Page 15 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

That didn’t stop him from trying because he was a goddamn hockey player who lived for a challenge. But the only thing he got was the deed to the fucking business because he was a petty bitch when he was drunk, and he had bought the place out of spite.

Touché, Dad. Touché.

And just like that, he had been sent to bed like a kid.

Harrison was a jackass.

Arlo’s beater was parked by the garage, but Killinger’s car was still missing from inside. Excellent, that gave Jett a small window of time to lug his bags into the house and pick the second-best room before he could get bitched at and told to sleep in his car.

As soon as he opened his car door, he was hit by an intense heat, bugs and a sweet smell that Jett associated with too much nature.

The radio had mentioned three times on the drive from his dad’s house to Harrison’s that the temperature today would break records.

Jett hoped it would hold off on the record-breaking until he found some way to get rid of his headache.

He groaned and got out, nausea climbing when he fought to get his huge travel suitcase from the backseat. By the time he climbed the porch stairs and inside the air-conditioned lake house, Jett was ready to fall into the nearest bed and nap.

He decided to be nice and take the room furthest away from Harrison’s, which surprisingly had the view of the lake and the dock. There would be no complaints from him; he’d rather look at a lake than stare into the creepy darkness of the woods at night.

Jett’s clothes were sticking to him after he unpacked his things into the closet and found the best place to display his treasured rainbow hockey stick. Damn, he couldn’t wait to bring that thing back to Toronto and show Cap. The man would lose his shit for sure.

Now he had the choice of taking a shower, or he could be brave and swim in the readily available lake outside. The shower offered comfort and the possibility of naps, but the lake—

Fuck it, he was going to earn some brownie points and start his workout.

Harrison had hinted that they would be staying at his house for their training, which Jett didn’t understand because the lake wasn’t frozen, and there was nowhere to practice.

He still couldn’t tell if he was being messed with, so he would wait to pass judgment.

Maybe Harrison wanted his company more than he wanted to train him.

Holy shit, he needed to get this hangover under control before he started speaking his inside thoughts, outside.

Jett took Advil and downed a full bottle of water before changing into his swim shorts and heading for the lake. The grass was hot under his feet, and the sand on the lake edge was even hotter. He wasted no time diving in and propelling himself to the end of the dock to check it out.

The water was cold and plenty deep the further he moved from land.

Around the dock was jumpable without the fear of hitting the bottom and risking injury, and there were only small rocks and sand at the bottom, no gross weeds or eels.

Someone had poured a lot of money into maintaining and reconstructing the swimming area to make it more enjoyable.

The rumours that the Killingers had money—true.

Jett started swimming lazy laps from the end of the dock to where the sand ended before a big drop-off in the middle. By his second lap, he was feeling cooler, and by his fifth, his headache was gone.

Damn, he needed to get himself a lake house. Preferably, one where his neighbours could hear him screaming for help if a bear tried to eat him.

Wait, maybe that would depend on the type of bear.

Nope. He needed to stop thinking about sex to stop wanting to have sex, especially if Harrison was going to be bearded and walking around with his biceps out.

His brain was weird today. Was he still drunk?

It was so quiet that the sound of tires rolling down a dirt road could be heard from the lake. Jett dunked his head under the water one last time and swam toward the shore to meet Harrison.

He heard the rumbling engine cut off while walking up the beach, and he nervously paused as Killinger got out of his car.

Harrison’s gaze was locked onto Jett’s vehicle, as if he was confused to see it parked there, but then he turned in Jett’s direction and halted.

Jett spun around, half-expecting to see a creature chasing him up the shore, but nothing was there.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asked Harrison.

Jett looked at the water droplets running down his chest, and then to the lake and the sunshine beyond the treeline.

“I was swimming?”

“Swimming?” Harrison looked as bewildered as he was attractive. Damn, that white tee wasn’t doing anything to hide the cut of the muscles underneath it. Harrison must still be working out. “We don’t swim in that lake.”

