, who takes it.
They’ve both missed their chance to shower. They rush to throw on clothes and pack their gear. The rest of the team is already settled on the bus when they walk on and take the front two seats. Troy ignores the questioning looks his teammates are sending him and Rozanov. He takes slow, steadying breaths, trying to suppress the panic that is still clawing at his throat.
Troy is glad that Rozanov is once again his roommate because he can’t deal with anyone else tonight. His captain enters their room a few minutes after Troy, throwing him a premade sandwich that he had bought at a store next to their hotel. Troy thanks him even though he has no appetite and no plans to dig into what looks like an Italian sub.
Troy showers after Ilya and then stares at the TV as they watch Montreal crush Vancouver.
Late in the third period, Ilya asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Troy clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth a little. He wants Ilya to stop bringing it up because it makes it harder for Troy to forget. He needs to put his past behind him so he stops throwing punches. He says, “I’m sure,” and then rolls over so his back is to his captain.
They get to sleep in a little because their flight doesn’t leave until noon. Troy doesn’t wait for Ilya to finish changing to head down to the hotel’s included breakfast. Troy piles fruit onto his Greek yogurt and then fills a plate with scrambled eggs and a piece of toast. He grabs the hotel’s largest mug and fills it with hot black coffee.
Ilya sits next to him with his own plate piled with different breakfast items. Bood and Wyatt are talking about a movie that just came out that Troy has never heard of. Troy shovels his food into his mouth to avoid participating in the conversation. He finishes his breakfast quickly and gets up to put his dishes in the grey bin by the buffet table.
He starts towards the elevators, needing to pack the clothes he had left crumpled on the hotel floor. Troy stops when he recognizes a familiar man in a grey suit sitting on one of the couches in the lobby. He wants to backtrack into the dining area, but his former coach spots him. “Troy!” Cooper stands up and approaches him.
Troy takes a few steps back, but there is nowhere to hide. Cooper says, “I was hoping to catch you before you left. I’d love to have a quick word.” There is too much sincerity in the coach’s voice; he doesn’t sound like himself at all.
Troy fumbles for what to say. He cannot be alone with this man. “I need to go.” Troy tries to get to the elevator, but Cooper cuts in front of him.
“It will only take a minute.” Cooper’s hand is on his arm.
“I really have to go.” He is pleading with his former coach, but Cooper doesn’t release him. Troy says, “I need to-”
A stern voice comes over his shoulder. “Cooper, I believe my player said he has to go.” Troy can take a full breath in now that he isn’t alone. Cooper drops his hand, and Troy takes a step back to get closer to his coach’s voice. Weibe says, “And unless there’s something you want to talk to me about, then you really should leave.”
Cooper looks conflicted, wanting to talk to Troy but not having a reason to get his former player alone. He responds to Weibe as his eyes stay fixed on Troy. “No, I was just hoping to get a minute alone with Troy, but maybe some other time.” Dread fills Troy’s stomach as he realizes that he’ll have to see Cooper multiple times a season for the rest of his career. Eventually, Cooper will get him alone again.
Cooper saunters out of the hotel’s main entrance.
“Troy, are you ok?” Weibe is giving Troy a very concerned look, and Troy can’t find it in himself to lie. He shakes his head no.
“Ok, why don’t we go somewhere more private?” Troy’s eyes widen at the idea of being alone with his new coach. Weibe must notice Troy’s panic because he says, “Want me to get Roz? Or someone else? And we can stay here if you want, but I figured you may want some privacy.” They are still standing in the main lobby.
Troy gasps out, “Roz.” His captain may not like him, but Troy can at least trust the man to stop Weibe from doing anything to him, and he knows Ilya wouldn’t hurt him either. They’ve been sharing hotel rooms for months, and the only time the captain touched Troy was to try to comfort him.
“Ok. Give me a second.” Weibe pokes his head into the dining area and motions for Roz to follow him. The captain’s confusion is replaced with worry when he sees Troy’s pallor and shaking hands.
Ilya leads them to his and Troy’s hotel room. When they enter, Troy sits on the end of his bed and drops his head into his hands. He mutters, “Fuck,” into his palms. He tents his hands so only his fingertips are touching his face because his palms are sweaty and warm.
Roz sits on his own bed, and Weibe sits at the desk tucked into the corner of the room. Neither man knows what to do. They’ve learned by now not to touch Troy or push him too hard, so they helplessly watch Troy fall apart from a distance.
