Page 59 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

He felt no urgency to get out of bed and meet the guys for practice, even though he should, but snuggling with Harrison was more appealing.

But all tranquillity was shattered when his alarm went off and roused him to consciousness faster than he would have liked.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

Gods. He was a grown man. Why did that nickname make his heart flutter like he was the main character in a Disney movie? Especially when the things they’d done in this hotel room last night were as far from a Disney movie as you could get…

The scruff on Harrison’s jaw scraped his skin when he pressed kisses on Jett’s neck, causing shivers to erupt along his spine. Harrison’s rough hand trailed up his chest, pinching his nipple and eliciting a gasp from him.

That dreaded generic ringtone cut through their blissful morning, nearly causing Jett to elbow Harrison in shock. Harrison tightened his grip on him momentarily before releasing him with a groan.

Grumbling, Jett reached for the bedside table and shut off his phone .

“What time is it?” Harrison’s voice was still gruff and sleep-soaked, and did nothing to quell Jett’s libido.

“Seven,” Jett told him.

“Sorry, Sunshine,” Harrison murmured against his skin while giving him a sharp slap on his backside. “You’ve got press interviews to get to, and then practice. Shower time for you.”

Jett turned and pinned his boyfriend against the bed. Harrison’s responding grin was enough to make his pulse kick.

“I could make it worth your while in the shower.”

Harrison reached up, tracing his thumb over Jett’s lower lip before slipping it into his mouth. Jett sucked on it playfully, humming slightly as he ground his hips down.

They were interrupted again by Harrison’s phone ringing, this time an actual phone call instead of an alarm.

Heaving a sigh, Jett headed to the bathroom while Harrison answered his phone call from Arlo, realizing that he likely wasn’t even going to get jerked off in the shower now. It was a depressing thought, but knowing that Arlo was calling to complain about his new tie made him feel slightly better.

What had Arlo been thinking while challenging him?

Jett was the minigolf champion where he was from.

He grew up playing against his dad whenever the weather was nice, and it had taken years of dedication and practice to beat the old man at his own game.

Arlo hadn’t played once, so there had been no point trying.

Not that Jett had pointed it out before the match. There had been no reason to spoil the fun.

When he was finally out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist and steam rolling off him, he found Harrison still on the phone. He had it on speaker and his laptop open, his hair pulled into a messy bun at the nape of his neck.

It took Jett a little too long to realize it was no longer Arlo on the phone, but his manager, Marietta Margoles.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Jett sat on the bed and faced Harrison.

“Jett’s here now, Mari. Can you repeat that last bit for him?”

“Hi, Jett!” Mari exclaimed .

Her voice still had a subtle Polish accent to it.

Her family had emigrated to Canada when she was a teenager, and she’d been an intern at his agency when Jett had been signed.

He’d asked her to be his official agent this year when she’d become a full agent.

She was bubbly and put him at ease, but had an air of no nonsense and got the job done, while still considering what he wanted his career to look like.

She didn’t push him to do ad campaigns that he didn’t support, and didn’t throw him to reporters and press interviews like a lamb to the wolves. She’d coached him on what to say and how to remain calm in the face of all the insurmountable stress and pressure of playing in a city like Toronto.

“Hi,” he said, nerves already fluttering in his stomach.

“So, I’ve been talking to Harrison’s cousin’s agent—Warren.

He’s with us here at East Coast Sports Agency, and he’s been managing the harassment case between Townsend—well, Killinger now—and Mike Smith.

I’ve been consulting with him based on what you and Harrison have shared with me.

Despite multiple warnings from our legal team, Mr. Smith has continued to harass Arlo.

And according to Harrison—since I haven’t heard it directly from you, Jett—Smith is still messaging you as well. ”

“Uh, yeah,” Jett told her, cheeks flushing red. “It’s like—it’s not so bad. I muted him like you told me, and I haven’t really been reading the messages.”

“What does that mean?”

She sounded like a scolding older sister.

“Uh, that I don’t read them as much anymore, but sometimes I check to see how many he’s sent, and then I find myself reading them.”

