Page 66 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

He was warm…so fucking warm.

He felt like he was on his dad’s fancy fishing boat during one of their summer trips, lying on a bench under the sun, being soothed by the sound of the water rhythmically lapping against the boat.

Here, there was peace and happiness. There were no images of people getting shot, or his father’s crying face. There was no pain, misery or depression. The only thing he felt was a comforting weightlessness.

Harrison. This is how he felt when he was with Harrison.

That’s why he knew they would be good for each other before they even made it to being friends. Harrison made him feel safe from the very beginning. He may have put up a fight those first few weeks, but whatever this thing was between them made it that much easier for them to build trust.

The NHL had been his dream, but Harrison was his end game. He knew this, which is why he needed to get his shit together. If he couldn’t do it for himself, then he needed to do it for Harrison.

Jett opened his eyes and blinked the sleep from them. They burned from crying, and his head ached from the same damn thing. The bed moved under him, and Jett knew he was still lying on Harrison in his room, and it helped ground him.

This couldn’t be comfortable for Harrison. Jett was smaller, but he was fucking heavy.

Harrison seemed unbothered by his weight. The man was sleeping so hard that he didn’t move even when Jett pushed himself up and straddled his thighs. There was no catch in his breath, no shift in his expression—only deep sleep.

Harrison’s energy had to be depleted if he had lost his usual hyperawareness. He was normally so quick to wake up at the tiniest shift on the bed, but he was still out like a light.

He was so gorgeous to look at; those perfect, dark brows and his perfect, pouty mouth that always begged for a kiss. It was so dumb, but Jett was tearing up just looking at the man under him. His man. His Harrison.

God, he was emotionally wrecked if he was crying over the sight of his stupidly attractive boyfriend.

Jett didn’t know what time it was, but the sunset outside the window suggested it was getting late in the day. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to go back to sleep, but he knew his father, and—his captain? Were sitting in his living room right now.

He didn’t know why Ryan was there when he should have been in Boston getting ready for their second away game, but if he didn’t go out and show signs of life, he was bound to get dragged out by someone.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to leave his bed.

But the only way to get people to leave him alone was to confront them with a smile and make them believe he was okay. It had worked every time before, so there was no reason it wouldn’t work now.

First, he needed to wash his face. He had dried tears and snot stuck to him, and if he was going to sell the idea that he was all good, he couldn’t look like a mess.

He very carefully removed himself from Harrison’s lap and untangled himself from the bed. He didn’t breathe until he was in the bathroom and the door slid shut behind him.

Jett cleaned his face with perfunctory ease, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as best as he could. He didn’t want to know what he would see there, and the thought of meeting his own haunted gaze made him physically ill.

He did catch sight of his shoulder, and it wasn’t pretty. Purple and red bruises took up an alarming amount of the right side of his body, and the stupid thing was, he’d forgotten it was there until he saw the evidence of it.

To remind him it was still there, his shoulder throbbed painfully enough to make sure he didn’t forget for a second time. Jett hissed and set his toothbrush down, picking it up with his left hand instead.

He finished in the bathroom with more effort than he was expecting to put in and returned to the bedroom .

Harrison was still asleep. Jett wanted him to rest for a little longer, so he changed his clothes and left as fast as he could before his luck ran out.

He had been so focused on escaping without waking Harrison that he didn’t stop to think about how it would feel when he left the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The second it clicked shut, he was gripped by an overwhelming sense of dread that made him break into a cold sweat.

It would be so easy for him to rejoin Harrison, but doing so would only prolong the inevitable. His father wasn’t going to leave, and Max and Ryan sure as hell weren’t going to either.

Jett took three minutes and counted them down. He needed three minutes to slow his heart rate and blink away more stupid tears that were burning his dry eyes. Then, with shaking hands clenched in the pockets of Harrison’s hoodie, he shuffled to the living room and tried to keep his head held high.

The illusion of confidence.

His gaze landed on Max first, whose eyes went wide as they took in his state. His attempt at cleaning himself up didn’t seem to help, judging by the way his best friend was frowning.

“Jetty, come sit.”

Two more pairs of eyes shifted in his direction, and Jett spotted Ryan and Jason standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake and the colourful sunset.

