Page 21 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

He hated storms. Storms made him stupid. He usually had better control.

“You’re okay? Are you kidding me?”

Gold. Gold. Gold. Jett was all golden warmth. He looked like an angel watching over him, despite that glint of terror in his eyes. Fuck, he was gorgeous.

Wow, he really did fuck up this time. He was thinking nonsensical shit now.

“Do you need an ambulance?” Jett asked, and Harrison jerkily shook his head.

No fucking ambulance. They would drive him straight to the psych ward and put him on suicide watch. The fact that he knew that spoke volumes, but that truth wasn’t something he was ready to face just yet.

If he did, he would lose Luca and Taylor forever.

“Oh, God, Harrison. Please tell me you didn’t do this to yourself?”

Harrison squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t deal with Jett being the one who discovered his weird game of chicken with death. Arlo, yeah sure, even if he would kill him if he found out—but Jett? They barely knew each other. This whole situation was too heavy for a new friendship to handle.

Then again, this might be a good thing. If he scared Jett away now, it would hurt less when he went back to Toronto and they inevitably grew apart.

It was strange to want to avoid the pain of losing someone he considered a stranger, but that was the way his damaged mind worked.

Jett leaned away to switch the water to a warmer temperature, and Harrison bit back a scream of pain. There were the pins and needles—and his stupid, fucking leg.

“I’m going to warm you up and help you out of here,” said Jett. His expression was so serious, and Harrison was a little loopy. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t.

“When you can talk again, you’re going to tell me what the fuck this is about.”

Like hell he was.

Jett smiled softly, as if he knew exactly what Harrison was thinking.

“You scared the shit out of me, Harrison.”

Harrison tried to brush Jett’s words off like he did whenever someone was concerned for him, but he couldn’t. It was different with Jett. Fuck, why was it always different with him?

The guilt eating his insides made the physical pain feel like nothing. Physical pain was easier to escape with medication and heating pads, but emotional pain? It was impossible.

That was why Harrison went through such drastic measures, like freezing himself to death in the shower. Sometimes, it was the only thing that helped.

Jett’s hot hand touching his arm made him jump, pain springing to life like he was being burned by the sun.

“Deal with it,” said Jett, and his grumbly tone suggested he was seriously pissed off. “You need to warm up. You’re a fucking idiot.”

Harrison would give him that one.

He had no choice but to stay where he was on Jett’s lap, teeth chattering and body shivering as Jett rubbed his arms and chest, cupping water in his hands and pouring it everywhere else he couldn’t reach.

It hurt, but Harrison dealt with it as best as he could.

He didn’t have the strength to stop Jett or push him away, so he kept motionless and compliant.

Eventually, he warmed up enough that Jett stopped rubbing his raw skin, settling for brushing his fingers through Harrison’s hair as he glared holes into the wall. His pissy attitude made Harrison want to laugh again, but that was currently too painful to attempt.

“I think the storm is over,” said Jett, refusing to look at him. “At least the power didn’t go out again.”

“Je-Jett…”

Jett’s gaze snapped to his. He was mad, but Harrison saw his expression soften for a split second before it was covered with a frown.

“We should get you dried off and in bed,” said Jett. “Do you think you can sit up on your own?”

Since his teeth were chattering, Harrison could only grunt in response. Jett steadied him with his arms and helped Harrison into a slanted, but upright position. He couldn’t move, but it put him under the shower spray, so it wouldn’t take him long to get on his feet.

He was aware of Jett leaving the shower and removing his clothes, the wet slap of fabric hitting the floor echoing loudly through the room. He kept his eyes averted as Jett swiftly dried himself before returning with a large, fluffy towel.

He shut the water off and went to work. Harrison wasn’t coordinated enough to fight, but he tried to push Jett away.

“Cnndoit myself—”

“Like fuck you can,” Jett barked. “You can’t even talk, so shut up and let me help.”

He didn’t wait for Harrison’s permission to continue, and he wasn’t bothering to be gentle as he roughed up his hair.

Harrison cursed and braced himself against the wall and Jett’s leg to stop from being pushed over. He didn’t know where Jett had learned his definition of help , but Harrison was sure it didn’t normally mean trying to concuss them.

