Work Text:
Late November, 2020
Troy Barrett watched the dust in his Vancouver hotel room drift in the sunlight peaking through the curtains. He didn’t know how long he’d been awake, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He occasionally heard his phone vibrate on the nightstand, but he couldn't care less about who was trying to contact him right now. He only hoped he remembered to plug in his phone before passing out.
He just couldn’t feel much of anything right now. And if he was being real, he’d argue that he hadn’t felt right in years.
He hated how he left Toronto, but he’d been contemplating leaving for a while now. The longer he stayed there, the less real he felt. Having to listen to the constant homophobia in the locker room was chipping away at him. And he hated the way he contributed to it, but it was too late. He built this reputation, and if he was honest, he was too scared to break it in Toronto.
He was holding the chisel against himself while the team hammered away at his core. He saw how Ottawa treated Harris, maybe he could finally let go.
Sometimes, he dreamed of a world where he was out and everybody was good to him. Everybody would know he was gay and Dallas would support him. His team would ask him if things were getting serious with Adrian. His friends would tease him about his love life. Maybe go on some double dates with his teammates and their WAGs. That people would love him for things that didn't relate to hockey. That people would touch him longer than a pat on the back for a good goal. That people would hold him if he was sad or take care of him if he was sick. That his apartment wouldn’t be cold and empty. That people would want to hangout with him for his real self.
But he always woke up from those dreams with a hollow feeling in his chest.
He just wanted to be okay. Though, life rarely gave Troy what he wanted.
There was a dull ache in his left leg. It would rain soon. He could always tell when it would after he broke his leg as a kid. The smell of rain always calmed Troy, hopefully he’d be able to open the window when it started. But for now, he was content just laying there, shaking off the last remnants of his drinking from the night before in peace.
It was immediately interrupted by someone beating the shit out of the door to his room. He groaned and pulled a pillow over his throbbing head, hoping the person would take his silence as a hint and go away.
“Barrett. Wake up.” Fuck, it was Rozanov.
The banging continued.
“What?” Troy tried to ask from bed, but his throat felt like sandpaper.
“Open the door.”
Troy pulled himself out of bed. He was lucky he fell asleep in some old sweatpants because he couldn't find the urge to put on a shirt before opening the door. The second he opened it, Rozanov strode in like he owned the place and made a face at the smell.
“You got drunk last night.”
He really didn't want to remember last night. Being in Vancouver not only brought up memories of his father he wanted to forget, but also a blissful week this past summer when he thought Adrian would be it for him. They didn't leave Adrian’s apartment the entire time, a cycle of pleasure and contentment. The small tattoo on the thumb side of his left wrist glared at him. It wasn't much, just a thin black outline of a cloud, barely the size of a dollar coin. Troy couldn't stand to look at it.
“A little.” He drank a lot. Hell, he was still a bit out of it.
“Not good. Drink this,” Rozanov handed him a bottle of light blue Gatorade, his favorite. A coincidence, no doubt. “Sit down.”
He let himself be sat down by his new captain on the edge of the bed in front of the TV.
“Watch. Try to wake up more.”
Rozanov turned the TV on and didn't bother to look at the other channels available. Instead, he left it on the last channel, which was currently hosting some celebrity talk show. He watched idly while taking small sips of the sports drink, mostly zoning out while Rozanov went around the room cleaning up his liquor bottles. A familiar name reeled him back in.
“Welcome Adrian Dela Cruz!”
Fuck, he can't do this right now. The tears he shed last night threatened to fall again. Adrian ended their two-year relationship eleven days ago, not that Troy kept track. It had been a terrible blowout argument over FaceTime, with Adrian reciting a laundry list of reasons to break up. None of which made any sense to Troy. Though, it had only taken one last comment from Adrian for him to drop the argument and accept that it was over.
Wake up Troy, we were only together because it was convenient. I want a real relationship.
He couldn't even wallow in peace. Kent's allegations dropped days later and after the video leaked of their fight, he ended up in Ottawa by the end of the week. Looks like he was convenient to Toronto too.
“—congratulations on coming out!” He caught the tail-end of the host's sentence. Coming out? He guessed it made sense. It was one of the reasons on the list. Adrian wanted to come out, Troy didn't. Which would have been more compelling, if Troy being 'too athletic' wasn't mentioned before coming out.