When Troy finally removes his hands, and they can see his face, they notice his red-tinted cheeks and glistening eyes, which are fixed on the hotel’s carpet.
“Barrett?” It’s Ilya who breaks the silence. “I think you need to talk about it.”
“I can’t.” Troy thinks they both know anyway, or at least suspect, what Cooper did. He knows they both have noticed how he can’t handle being touched, and Weibe knows that someone had been hurting him. It wouldn’t be difficult for the coach to guess that it was the guy whom Troy had punched in front of his entire team.
Weibe asks, “Cooper was hurting you, wasn’t he?” Troy stares at the carpet for a few seconds before nodding. It had become so obvious that there was no point in denying it. Weibe tries to clarify, “He was hitting you?”
Troy clears his throat. “Not often.” Cooper liked putting his hands on Troy, but he only ever hit him when Troy disobeyed.
Ilya must be thinking about the words Harvey had used that sent Troy spiraling, because he asks, “Was he touching you inappropriately?” Troy doesn’t want to vocalize his answer, so he just nods again. “For how long?”
“Three seasons.”
Toronto’s Pride Night had been scheduled for March of Troy’s third year with the team, just over two years ago. The day before the game, Troy told Cooper that he was gay and wanted to use the night to publicly come out. Cooper made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate a gay player and that if Troy came out, he would be off the team.
A week later, Troy was called into his coach’s office after a bad practice and forced to his knees.
It only happened twice that season, and then Troy had a whole summer to convince himself that it wouldn’t happen again. Troy returned for his fourth year with the team, and Cooper barely acknowledged him for the first few weeks. Then Toronto had an embarrassing loss against Boston, and so after the game Cooper shoved Troy into his desk and then made him get on his knees once again.
Troy felt like he was drowning the whole season. None of his teammates indicated that they had any idea what was happening, and Troy had no one to turn to. Kent was his captain, and he couldn’t be trusted with something like this, so Troy tried to ignore everything, putting all of his focus into their games.
Troy hadn’t noticed how violent his playing had gotten until the season ended and he led the league in penalties.
Then he started this season knowing that it was his fifth and final year with Toronto. He told himself that he got through last season, so he could do it again.
Then Troy had a shitty practice, and Cooper motioned for him to follow him to his office. The rage Troy had been suppressing for so long poured out of him. He was rearing back for a second punch before his brain caught up to what he was doing. It wasn’t until a teammate was holding him back and he saw someone from their media team holding up their phone that Troy realized what had happened.
Cooper told Troy he’d be out of the league within a day, but their GM found the one team that was willing to pay out the rest of Troy’s contract.
Ilya swears in Russian. Weibe says, “Three seasons?” in disbelief.
“I guess more like one plus a few months on either end, but yeah.” Troy finds that finally admitting the truth loosens the noose around his neck, making it easier to breathe and talk.
Weibe asks, “Did you tell anyone?” Troy says he didn’t. “Troy, we have to report this.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Troy can’t tell anyone else; he just wants to move past it.
Weibe pushes, “He could be doing this to other players. We can’t let this continue. I’ll help you report it, and we’ll keep everything confidential.”
Troy explodes, “It won’t matter! I’m violent, remember? I rack up penalties, I attacked my coach unprovoked, I was suspended for eight games. Everyone in the league hates me. The only way I get to keep playing is if I keep my mouth shut and don’t take more swings at people. And I can do that. I promise I won’t lose it again.”
Weibe has a soft frown on his face. “Troy, I shouldn’t have judged you so harshly. It’s completely understandable why you lost it on Cooper and Harvey.” He pauses and then says, “But as a coach, I have to report this.”
Troy clenches his jaw shut because he wants to scream at his coach, but he knows the man is right. He says, “Ok,” and then starts shoving his dirty clothes into his suitcase. Troy can’t look at either of them as he gathers his belongings and gets ready for their flight home.
Weibe files a report with the league the day they get home. Troy refuses to file a police report, but agrees to give the league a statement. He hires a lawyer to help him navigate the process, which takes a few weeks. The regular season is wrapping up by the time the league finally suspends Cooper pending the results of the investigation.
The media speculate about Cooper’s suspension, but no one knows anything. The video of Troy punching Cooper resurfaces, but no one guesses how it’s all connected.
Not until Troy’s name is leaked at the end of April.
The Centaurs have one more game before the end of the season. They missed the playoffs by two games. Troy’s had a mediocre end to the season as he’s been distracted by the investigation and the knowing looks Weibe and Roz keep giving him.
