Eric decided, if he did nothing else useful with this final All-Star weekend, he could at least pass on some advice to this young man. “You know, I’ve been in this league a long time, and I’ve had to play on teams with people I didn’t particularly like. Some of them were even star players. Fortunately, the locker rooms are big, and you can choose the people you want to keep close to you.”
Troy’s brow furrowed, then he looked at the floor. He tugged on his jersey and said, “I’m starting to figure that out.”
Eric attempted a friendly shoulder clap—the kind Scott or Carter would do effortlessly. It landed a little awkwardly, but he hoped the sentiment came through.
Later that night, after the competition was over, a large group of players from both teams were gathered in the hotel bar. Eric was sitting at a small table with Wyatt Hayes—the goalie for Ottawa, and a very funny guy. They were approached by Ilya Rozanov.
“Move, Hazy,” Rozanov ordered. “I need to talk to Bennett.”
Wyatt shook his head but stood up. “No fucking respect for the guy who saves your ass forty times a game.”
Rozanov handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Go buy yourself a beer.”
Wyatt glared at him. “I can buy my own fucking beer. I’m an All-Star too, y’know.”
Rozanov blinked at him, and Wyatt walked away, grumbling about Russian egomaniacs. Rozanov slid into Wyatt’s chair. “You have not announced your retirement,” he said, cutting to the chase.
“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to wait until after this weekend.”
“You don’t want a big deal?”
“No, I don’t.”
Rozanov grinned. “This is why we are different. I want a farewell season. A parade. Everyone crying at every game.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it.”
He didn’t miss the way Rozanov’s gaze darted briefly to where Shane Hollander was standing. “Maybe.”
“Scott told me you want him to help out at your camps this summer.”
“Yes. But he is busy marrying that guy he likes to kiss.”
“I think he’ll help in the future. He’s impressed with you. We all are.”
Rozanov looked like he was almost embarrassed. He ducked his head, then glanced up shyly. “Yes?”
“Absolutely. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“You could sell one of those expensive suits you like to wear and give us the money.”
Eric chuckled. “I can give money without selling the suits.”
“We could use more goalie help, at the camps.”
“I could probably do that. I like that you’ve made an effort to be inclusive at your camps. I assume that’s why you asked Scott.”
“Yes. He is also not bad at hockey.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”
“Don’t tell him.”
Eric wasn’t sure if he should share personal information with Rozanov or not, but something told him to trust him. “Not that it matters, really, but I’m bisexual. I mean, it seems like you already guessed that, but if you want that kind of rep at your camps...”