The two talked a bit more on coming out in the entertainment industry. Troy couldn't bring himself to care about it right now because there was a new ring on Adrian's finger. Which was probably nothing, Adrian always liked to wear rings. Surely this one was no different.
“Okay, enough! Tell us about the real reason you came out!” The host said in a playful manner while the audience laughed. He was missing something, but before he could even think about reaching for his phone, Adrian spoke.
“It's true, I came out because of my fiancé! I couldn't marry the man of my dreams before showing the world he's off limits.” There were cheers and laughter from the crowd. All Troy wanted to do in that moment was fade away into nothingness. Adrian used to call Troy the man of his dreams.
Also, fiancé? Adrian never talked about marriage with him. They didn't discuss future plans. Never mind that, it took Adrian six months to confess he loved Troy, how could he even have a fiancé this quickly? He very suddenly did not want the answer, but Adrian gave it to him anyway.
“Justin and I met on set and what can I say? These past ten months have been the best time of my life.” The audience was ecstatic, Troy wanted to hit something or maybe cry. Probably both.
Ten. Months.
It was basically half of Adrian's and Troy's entire relationship. He couldn't stop himself from replaying those final ten months of the relationship in his mind. The I-love-you's that were now lies. Missed calls took up a whole new meaning. They had planned to spend this past Valentine's together before Adrian canceled. Last minute audition, he said. Fuck, tears were definitely rolling down his cheeks but he didn't move. He was transfixed on the TV.
“—was actually the first man I ever dated! Only one I'll ever love.”
“Liar.” Troy's voice cracked like he was a teenager again, his breaths were becoming shakier, less controlled. Adrian always, always told Troy he loved him. Through texts, calls, everything. Had made him believe someone could actually love his true self, sexuality and all. Troy wondered what he did to make Adrian stop loving him. He guessed even people who knew the truth couldn't stand him for long.
People always ended up leaving Troy.
“I got the tattoo on my own. When Justin asked about it, he couldn't help but get the same one!” Troy's eyes refocused on the TV and watched Adrian show off the tattoo that matched the one on his own wrist.
The tattoo he gave Adrian, the night they celebrated their one-year anniversary. Because Troy had given himself the cloud months prior with an old stick-and-poke tattoo set he got as a teenager. When Adrian questioned it, he asked Troy to give him the same tattoo. And now a random man had a piece of Troy's heart.
“When I realized I was in love for the first time in my life, I had to immortalize it. When you're in love, it's like cloud nine, so a cloud made sense!” God, it was the exact same sappy shit Troy said back then. Word for word.
Adrian Dela Cruz had completely rewritten his life to remove everything Troy had ever touched.
He couldn't hold back anymore, and a horrible sob tore through Troy's body. Troy leaned forward, head in hands, and cried harder than he had in years. He let out all the emotions he'd been bottling up the past two weeks. The Gatorade bottle was gone, probably on the ground staining the floor but he didn't care. His fuckass ex was the worst and his ex-best friend was a rapist.
Fucking Dallas Kent.
He had seen the initial post on Reddit hours after it had been posted and read through it in disbelief. Sure Dallas could be a dickhead, but a rapist? But the pit in his stomach grew the further he read. The woman behind the post mentioned overhearing an argument about a 'pool hat trick' and that sealed the deal. It was a stupid argument his former friends always got into when they were bored enough to play pool. Not many people knew about it, so for her to mention it? Yeah, he believed her.
It only made him try to remember every woman Kent ever had around him. But there were so many and he couldn't stomach the thought that atrocities could've been happening in the next room, again, and who knows how many times over.
After the fight at practice, he thought something would happen to Kent; at minimum, an internal investigation. It was foolish of him, he knew the kind of men that ran hockey. His father would fit in nicely with them.
He did genuinely believe his teammates—his family, would have his back. They had wives, girlfriends, sisters, mothers, daughters. So to have every single one of them berate him, laughing at how 'gullible' he was, call him a traitor? Because 'women only do this type of thing for attention'. Yeah, that hurt. It was fine though, he had been the only one who believed his mother back then; he'd believe these women too.