Ryan had that look on his face, the serious one he always wore when he was ready to start a fight on the ice. Jett saw it and panicked, hurrying over to the couch to sit beside Max.

“Hey, buddy.” Max touched their shoulders together, and Jett refused to flinch from the pain. “How was your nap?”

“Warm,” Jett replied without thinking, but then he added, “It was great.”

Max’s mouth slid into a frown, and he made a sound that suggested he wasn’t falling for Jett’s bullshit. “You know it’s okay to not be okay, right?”

Jett bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “It was just a stupid interview. It’s not like it was the end of the world.”

He could see his father in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, and heard the sizzling coming from the stove. He was cooking tacos, and the scent of spices and onions wafting through the house smelled amazing.

It was Jett’s favourite meal that his father made for him. No Mexican place could ever come close to the DIY kit sold at the grocery store that Robert Fraser had cooked every Friday night when he was a kid.

Tears started burning again, but at least Jett could use the excuse of onions to get away with it this time.

The couch sank next to him, and the smell of Ryan’s aftershave hit him with another wave of familiarity and safety.

“We got that W for you, Fraser.”

Jett steeled himself as he looked from Max to Ryan. “That’s awesome, Cap. I knew you could do it.”

His voice sounded dead. Fuck, he felt fucking dead.

“You didn’t seem to feel that way last night,” said Ryan. “Acting cool like we couldn’t get the job done without you.”

Jett flushed.

“But we could have sent Wolf out there all by himself for the last two periods and won,” Ryan continued, lips quirking into a grin.

“He was so pissed off that he put two pucks in the net—and Niko got three. Wolf even texted me twice to check on you, which is funny because before today, he kept conveniently losing my number.”

Jason laughed off to the side, and Jett tried his best to imitate him.

“The New York fans were pissed, but the guys on the Barbarian team took their ass-whooping with grace.”

All the times Jett had smiled, and now he couldn’t seem to remember how to. It felt so awkward, but he really wanted to try.

“I took a puck to the ribs too, if you’re wondering why I’m here,” said Ryan.

“Show him the bruise,” said Jason, shaking his head with a grimace. “It’s so nasty.”

Lifting his shirt with a smirk, Ryan showed off his blue and purple ribs. “I had a feeling they were broken, but I pushed through to the end of the game. Coach wanted me to come home for a medical check before he would clear me for the game today, so I brought Jason with me for a visit. ”

Jett knew his face must have shown how stressed he was, but Ryan shook his head.

“They’re just cracked,” Ryan assured him. “I’m playing tonight, and Niko is on a heater. We’re going to be fine.”

Ryan was trying to keep Jett from feeling guilty, but it wasn’t working. Despite his feelings, he appreciated the hell out of his captain.

“I’m proud of you guys,” said Jett. “You’re seriously the best teammates a guy could ask for.”

Ryan’s nose crinkled, and Jett didn’t miss the not-so-subtle glance he shot at Max over his head. He held out his closed hand for Jett to bump fists with, and that was a hundred times easier than trying to smile.

“Alright,” said Ryan, and Jett immediately went on the defensive at his tone. “Down to business because Adams told me to deliver the message.”

He really wasn’t going to like this.

“Management, your agent, and everyone in between have been coming up with a game plan because there’s already been some drama circling. You’re going to take a few days off to heal that shoulder—Danny will be stopping in daily to do stretches and make sure everything is in perfect condition.”

That was…fine so far.

“And I’m going to make a statement on your behalf to shut everyone up, so don’t fret about dealing with the media shitstorm because I got you.”

And that was not so fine. Jett didn’t understand what the big deal was. His brother killed people, so what? Why was that relevant to him?

“Why do they care?” Jett asked, pulling at the insides of his pockets. “Why the fuck does it matter?”

“Because there are still people out there who hate the fact that you’re one of the top players in the league,” said Ryan.

He put his hand on Jett’s thigh and squeezed it to keep him from shaking.

“Because the media can be bribed by managers from other teams to ask stupid questions that might throw a player off his game, increasing their team’s chances of winning.

And because sometimes people are assholes, and they’ll do anything to get their ratings up. ”