There was a pause where he could almost picture her disappointed expression, and he knew if he looked at Harrison, he would see the same concern on his face as well.

His boyfriend’s big hand landed on his bare knee, warmth bleeding into his skin and easing some of the tension in his chest, even if he still couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“Jett, Arlo has decided to continue with his protection order and cease and desist order. What this means is that Smith will no longer be able to contact him, and cannot show up in person within 100 feet of him. Arlo has given the legal team hundreds of text messages and screenshots, and has said that if it comes down to it, he will testify in court about Smith’s behaviour and the toxic environment in the locker room while they were both at Acadia University.

Is that something you want us to do for you as well? ”

“I—” Jett stuttered over his words. “I don’t want him to get in trouble. I just—I want him to leave me alone.”

“Jett,” Marietta sounded stern. “He’s been warned several times and is currently on suspension from the university because of it all. If he cared to stop, he would have done so by now. Sometimes playing hardball is the only way to get people to see sense.”

When Harrison’s hand squeezed his knee, he realized his leg had begun to shake. He looked up into those beautiful blue eyes and bit his lip.

“What should I do?” he asked Harrison, hating that he felt so weak.

Harrison cupped his cheek, his calloused palm warm against Jett’s skin. His dark brow was furrowed, and his jaw was tense, but he held Jett with such reverence he felt like something precious and fragile.

“I don’t want him anywhere near you. I know you don’t want him to hurt, but he didn’t have the same qualms about coming after you. You know you haven’t done anything right? He’s the creator of his own destruction. No one else.”

Jett had trouble believing that, even though he knew it was true. He’d just tried to be a good friend to someone he’d known for years. But where all of Arlo and Mike’s teammates had been so happy to meet him and eager for any tips, Mike had been arrogant and used him at every turn.

“Alright,” Jett told Marietta. “Alright, you can do what you need to.”

Marietta explained everything in a calm, professional tone that made the gravity of it all feel strangely distant.

The paperwork had already been drawn up and would be served to Mike that morning.

Once he received it, he’d have no choice but to lawyer up and take it to court if he wanted to fight the charges.

Both Arlo and Jett could potentially be called in for testimony, but given their careers and public visibility, accommodations would be made.

They’d likely testify virtually, sparing them the media circus and any unnecessary exposure.

She reassured them that the agency would monitor the situation closely and contact them when Mike was officially served. If he reached out to either of them again—or worse, approached them in public—he’d be arrested on the spot .

Jett ended the call in a daze, fingers still loosely curled around his phone. The pressure in his chest didn’t lift; if anything, it sank lower, heavier. His limbs moved on autopilot as he got up and pulled on his Sunbursts athletic gear, the familiar weight grounding him.

Warmth enveloped him suddenly, steady and comforting. Jett turned instinctively, burying his face into Harrison’s bicep. The scent of him—clean skin, woodsy soap, and that expensive aftershave he always wore—washed over Jett like a tide, easing some of the fear that had taken root in his bones.

“I know you’re feeling guilty,” Harrison murmured, voice low and rough against Jett’s head. His lips brushed through his hair, slow and soothing.

“I didn’t do anything to him,” Jett whispered, shocked by the wobble in his voice. His eyes burned as he clenched them shut, willing the tears away. “All I did was be his friend. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Harrison whispered back, tightening his hold. “I know, sweet boy.” He stroked his hair, pressing kisses to his brow like he could physically calm the storm inside him. “This isn’t your fault.”

Harrison didn’t know how wrong he was. How could he when Jett never told him about the one thing in his past that could severely change his perspective of him?

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to wallow and end up in a state that he could never bounce back from. He had hockey to play and a boyfriend to care for.

He had a goddamn life to build.

None of it mattered.

Jett shook off the heaviness and smiled at Harrison. “Thank you.”

His smile didn’t fool Harrison, but he sighed and kissed Jett’s nose. “Time for you to work shit out at practice. I’m sure Wolf will let you take a swing at him if you look sad enough.”

“Hell yeah.” Jett slipped out of his embrace, and the situation was forgotten for the time being. “Let’s go slam some idiots into walls.”