Ottawa though? The league couldn't be more obvious if they tried. And Ottawa couldn't be more obvious either. He saw the team watching his every move. Waiting for him to say the wrong thing just so they can do something about it; punch him, probably. Hell, the plane ride over was filled with laughter and jokes because the Centaurs were a close-knit group. Not once did anyone try to include him in the noise. And he couldn't blame them. This was the reputation he gave himself. Because he couldn't be gay. He couldn't be Ryan Price and come out in the middle of the locker room and dare Kent to say something homophobic to his face.
Troy Barrett hated himself. Not because he was gay, but because he couldn't allow himself to be.
It was times like these he wished his mom wasn't out traveling with her boyfriend. She deserved it, finally free from his father, but god, did he want to be in her arms.
Slowly, his sobs lessened and he was able to take in the room again. The morning sun filtered through the curtains. His foot was wet and there was a towel down in front of him; definitely the Gatorade. He could faintly smell the shitty vodka from the previous night. And the TV was off, thank god.
What really threw Troy for a loop was the fact that Ilya Rozanov was kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders, speaking softly, comforting him. He'd been so caught up in the interview he forgot who else was in the room.
Okay, he could salvage this. Rozanov didn't know why he broke down. He could totally put together something about being back home and having to see his father. His mother always said: When in doubt, blame your father.
“He was your boyfriend, yes?”
Troy felt the panic race through his body, encircle his heart, and squeeze. From the look on Rozanov's face, he just answered the question without speaking a word. Fuck, his captain knew. His Russian captain knew. Troy's not stupid, he knew how Russia felt about queers; about him.
“Please.” Troy pleaded. He stood from the bed, breaths coming in short again, and backed away from his captain. “Don't tell anyone.”
“Hey, hey, Barrett,” Troy kept moving until his back hit the wall. Rozanov followed him the entire way there and returned his hands to Troy's shoulders. “Calm down.”
Rozanov looked concerned and he had every right to be. A gay teammate changed everything. No doubt Rozanov was worrying about what would happen if the team found out. Sure the team seemed to love Harris but he wasn't a player! He wasn't changing with them, showering with them, sharing hotel rooms. Any one of them could talk to management, or worse, the press.
Scott Hunter was the only active out player. Baldwin and Lundin came out after Hunter, and neither of their contracts were ever picked up again. Lundin had to move back to Sweden for fucks sake. Ryan Price and Eric Bennett only came out publicly after they retired. Shane Hollander was a rumor at best. Troy can't lose hockey. He didn't go to college, or ever have a regular job; he'd be screwed. He'd been with the Centaurs for less than a week and already fucked it up. Typical.
“Rozanov,” Troy could feel tears welling in his eyes again. “You can't say anything. Please.”
“Barrett, it's okay.” Rozanov responded, but he couldn't for the life of him make out his expression.
“It's not.” Troy emphasized. “This is all I have. I'll do anything, just please don't tell anyone.”
“It's okay, you don't have to do anything.” Rozanov said while squeezing his shoulders. What the fuck did that mean? Did he already make up his mind? Did he already tell someone?
“Don't tell management,” Troy's voice bordered on hysteria. But he just got an idea. “I can pay! I'll pay you just don't—”
“Barrett, I will not tell anyone you had boyfriend!” Oh, Troy recognized his expression now. Sympathy. He'd seen those looks on multiple of his teachers after meeting his father. It'd been a long time since he saw it directed towards him.
Rozanov looked him in the eye. “It would make me hypocrite if I told anyone.”
“You're—” Troy's words were caught in his throat. There was no way Rozanov was saying what he thought he was saying.
“I'm bisexual, yes.” He said it in such a matter of fact tone, like it was a simple fact of the universe. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and Ilya Rozanov was bisexual.
In that moment, all the fight left Troy's body and he slid down the wall. Rozanov sat down with him as he tried to calm his breathing.
“I'm—” Troy started. It was only right he did the same. He swallowed his fear and continued, “I'm gay.”
His nerves were crawling in his throat. This was the first time he’d actually told someone he was gay. He contemplated telling his mother for sometime, but he could never get the words out. She was the only person he had left. On the off chance she didn’t accept him, he'd be truly alone.
Rozanov let out a quick curse in Russian. He pouted and said, “Am I doomed to be only bisexual left in the whole league?”
Troy surprised himself with how hard he laughed at his question, but he worked out the last of his nerves with the laughter. Troy leaned his head back against the wall with a big exhale, feeling lighter than he had in years.