“Fuck, Fraser—”

Jett shoved the towel in his face to shut him up.

Fine. He deserved it.

He was allowed to stand and leave the shower once Jett deemed that he was no longer wet. Harrison tried to shoo him away because he knew he could take it from there, but Jett ignored him.

“I’m not leaving, so get over it.” Jett followed him to the bed, his arms outstretched like he was waiting for Harrison to fall or stumble. He didn’t relax until they reached the bed, and Harrison fell onto it as gracefully as possible.

He thought that was the end, but then Jett tucked the blankets around him and hurried from the room.

Harrison listened to the commotion in the living room, shaking his head at how loud Jett was. It sounded like he was being robbed for Christ’s sake.

Jett returned holding more blankets and Harrison’s heating pad, quickly cocooning him and setting the heating pad on his bad leg.

Harrison didn’t say a word, not even when Jett got into the bed while still naked, lying so close that they were touching side to side and sharing body heat.

Apparently, he was being guarded now.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” said Jett. His voice had lost it’s firmness, but hearing how upset he was made Harrison feel worse. “You can tell me to fuck off and I won’t argue, but Jesus, Harrison. How did you end up like that?”

Harrison stared at the ceiling. The pattering of rain against his window was no longer upsetting to him now that he had no energy to be triggered by it, but fuck, he hated rain.

The muscles in his jaw hurt like hell, but he owed Jett an explanation after scaring him. It was the least he could do.

“Sometimes it helps me function if I can…numb myself like that.”

He took a deep breath because this was the first time he was saying this out loud, and for some reason it fucking hurt . “Doing it reminds me of that night, and bringing myself back gets me closer to…them.”

Jett remained silent.

Harrison didn’t know how much Jett knew about the accident, but he hoped he could fill in the blanks because it was impossible for him to talk about it .

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” said Harrison. “I don’t know why it helps, or why I let myself do it. Trying to explain it is hard…I don’t think anyone will understand it, and it’s okay if you don’t either. I’m used to dealing with this shit on my own.”

Jett was silent for a long minute, and Harrison was starting to think he had fallen asleep when he spoke again, softer than he expected.

“I do know what it’s like to do things on your own—to feel like you’re drowning, but explaining it to anyone feels like too much. I live like that every day.”

Turning his body more so he could look at him, Harrison saw the dark silhouette of Jett against the rain-streaked window. Somehow, even in the darkness, he looked sad.

“W-What do you mean?” Harrison asked, his words catching in his throat.

Jett wiggled closer, and his body was like the warmth of the sun next to Harrison’s. He was quiet for another minute before he continued, as though he needed to gather his scattered thoughts into a web and spin out the details of what he wanted to say.

“I had a younger brother,” Jett’s quiet voice said, barely loud enough to hear above the whistling of the wind.

“Chase. We were eleven and twelve when our parents got divorced.

It felt like we were a happy family one minute, and the next, they were angry with each other and packing bags.

Before the school year was out, my mom left to go to South Carolina with some guy. She barely talked to us at all—

and then came flouncing back like nothing changed at the end of the summer. Not to see us, but to finalize the divorce and announce that she was marrying this new guy.”

Jett paused, letting out a shaky breath.

“That’s when the divorce got really ugly.

She wanted to take us both with her, but my dad wouldn’t have it.

Counsellors were brought in, and they talked to us like we were babies and asked us what we wanted.

Social workers assessed us, and eventually, Mom took off again because she was pregnant by the new guy and wanted to get married right away.

Chase only lasted until Christmas. He missed having a mom around.

Dad and I were always closer because of hockey, but Chase was sweeter; softer even.

He liked books, animals and art. He didn’t want to spend his spare time at the rink with us, but he did anyway.

I’d be on the ice practicing, and he’d be spread out in the stands drawing in his sketchpad.

But he missed Mom. I’d always had trouble connecting with Mom since she was distant because of the hockey.

So, Chase visited her for Christmas, but I refused to go.

I had tournaments and practice. I had friends to hang out with.

I was thirteen by then and thought I was more important.

So he flew to South Carolina—and he decided to stay there.

He called me and Dad in early January and said he was starting school there, and he was so excited.

It was the first time in over a year that he hadn’t been miserable.