The day before their last game, Troy is woken up by his phone ringing. Troy lets it ring out, but then he gets another call less than a minute after it stops buzzing. He rolls over and looks at the screen.
Call from Harris (media guy)
He can’t imagine a reason why Harris would be calling him this early. It’s 8:01, and their practice doesn’t start for another three hours. His voice is thick with sleep. “Hello?”
“Hey, did you just wake up?” Harris sounds anxious, and Troy tells him he did. Troy expects the man to apologize for waking him up, but instead, Harris asks, “So you haven’t seen the news?”
Troy sits up. “What news?” He wonders if the investigation has ended, and Harris called so that Troy wouldn’t learn about Cooper’s fate from a headline, but then he remembers that Harris doesn’t know about his involvement in the investigation. When Harris hesitates, Troy asks, “What happened?”
“Someone from the league leaked the details of the investigation into Cooper. They know what you’re accusing him of.” Harris sounds miserable that he is the one who has to break this to Troy.
“Fuck.” This is Troy’s worst nightmare. He repeats himself, but louder, “Fuck!”
“Listen, I know this is bad, really bad, and whoever is responsible for leaking it will be held accountable, but we’ll get through this. The fans are already on your side, and the whole thing only makes the league look worse.”
Troy has spent a decent amount of time with Harris this season and has started to like the man. Harris has the personality of a golden retriever, which Troy had slowly come to appreciate as the two of them worked together to reshape Troy’s public image. But in this moment, he wants to yell at the man because it’s Troy’s life that is falling apart; he’s the one who has to deal with it.
He goes to his news app and clicks on the sports page. Last night’s scores are pinned to the top of the page. The headline below them reads: “Guardians Head Coach Accused of Sexual Assault by Former Player”. Troy is at least grateful that his name isn’t in the headline, but then he sees a picture of him and Cooper below the headline. Cooper has his hand on Troy’s shoulder as he shows him the play he had drawn up on his whiteboard.
Harris says, “Troy? Are you there?”
Troy scrolls down. The second headline has his name and another picture of him and Cooper. He exits his news app and types his name into a search engine, and headlines from different newspapers fill his screen.
Ottawa’s Troy Barrett Reports That He Was Sexually Assaulted by Former Coach
Coach Bruce Cooper Accused of Sexual Assault
Does the League Owe Troy Barrett an Apology?
The Leak Inside the NHL: What We Know About the Cooper Investigation
Guardians Coach Under Investigation for Sexual Assault of a Player
They keep going, filling his screen. Troy doesn’t click to the second page. Harris is still trying to get his attention. Troy says, “I have to go,” and hangs up his phone. He sees that there are missed calls from Weibe, Rozanov, Boodram, two players from the Guardians, and a few unknown numbers, which he blocks. His phone had been on do not disturb until 8 AM, when Harris called. He also has seventy-eight unopened text messages.
He texts Coach Weibe.
Troy [8:08 AM]: I won’t be at tomorrow’s game.
[8:08 AM]: I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.
Last week, he signed a three-year deal with the Centaurs. He knows by skipping a game he’s putting his contract in jeopardy, but Troy can’t face the team. He turns off his phone, packs a bag, throws out his perishable food, and starts driving northeast.
The Centaurs lost the last game of their season. Afterwards, all the media want to know is where Troy is and if the team was aware of the allegations. Rozanov shuts them down, berating one of the journalists for not respecting Troy’s privacy.
Troy watches the clip the day after the game from the house he’s renting in Nova Scotia. About six hours into his drive, he decided that he was spending the summer away from Ottawa and everything that reminded him of hockey. He called his agent, who set up the house rental under a fake name, and he texted Weibe that he was traveling for the summer, but that he’d be back for preseason if the team still wanted him. Weibe told Troy to take care of himself and that the team was looking forward to seeing him again in August.
It takes Troy another month to text Rozanov back.
Thirty-six hours later, Ilya drives up to the house. He’s wearing a Boston Bears T-shirt, athletic shorts, and dark shades. He carries a duffel bag into the house and leaves it in the front hallway.
Troy says, “Come on, I made chicken stir fry.” They fill their bowls with the stir-fry and drizzle a premade ginger teriyaki sauce over it. Then they go out on the back deck, which overlooks the water.
Roz looks around. “So this is where you’ve been hiding?”
“Yeah, it’s been nice. I just needed to get away from it all, you know?”