“You are something else Barrett,” Rozanov drew his attention again, but this time his gaze didn't put him on edge. “I was supposed to be scary captain and make sure you were okay for the game tonight.”
“You knew I bought booze?” Troy thought he'd been successfully unseen last night.
“Oh yes, you are not good at being sneaky. Since it was the first time, I let it slide.” Rozanov shrugged and continued. “Do you do this often?”
Troy snorted, “No, I just hate this fucking city.”
“Good,” Rozanov nodded. “Also, your father is in the lobby.”
Troy tensed again and inhaled deeply while closing his eyes. He didn't want to spiral again for the third time in Rozanov's presence.
“I'll text him,” Troy stood and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. “I don't want to see him before the game.”
“Family can be difficult. Fathers, especially." Troy heard from behind him.
He kept his back turned, not wanting to meet Rozanov’s eyes. It was a simple sentence, but he was learning that his captain picked up on a lot of things. “Yeah. Sometimes.”
He did as he said. He made up some white lie about missing his father on his way out to practice and offered to go out to dinner. His father would accept, and probably bring his friends along. He locked his phone and threw it onto the bed, not wanting to see his father's response.
He turned to see Rozanov had moved from the floor to lounging on the couch, studying him. He looked like he wanted to ask questions. Troy normally hated people prying into his life. But things were different this time; Rozanov knew about him. He was free to talk without judgement; well, without judgement about his sexuality at least. And for a long time, all he ever wished for was to be able to talk to people about his relationship. He couldn't help but feel words build in his mouth, waiting to be unleashed.
“Ask,” Troy said. He grabbed two water bottles from the mini fridge and moved over to join Rozanov on the couch, a respectable distance between them.
“Did anyone know?”
“Fuck no,” Troy let out a harsh laugh while passing one of the bottles over to Rozanov. “My biggest fear was the team finding out.”
Rozanov looked at him with understanding. So much understanding that could only come from experiencing a similar situation. No one ever did get a satisfying answer when Rozanov first announced he was headed to Ottawa.
“He was your first love, yes?”
“Shit, Roz, anyone ever tell you how perceptive you are?” He felt a flash of fear using Roz's nickname, the other guys used it all the time, but they were much closer to him. 'Rozanov' felt a step too formal now. He hoped that feeling went both ways. “Yeah, what clued you in?”
“The tattoo, only idiots with no experience do that.” To be fair, Troy was as high as a kite when he gave it to himself.
“Yeah, but I gave it to myself first. He begged me to give him a matching one months later.” There was no way he was going to confess that he gave himself the tattoo because it was the first time he loved someone and was loved in return. A feeling so new and euphoric, he had to immortalize it. He'd originally resigned himself to never loving someone as long as he played hockey, maybe he should've kept to that.
“You gave him the tattoo?”
“Yeah,” Troy let out a little laugh. “Last winter. I'm no professional, but it's not hard to give yourself a simple design.”
“Last winter?” Roz looked puzzled, like he was doing calculus in his mind.
“Roz,” Troy said with resigned sadness seeping in. “He broke up with me two weeks ago.”
His gaze shifted from Troy to the TV, and then back to Troy.
“Oh, he is asshole.” The way he said it, with such genuine incredulity, couldn't help but make Troy feel sorry for himself. His life was so bad, it had stumped Ilya Rozanov; hockey's biggest self-proclaimed manwhore. Troy sunk into the couch, hoping it would swallow him whole.
“So, you date, he breaks up. And now you find out he was engaged the whole time?"
“Wait, what?” Troy turned his head to face him. “Roz, no. We dated for two years.”
His new captain proceeded to choke on water he was drinking.
“He is even worse!” Roz exclaimed. “What was reason he gave for the breakup?”
Troy snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “He gave me a lot of reasons but I stopped listening when he said I was too athletic.” That was a lie, he sat there and listened to every reason why he wasn't good enough to work on the relationship.
“You are a pro athlete!”
Troy just shrugged in response. There was a twinge of pain in his right ankle; remnants of an injury from a few years ago. He brought his leg up to the couch and absentmindedly massaged his ankle; it helped a bit. Fuck, usually when he felt that, it was a sign he’d play terrible. Probably because of the pain, but it always managed to flare up when he was in a shitty mood.