“Oh, so you’re like, rich-rich,” said Jett. “You didn’t build the house near the lake so you could use it, you built it there so you could look at it.”

It was hard to see under all the beard, but it looked like Harrison’s face was turning red.

“Tell me you brought a change of clothes. ”

Jett grinned, not caring if he looked manic. “Oh, don’t worry. I brought all the change of clothes.”

Harrison turned on his heel and walked away, scurrying into his house and disappearing inside. Jett rushed after him, but there was no sign of Killinger in the kitchen or the living room when he went inside.

Jett hurried to his room, cursing himself for not remembering a towel as he dripped water on the hardwood floor. He needed to clean up before Killinger found out and kicked his ass.

He changed and mopped the water, then spent the next five minutes trying to locate the closet hiding the washer and dryer, but he found them in a designated room he’d missed on Friday.

Like the rest of the house, the laundry room was fancy and neatly decorated, but it felt so impersonal.

He hadn’t seen family pictures in the other rooms, but for some reason, in the laundry room of all places, he found the first photos hung on the wall.

They were mostly of Killinger and a boy who had to be the younger brother who passed away in the accident.

There were others of his parents, and one of a teenage Killinger standing with his arm slung over the shoulders of a blond guy as they posed in front of the frozen lake in the snow.

Seeing all this evidence of the life Killinger had lived before it was tragically torn from him made things feel more real. Jett knew he was strong because he had survived his fair share of shit too, but could he handle a loss that big? Could he lose everything and keep going?

He didn’t know. He didn’t think so. At the end of the day, he still had hockey, and Harrison didn’t.

He heard the door open when Killinger resurfaced from his room, and Jett threw his clothes into the washer, starting the machine before he was caught snooping.

“Where the fuck did you run off to now, Fraser?”

Jett couldn’t roll his eyes at the bitchy tone in Killinger’s voice when he’d just been tearing up over his family pictures. He had to be poised and control his emotions, and—

The sound of a bag crinkling loudly, accompanied by whistling, echoed through the house.

Was he calling him like a dog? !

Jett stomped to the kitchen, where he found Killinger leaning against the island, looking smug. “Really, Killinger?”

Killinger shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You are the absolute worst, dude,” said Jett, and because he was hungry, he snatched the bag from Killinger’s hand and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.

“Were you doing laundry?” Killinger asked, stealing the bag back to take some chips for himself. “You don’t have a problem making yourself at home, do you?”

Jett shrugged. “I might as well if I’m staying here for the next two weeks.”

He had turned away from Killinger to avoid the glaring he knew was coming, but the way the chewing noises suddenly stopped made him grin.

“You have a house,” said Killinger. “There’s no reason for you to stay here.”

His tone wasn’t as angry as he thought it would be, so Jett turned to face him again.

“My dad has a house. And you have a big lake house with four empty rooms,” said Jett. “Less travel time means more hours to train and meet your stupid friendship conditions. I’m being smart.”

The teasing smirk Killinger gave him made him feel all wobbly inside. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’re being smart. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Whatever, man.” Jett had to look away to save himself from the distraction of a smirking mouth. God, it was a nice mouth. Killinger looked like he would be a good kisser, or maybe that was the Killinger he had built up in his mind, not the real one.

And with that single line of thought, he realized that he was a gay man in Killinger’s house, and Killinger was also a gay man. They were alone in a private location, single—as far as Jett knew—and fuck , the look the Killinger was giving him made him think he had just realized the same thing.

Jett had hooked up with enough guys to recognize the hunger in those blue eyes and how he was staring at him like he was mentally undressing him…

Shit .

Friday night’s conversation had derailed after he and Arlo joked about their preferences, and it occurred to Jett that he didn’t know Harrisons. Were they…compatible?

Fuck, was he going to be able to do any practicing these next two weeks, or was he going to be stuck in the bathroom jerking off every five minutes?

