Page 17 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

“I’m going to cook for us tonight.”

“Nope.” Jett jabbed a finger at him, eyes narrowed to appear dangerous, but it only made him look like a stubborn brat. “If you won’t let me do it here, I’ll make a pit outside and try old-style barbecuing, and no one wants that.”

“Bro, if the thought of someone cooking for you is this upsetting, I would suggest talking to a therapist about your control issues.”

“Jesus!” Jett threw his hands into the air, signalling his defeat in their staring contest. “I’m making supper, no matter how scary your glare is. And if I need to call Arlo as backup, I will.”

Jett left before Harrison could protest, which was for the best because the Arlo threat was not one he could take lightly. It was bad enough he had to deal with Fraser, but having the two puckheads ganging up on him wouldn’t be the best strategic move .

Resigned to his fate, Harrison slumped into his chair and turned the settings on his heating pad higher, pre-emptively rallying his strength to fight the inevitable fire Jett was about to start in his kitchen.

To calm his nerves, he turned the TV on the News station and tried to pay attention to the stories happening around the province. There wasn’t anything new; a heartfelt animal story here, New Brunswick complaining about something there, and companies getting sued or called out for being crooks.

All very mundane. All very boring.

A crash made him jump, and Harrison gripped the arms of the recliner, forcing his eyes to stay on the TV.

“Shit!”

There was another series of bangs and then silence.

Harrison waited, but when there was no explosion or smell of burning walls, he figured he was in the clear.

He could hear Jett shuffling, his frantic pacing suggested that he’d downed five cups of coffee and two energy drinks. Harrison wondered if the goldendoodle was on any medication, because if he was, it was ineffective.

Another crash, followed by multiple things tumbling to the floor, made him cringe, but Harrison refused to look.

“Stupid, friggin potatoes,” Jett muttered, and there was more noise as he picked the potatoes up and threw them in a bowl? The sink?

Harrison retrieved his phone from the side table under his book and located his messages with Arlo.

Harrison: He’s destroying my kitchen

“How do I even—” Jett paused, and so did Harrison. “Where does this go ?”

“Are you cooking or building a spaceship?” Harrison shouted, only to confirm.

“Shut the fuck up, Killinger.”

Harrison waited, grinning when Jett began panicking and spluttering.

“Wait—sorry! I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just stressed.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fraser.”

His phone vibrated, and Harrison checked his message .

Arlo: Jett is one man, Harrison. What could he possibly do to destroy a kitchen?

Harrison pondered his answer, all while being regaled by the sound of what could have been a battle happening behind him. It was easier to show his cousin, so he hit the recording button and let it go, while Jett kept crashing and cursing.

After thirty seconds of chaos, Harrison hit send and waited.

“Do you have anything with spice in this house?” Jett asked.

Harrison shrugged. “I have pepper on the counter.”

“Harrison, this is sad, bro.”

Yes, Harrison was so very, very sad. Those new countertops were expensive.

Arlo messaged him back, and he smiled when he read the response.

Arlo: The fuck is he doing? Slaying a fucking dragon?

Harrison: No, he’s making us supper

Arlo: …

Arlo: Is he making supper while having a seizure? How does one create so much noise?

Harrison: I don’t know, but at least my wildlife problem is solved. He’s sent every living creature within 5 km running for the hills

“Do you know where the milk is?” Jett asked.

Harrison wasn’t sure if Jett was serious, but when the pause dragged on, he said, “In the fridge?”

“Where?” The clatter of items getting shoved around in the fridge had Harrison biting his nails. “I don’t see—wait, got it.”

“The fuck do you need milk for?” Harrison asked, both dreading and wanting to know.

“It’s for the potatoes, duh .”

Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose and texted Arlo.

Harrison: He’s putting milk in the potatoes. Please send backup before he makes me hate food.

Arlo texted back immediately.

Arlo: Milk in potatoes makes them creamy, so he’s on the right path at least. I can’t believe you’re letting him touch your stuff. He must give good head.

Harrison: ARLO

The shithead was lucky he was a two-hour flight away, otherwise, Harrison would be leaving Nova Scotia to kick his ass.

With his face burning, he threw the phone on the side table so he didn’t have to look at it anymore. Arlo had a chokehold waiting for him next time they saw each other.

Jett gasped, and glass shattered, disturbing any semblance of peace Harrison had left. He couldn’t do this—he was going fucking crazy.