“I’m also a dickhead. It was probably karma for all the stupid shit I’ve done.”
“You were big asshole in Toronto.” Roz eyed him. “Chirped a lot.”
“Yeah,” Troy agreed, voice sounding distant, unfocused. “It wasn't a place where you could stay silent.”
“No?”
“My first day, I had to listen to the vets talk about how they wanted to beat up two fags they saw at the bar.” It was a distant memory filled with intense fear and panic. His initial silence was taken as opposition against the vets. In that moment, he solidified his fate by opening his mouth. “In Toronto, staying silent was the same as supporting gay people and if you were vocal, there were consequences. Why do you think Hayes barely played?”
“Everyone thought that coaches were being stupid. Hazy never gives details about Toronto.” Roz stated, his analytical stare focused on trying to figure something out. He could tell his captain was curious about Toronto.
Troy hesitated for half a second but committed anyway. Toronto had no love for Troy, he was not obligated to keep her secrets anymore.
“No,” Troy sniffed, not realizing how gut wrenching it was to admit it aloud. The pain in his ankle pulsed, he massaged it a bit harder. “No, it wasn’t good there.”
“Hazy used to be very nervous if he missed a puck in practice.” Troy wasn't surprised by that statement. Cooper loved to use bag skates as punishments for the smallest things. God forbid they ever had a losing streak; the whole team would run them until someone collapsed. From what he could tell about Wiebe, he coached his players in a much more relaxed way.
“Coach was old school; liked bag skates.” Archaic more like it. There were times he felt like a prisoner of war rather than a professional hockey player.
“He sprained his knee at the end of last season,” Roz’s eyes dropped to the ankle he was rubbing and then back up Troy. “He was surprised that he was put on reserve.”
Troy’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming. Toronto had a record of having the least amount of players to ever be put on injury reserve, and it wasn't due to less injuries. He thought back to Ryan Price’s last season and his regular trips to medical before games. He thought back to a few years ago when he fractured his ankle in Game 3 of the first round of playoffs. He played until they were knocked out in the next game. He was lucky he had the entire off season to rest it.
“Toronto doesn’t like injured players. Management says it looks weak.”
“They also love giving away their best players to Ottawa.” Roz snorted. “They look stupid.”
“Well, what goes around comes around.”
Roz sighed dramatically. “Canadians and their stupid sayings. What does this one mean?”
“It's like karma. What happened to me happened because of what I did to Hayes.”
“Explain.” A captain’s order if he ever heard one.
“I need to apologize to you first,” That definitely caught his captain off guard. “Back when you announced the charity with Hollander, the team was watching and I said something that led to, uh, homophobic comments.”
Troy swallowed roughly but held Roz's gaze and continued. “No one was speculating for real, but the things that were said—that I said afterward were not okay and I'm sorry.”
“Speculating?” Roz questioned again.
“No one was actually trying to figure out your sexuality,” Troy explained.
“Ah,” Roz nodded in understanding, “Thank you for the apology. How does Hazy fit?”
“Hayes defended the two of you,” Troy smiled to himself. “He told us to grow up and that he was sick of our shit. He was already on thin ice, but management was done with him when he backed Ryan Price after he came out.”
“Pricey came out to Toronto?” Roz's voice was incredulous, eyebrows raised high.
“You didn't know?” Ryan Price was a former teammate of Roz and part of his hockey youth camp. He had assumed the topic came up. “He came out in the locker room, like, 20 minutes after Hayes yelled at us. Basically threatened us, if we continued to say stupid shit.”
The rest of that season was the most comfortable he'd been in the locker room out of the seven seasons he played there. He was sad to see Price take that with him when he left, but he was in no place to ask anything from Price. Not after the shit he put him through.
“I was in the room by chance when they brought up trading him. They couldn't decide where to move him.”
“So, you suggested Ottawa? Why?” He looked like he was both angry on Hayes's behalf and happy that they ended up on the same team.
“During the 2019 MHL Awards, I overheard Boodram defending a gay staff member who worked for Ottawa.” Probably Harris now that Troy thought about it. He was filled with an ungodly amount of envy. He wanted more teammates like Boodram around him. He wondered how different he’d have turned out if he were surrounded by people like Boodram and Hayes when he was first drafted.