Ilya nods even though he can’t fully understand Troy’s situation. The captain then looks at Troy for a few seconds, assessing him. “You look better. Less stressed.”
Troy swallows the bite of chicken that he should have let cool more. “Yeah. I didn’t realize how on edge I had been all season until I spent a few days here. Now, as long as I don’t look at my phone, I can pretend none of it’s happening.”
Troy has had a few phone calls with the league and one with his agent, confirming that he is returning to Ottawa for the next season. Cooper has been fired from Toronto, and a new head coach has already been named.
“Yeah. You were a mess.” Troy snorts out a laugh at his captain’s brutal honesty, and Roz smiles at the noise. Then he says in a more serious tone, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much pain you were in when you got to Ottawa. I made assumptions about you, and I treated you like shit. Let my teammates treat you like shit, too."
“It’s fine. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. And you guys were right to not welcome me with open arms. I was an asshole on the ice for years, and all you knew was that I attacked my coach. Fighting Harvey and getting suspended a couple weeks later didn’t help, either.”
Troy knew his reputation in the league, and he knew how his new team was going to receive him. The fact that they welcomed him at all had surprised him, even if it took them a few months to warm up to him.
Ilya argues, “No. We should have at least given you a chance. I mean, I have a reputation for being a mouthy asshole, but once you get to know me, you learn that I am very cuddly and warm. Like puppy.”
Troy snorts again. “If anyone has the personality of a puppy, it’s Harris. You’re more like a feral cat that somehow escaped from Russia.”
Rozanov looks offended at first, but then he lets out a carefree laugh. He takes a sip of his beer and then asks, “So you and Harris spend a lot of time together, right? Any interest there?”
Troy can’t believe his captain is asking him about his love life. Weibe and Roz never mentioned that Troy came out to them, and Troy tried not to worry that the two were disgusted by him. He tries to keep his voice light when he says, “Do you always think two gay guys who know each other have to date?” He raises his eyebrows and keeps his eyes on Ilya as he takes a sip of his beer.
“No, but I’ve seen you check out his ass.”
Troy chokes a little on his beer. He argues, “I do not!” He definitely has, but only once or twice.
“You do. And don’t get me started on the way you stare at his lips. Or maybe it is his beard you are obsessed with?” Troy really likes both, but he doesn’t want his captain to know that. Troy also doubts Harris would ever be into him after suffering through Troy’s bad mood all season. And he hadn’t even said goodbye when Harris had last called him; he just hung up mid-conversation.
Troy thinks about arguing, but doesn’t. “You’re right that I think he’s attractive, but so what? It’s not like I could ever be with him, or anyone for that matter.” Scott Hunter and Ryan Price are the only active queer players. No one from the league gives Hunter shit because he’s a legend in the NHL and his televised kiss broke the internet, and no one bothers Price because he’s terrifying and keeps to himself.
Troy would likely be crucified by both the league and the media as the Guardians fans cheered.
“Why not?” Troy gives Roz a look like the answer should be obvious. “Cooper said you couldn’t, but I say fuck him and a fuck that. He’s gone, and you’re still here.” Ilya pauses, letting Troy think about it a little. Then he offers, “We could do it together at our Pride Night this season.”
Troy misunderstands him. “Together? You want to what, sit next to me as the press fires insulting questions at me?” He knows he’s being bitter, but the press hasn’t been kind to him, and so he feels justified in his pettiness.
Ilya takes another sip. “No, I mean come out at the same time. I’m bi.”
“Oh, shit.” Ilya snorts. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I just wasn’t expecting that, clearly.”
Ilya repeats, “Clearly.” He hesitates and then jokes, “But I have a boyfriend, so you missed your shot.”
“Damn. Here I was hoping you’d driven all this way as a gesture of your undying love.” Troy pretends to be devastated, and Ilya lets out a loud, quick laugh. Troy smiles at his captain.
Getting away from hockey and being alone the past few weeks has allowed Troy to untangle some of his thoughts and let go of some of the tension in his muscles, but he’s also been lonely. It’s not just being alone in the house. The past few years, he’s hidden himself and called it protection, but the investigation has skinned off his protective layer and left him raw and alone.
But joking with Ilya makes it a little easier. So does getting out in nature, and cooking, and playing the guitar he found in one of the closets, and watching Hitchcock movies, and running without a training schedule. He’s found little ways to forget about what happened to him, and healthier ways to remember, too.
Troy will stay out here for the remainder of the summer, but when preseason draws nearer, he’ll head back to Ottawa and work on making it his home.