“You done stuffing your face?” Killinger asked, and it took all Jett’s willpower to keep his eyes from flicking downward.

“Are we taking your car to the rink?” Jett asked instead, shoving a final chip in his mouth so he could focus on chewing, and not wondering what Killinger was hiding in his pants.

“Not unless hell freezes over,” Killinger muttered. He motioned for Jett to follow and strode to the front door.

Jett tossed the bag of chips on the counter and wiped his hands on his pants. “If we’re taking your car, I have to get the gear out of mine.”

But Killinger wasn’t walking toward the cars, he was walking toward the shitty, wooden-planked wall that stood out like an eyesore next to the idyllic-looking lake house. Something about the wall gave Jett the shivers. Whatever was hiding behind it couldn’t be good.

“I checked this morning, and we should be good to go,” said Killinger. He took an overgrown path next to the house and disappeared behind the wooden planks.

Jett tried to man up and follow him down the path, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at what was on the other side of the wall.

He could hear a whirring sound, like a large machine buzzing that he hadn’t noticed before.

He was scared that he was about to come face to face with a slaughterhouse where they cut up cows.

“Uh…Harrison? You’re not hiding a murder shack behind this wall, are you?”

Killinger popped his head around the corner and raised a brow. “No, this is where I cage my ego.”

Jett frowned. “You’re not fucking funny.”

“Are you actually scared?” Harrison returned to Jett with his brows furrowed. He put his hand on the back of Jett’s neck and pushed him forward, giving him no option but to obey. “Seriously, Fraser, you’re a bit of a chicken-shit. ”

Jett couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying.

If he thought he’d found it hot when he stepped outside, it was nothing to how hot he was now.

He didn’t know what this scruffing move was or what it meant, but Jett would follow Killinger anywhere as long as he kept his hands on him like this.

The way his body relaxed into the controlling touch said something about himself that he was quickly discovering.

There was no murder shack behind the wall, only a giant warehouse-looking building that made him pause in shock until Killinger directed him onward.

“Killinger, what the fuck?”

The hand on the back of his neck tightened. “You’re not about to be killed. Fucking relax .”

Jett was pushed through the door and finally released. He had to squint in the dark after being in the sun, but when he started to make out shapes, every thought inside his brain stuttered to a stop.

They stood inside a standard gym with new exercise machines and more in-depth physio equipment. It was amazing, but it was the space beyond the room that Jett couldn’t wrap his mind around.

A rink, a huge rink. Maybe a full-sized rink.

Was he dead? Was this heaven?

“Holy shit, Killinger!” Jett turned and smiled. “This was here the whole time? Why was it hidden?”

Killinger wasn’t looking at him or appeared to hear him. He stared at the parallel bars blankly, his blue eyes dark with whatever memory haunted him.

This wasn’t a place where Killinger had come to have fun. This was his recovery room.

“Harrison.” Jett’s hand reached for him before he could stop, his knuckles brushing over the back of Killinger’s hand. “Hey, we don’t have to do this.”

Harrison’s gaze snapped to their touching hands.

“I can go to the rink in town and practice there. That way you can stay at home, and you only have to stop by if—”

“Gear up and get on the fucking ice,” said Killinger. He drew his hand back and stepped toward the door to the rink without waiting to see if Jett had listened .

Jett was starting to understand that the cursing and dismissive attitude was something that Killinger did to cover up the pain he was in. He didn’t take the rejection of his touch seriously, not when it was obvious that this was all fucking with Killinger’s head.

It didn’t stop him from wanting to grab the guy and hug him—hold him through that initial struggle that he knew would happen until Killinger gave in and accepted the affection. It would probably help ground him after so many years of pushing people away.

If Jett felt like it was doable, he was going to try. If they were going to be friends, they had to be friends on his terms too, and Jett loved physical affection.

Killinger would just have to be taught to accept it.