“They were talking about trading Hayes because I started shit. So yeah, I made a comment about Ottawa.” Troy ran a hand through his hair. “If they took the bait, he'd get actual time on the ice and at least one other person who'd be vocal in the locker room.”
“Does he know about this?” Roz looked at him with, not pride, but perhaps appreciation and the slightest hint of respect.
“Doubt it.” He never talked much with Hayes, but loved practicing with him though.
“You surprised me Barrett,” Roz commented. “Who knew you could be such good person?”
“Yeah, well, I don't know if that's true. I caused the entire situation.” Troy could feel the heat in his cheeks. No one really complimented Troy on his morals, rightfully so.
“True, but Hazy really loves it here. Centaurs are a good team. What you did ended up good in the end.” Troy would argue that everything canceled out evenly.
“Was Boston a bad team?” No one knew why Roz left Boston. The team never seemed to use slurs on the ice, but who knows what went on between games. Perhaps he couldn't handle it and left the minute he got free agency.
“What are you talking about?” Roz scoffed. “Boston is a good team. The best when I was captain.”
“You know what I mean.”
Roz stayed quiet for a minute. Like he was picking his words carefully. He didn't think Roz would actually indulge him, maybe he didn't have anyone to talk to either. “I never let them say slurs and no one complained. I don't know if things have changed now that I am gone.”
“Is that why you left?”
“No,” Roz looked down, failing to hide a dopey smile crawling across his face. “Not at all.”
Troy recognized that smile. It was the same one he had around Adrian. Ilya Rozanov left Boston for love. He also understood Troy's pain of hiding a relationship.
“You must love him a lot if you went to Ottawa.”
Roz's gaze snapped to him before raking his fingers through his hair with a little laugh. “Yes, for many years.”
Years. Jesus Christ. Troy's mind couldn't help but wander back to the comment he made during the Irina Foundation press conference.
“They're probably fucking.”
He said it to be cruel, knowing that Kent and his other teammates would jump at the chance to be homophobic. But now, he was wondering if he subconsciously knew there was something more going on.
The 2017 All-Stars was a shock for many. Hollander and Rozanov on the same line, let alone the same team, was insane. They completely dominated the entire event. There was also that cheek kiss that most people brushed off as European shenanigans. Then Rozanov went to Ottawa; two hours from Montreal. Only months later they announced a charity together, stating they'd been friends for years.
Now, to find out Roz left Boston to be close to his boyfriend, who he's been with for years. Of course, there was also the rumor that Shane Hollander was gay. He could be completely off base, but Troy was pretty sure he knew who Roz was dating. But he'd let Roz say anything on his own time.
“Does anyone know?”
“His parents, and a few of his friends.” Roz seemed to dim a bit at that. “And now, you.”
It wasn't that long ago when Troy was desperate to talk to anyone about his own relationship. And here was Roz having no one of his own to confide in.
“I know we barely know each other, but if you ever want to talk about him, I’ll listen. You don't ever have to tell me his name. You can tell him about me too. He’d probably be relieved that you aren't alone.” Troy swallowed. It was a big offer but evidently if anyone could keep a secret it’d be Ilya Rozanov’s boyfriend.
Roz sat in thought for a minute. “Thank you, Barrett. I like you a lot more this way.”
Troy felt a blush rise and looked away. He hated how easily compliments caused him to blush.
“Okay,” Roz said, getting up, looking at his phone. “Practice is soon and optional. You stay here, shower. Make sure you're good for game.”
He promptly left the room, and Troy to his thoughts.
He sat there for a moment processing everything that had just happened. He couldn't stop the shaky breath that escaped him. Someone knew. Someone knew about him and he wasn't in trouble. And he wasn't alone. But he was still surrounded by a team that didn't like him, Kent was walking around without a care in the world, his ex played him for almost a year, and his mom was half-way across the world.
He stood from the couch and his ankle pulsed harshly. He at least wanted to play well in his home city. But it looks like that wasn't going to happen. He still needed to meet his father afterward for dinner.
Troy let out a groan of disgust and made his way to the shower.
He was right of course, it rained all evening. He also played terribly, so much so that Wiebe barely gave him ice time in the third period. His father wouldn't stop berating him about it all throughout dinner.
He just needed one goal. If he could do one thing right, maybe it'd be proof this trade would be a good thing.