Page 28 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)
Arlo called him often enough, but he was busy and immersed in the experience of hockey. Training camps were a brutal dawn-to-dusk of drills and exercises, and trying to sort out lines and positions.
With a heavy sigh, he headed to his home gym. He’d promised Jett he wouldn’t sink as low as before, and he’d been surprised at how much he didn’t want to disappoint him. He hadn’t counted on the tugging loneliness, and the clouds swarming his brain the moment his sunshine boy was gone.
Before he was halfway down the path, the alert went off on his phone to let him know that someone was coming down his driveway.
Heart racing, he opened the security camera app on his phone, his brain somehow automatically jumping to thoughts of Jett appearing at his house like an angelic vision of curly hair and warmth—but it was just a FedEx truck.
Oh god, he was becoming one of those scary neighbours in kids’ movies.
Like the one that everyone said stole children out of their beds and carved them up to wear their skins.
Wasn’t it the dad in Jumanji that everyone said he’d killed his kid with an axe and buried his body in the walls?
Somehow less insane than your kid going missing in a board game.
A chubby, pimply-faced man in a uniform got out of the truck, approaching Harrison with a package. “Harrison Killinger?”
Harrison grunted a response, still pissed at the fact this truck driver was here, on his property, rather than delivering to the post office.
“Just sign here, Mister,” he said, handing him a clipboard with a pen dangling from a string.
“I almost didn’t find the place with it being in the woods like this.
You must like your privacy, huh?” He snuffled his nose, either from allergies or a bad cocaine habit, looking around as though expecting to see children’s skins hung out to dry on the non-existent clothesline.
Harrison signed for the package and took it, returning to the house without another word. He was relieved when he heard the crunch of gravel under the delivery driver’s boots as he went to his truck.
He watched the man disappear down the driveway, confirming he passed the four cameras and the one at the end before he turned his attention to the package on his kitchen island.
It was flat and rectangular with no real hint of what it was. It had his full address on it, not his P.O. Box. He was just starting to become suspicious of who had sent it when his phone rang, and he jumped.
“What?” he barked into the phone.
Arlo sounded out of breath, and the whirling in the background sounded like an exercise bike. “I just got the delivery notification. Did you get it?”
“Why didn’t you send it to the post office? Someone showed up at my house, Arlo!”
“Oh no, were you indisposed?” his cousin responded sarcastically. “I suppose you hermits rarely wear clothes, preferring to be covered in leaves and mud so that it’s harder for people to find you.”
Harrison ignored the younger man, grabbing a box cutter and tearing through the packing tape. Inside the FedEx box was another box, the recognizable blue and white colours immediately pulled at his heartstrings.
“Arlo, what is this?”
His cousin hummed, panting slightly from the bike .
Opening the box, he saw it was a hockey jersey.
The familiar royal blue and crisp white, along with the Sunbursts logo of a white sun in the center.
He lifted it, and the scent of new material hit him as he breathed it in.
It was high quality, probably costing hundreds of dollars.
He turned it, his excitement slamming to a halt when he saw the name FRASER emblazoned on the back along with the number 25.
“Arlo Quinton Townsend.”
“Ugh,” Arlo exclaimed. “Not the dreaded middle name. What’s wrong? Don’t like your gift?”
“Was Jett in on this?”
God, why did it hurt to say his damn name aloud?
“No, but he’s sad and he misses you. I wanted you to have his jersey to wear for when you come to see his first game.”
“Arlo, I am not joining the WAGs. You are goddamn delusional.”
“Who said anything about that? Do I think you should move to Toronto and take a chance at being happy instead of growing fungus in the Nova Scotian wilderness? Well yeah, that’s hardly a difficult decision.”
“I’m twenty minutes from town, like forty-five from Halifax. That’s not the deep woods .”
“Bro, you were pissed that a delivery driver came on your property. You’re like, one season away from being the villain in a horror movie. Sooner, if that beard gets any more out of control.”
It was too close to what Harrison had been thinking, but it stung worse coming from Arlo.
“You make it sound like we should be more than friends,” said Harrison. “Knowing a guy for two weeks is not long enough to—”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” Arlo snapped, and Harrison closed his mouth .
“You’re always so detached, and you’re a nasty prick when you want to be, but you’re not like that with Jett.
Whatever that sunny idiot did to make you like him has to be studied.
You’ve never shown interest in anyone , Harrison—but you let Fraser live in your house after talking to him twice? ”
Harrison slumped against the countertop and sighed when his head began to hurt.
“I’m not saying you’re in love with the guy, but you and I know there’s something there. And I know I make fun of you, but you’re too young and stupid to give up on life already. So, get your shit together, Killinger, and learn how to take risks again—for both your sakes.”
There was a minute of silence where Harrison put down the jersey, his thumb absently brushing over the R in Fraser.
“It’s not a good idea,” Harrison murmured finally. “He’s young and talented, and he doesn’t need me distracting him by sitting at home and waiting for him to come home like a dog.”
“So don’t,” Arlo clapped back . “Do what I’ve been telling you and look into being a goddamn coach.
You got a lot of attention at the exhibition games, whether you want to admit it or not.
Your name still gains a lot of interest in the hockey world, and he just so happens to play for the same damn team that signed you to begin with.
Maybe it would be a nice comeback story if you worked for them in some capacity. ”
But fear, embarrassment, shame and frustration threatened to drag him back down. All he could say was, “I can’t,” before he ended the call and sank to the kitchen floor with the hockey jersey still clutched tightly in his hands.