He stood, and Jett began cursing and stuttering, pointing at him to keep him from coming over to inspect the damage.

“No! I got this.” Jett grabbed the broom and brandished it like a weapon. “I don’t need your help.”

Harrison ignored him. “When you start breaking my shit, you do. How are you such a mess, Fraser?”

He didn’t wait for the answer. He joined Jett in the kitchen and looked at the floor where the shattered remnants of a glass lay.

What a fucking mess, and that was just the floor.

One look at the counter told him that Jett had pulled every cooking utensil out of the cupboards.

Hell, Harrison had no idea he owned so many pots.

“I’ll clean it,” said Jett. His cheeks were burning, and there were tears in his eyes. “I got distracted and knocked it off the counter with my elbow. I didn’t mean to.”

Harrison sighed. “Jett, I’ve seen you chirp, cuss and throw fists on the ice. Why the hell are you crying over broken glass?”

Jett’s bottom lip wobbled, and Harrison refused to be distracted by how plush and perfect it was because now was not the time. He had to save his kitchen before it hit the point of no return.

He put his hands on Jett’s shoulders and moved him away from the glass. “You’re not going to move from this spot until I say,” said Harrison. “Do you understand?”

The hazy expression that he liked entered Jett’s eyes, and he nodded.

“Good,” said Harrison, and he pried the broom from Jett’s hands and went to the front door to put on his rubber slides to protect his feet.

He took extra care sweeping the floor, but the glass had broken into large pieces, so it was easy to get all of it. When Harrison was sure it was safe, he put away the broom and went to work on the rest of the kitchen .

He closed all the open cupboards, all of them, and began filling the dishwasher with used and unused dishes. He had no idea what Jett had been making other than potatoes, and even those weren’t far along in the cooking process.

That was an understatement because they were in the sink to be washed, and that was as far as he got.

When everything was reorganized again, Harrison turned his attention back to the creator of the chaos and raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck were you doing to make all that noise when nothing has been cooked?”

Jett didn’t answer, but he gave Harrison a heartbroken frown that tugged on his heartstrings.

Alright. He couldn’t do this.

“Come over here and cut the potatoes. Can you do that while I…find something to go with them?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jett took the knife Harrison was holding out for him, ducking his head when he was given a stern frown. “I can cut potatoes. Jesus.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” said Harrison. He gave Jett a playful shove and left him to fend for himself so he could check the fridge.

Potatoes. Chicken? Chicken could work.

He no sooner stuck his head inside the fridge when Jett shouted, and the knife clattered to the floor. Harrison swerved around, eyes widening at the sight of blood streaming down Jett’s wrist and dripping into the sink over the potatoes.

“Fraser! Seriously?!”

“I’m sorry!” Jett hollered back. “I got distracted when you bent over, and then I cut my damn finger off.”

Harrison grabbed his hand to inspect it, but Jett still possessed all his fingers. He wasn’t sure about brain cells, but he was leaning toward no.

“Only you would injure yourself while checking out someone’s ass,” said Harrison, and he bent to lift Jett by his thighs and onto the counter before he could run. “There’s karma in this scenario, I’m sure.”

The extra height put Jett in the perfect position for them to see eye to eye, and Harrison became lost in golden lashes and soft, pink lips.

During his scolding, he hadn’t realized he was standing between Jett’s spread legs and caging him against the counter with his arms until Fraser’s silence became too loud to ignore.

Harrison went motionless, which wasn’t ideal because it made it seem like he was happy to stay where he was—which he wasn’t. He needed to step back, but the warmth from Jett’s body had shut all non-essential systems down, leaving him stupefied.

“I’m bleeding,” Jett stated, like Harrison wasn’t painfully aware of that fact. “We’re in luck, because all my blood is rushing south. That’s one way to slow it down.”

Harrison scoffed and pushed back from the counter—and Jett. “Do you always run your mouth like this when you’re turned on?”

Jett nodded enthusiastically.

At least he was being honest.

“Stay,” he ordered, and Jett straightened his back. “I’m going to get the med kit and wrap that cut. Then I’ll cook supper and you can watch and not move, since you can’t be trusted not to injure yourself for no goddamn reason.”

Jett nodded again.

If he knew smelling salts wouldn’t aggravate the situation, Harrison would have used them to check Jett for brain activity. Instead, he went to his bathroom to fetch the med kit so he could stop Fraser from making his house look like the scene of a murder.

God, he needed a drink.