Page 67 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)
All his reasons made sense, but knowing it didn’t make him feel any better.
“It’s not like you can say any of that,” Jett said bitterly. “What’s the point in having a press conference if we can’t address the issue?”
Jett was staring at his feet, but he could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice when he spoke. “We follow the Canadian way and kill them with kindness. We’ll be so fucking nice they won’t even realize we’re telling them off right to their faces.”
Jett’s smile was small, but it was there.
“Are you boys ready to eat?” his dad called from the kitchen. “I hope I made enough…”
Fuck, he forgot about his dad. Jett had sat on the couch without bothering to go over and greet him, and now he felt…awkward. He never felt awkward with his dad, but this was a weird situation that they both had to navigate.
“I actually need to get things ready for the press conference, and Jace and I need to be on a plane to Boston shortly,” said Ryan. “I think we’ll get out of your hair, Mr. Fraser.”
His father made a disgruntled sound. “At least make a few tacos for you and your friend before you leave, Mr. Sunburst Captain.”
“Why am I just the friend instead of being Mr. Sunburst Goalie?” Jason said from the direction of the window. “I want a cool title too.”
“Titles are for grown-ups,” said Max. “You still have one more growth spurt to get through.”
Jett didn’t know if the joking was better or worse for his fucked-up brain. He kept trying to lift his head and join the conversation, but he felt so heavy. Talking felt like a momentous hill that he couldn’t overcome.
He stared at his socks as people moved around him. Jett was aware of Jason’s hug, Ryan’s words of encouragement, and Max’s kisses on his cheeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to react.
Time stopped working between the point of the trio’s departure and the moment when his father’s face appeared when he knelt in front of him.
“Hey, Jetty-boy. Care to hug your old man? ”
Jett’s breath wrenched painfully inside of his lungs, making him feel like he was suffocating. He slid off the couch into his father’s arms, wrapping his body around him like he sometimes did with Harrison.
Robert lost his balance and fell over, but he was too busy brushing Jett’s hair and comforting him to care.
“That was such bullshit,” said his dad. “What a bunch of bastards.”
The tears were back, and shame burned his insides. He was a grown man clinging to his father like a child. It felt so embarrassing, but he needed this damn hug.
“I’m sorry, Dad—”
“Please don’t be, Jett.” Robert hugged him hard and then let him go, separating them enough so he could meet Jett’s eyes. “You’re as stubborn as me, so I know you’re not going to believe me when I say this, but I’m doing it anyway. You have nothing to be sorry for. Not a goddamn thing.”
“That’s impossible,” said Jett, sniffling. “I have to take some responsibility because Chase was my brother. I can’t wipe my hands of this and leave it for you to carry all on your own.”
Robert groaned and stiffly got back to his feet, bringing Jett along with him. “And why can’t I?”
Jett blinked. “What?”
“Why can’t I carry the weight of Chase’s sins on my own? Don’t tell me we’ve reached the point in our lives where you start seeing me as a weak, old man who needs taking care of.”
Jett lowered his head and bit his lip. He could never think of his dad in that way—he would always be strong enough to lift a mountain in his eyes.
“My knees may creak and crack when I go up the stairs,” said Robert, letting out a laughing shrug.
“But my shoulders are still sturdy enough to carry both of our problems, Jetty. You were a child, son. And in some ways, you always will be to me. So, you need to stop wallowing in this and put effort into moving past it.”
How the hell could he move past this? He felt like he had been fighting his whole late adolescent life trying to avoid being labelled as the hockey player with a mass shooter for a brother. It would have been easier if he hated Chase, but that was the worst part—he didn’t .
It was like he had separated the two versions of Chase in his mind, and now he didn’t know how to force them back together long enough to grieve what had been lost. And it wasn’t just Chase he had to grieve because it was all the other people that he gunned down in cold blood along with him.
Robert clapped his hands on Jett’s shoulders and gave them a firm shake. “You need to talk to someone, and I don’t mean your boyfriend, I mean a therapist.”
“I have a therapist,” said Jett. “Its name is tequila.”
His father’s brows furrowed. “You don’t even like alcohol, let alone shitty tequila. If you’re going to aspire to be a drunk, at least pick something manly like rum or whiskey.”
Jett cracked the tiniest of smiles. “Dad, alcohol doesn’t have a gender.”
“I don’t know about that.” Robert gave him one last shake and then gestured toward the kitchen. “Let’s get some food into you. We need to feed all those muscles of yours.”
Nodding, Jett opened his mouth to reply, but Harrison chose that moment to come barreling out of their room in the most dramatic way possible. He barely had time to open his arms before he was being crushed against Harrison’s firm chest and squeezed until he lost all his oxygen.
“Fuck—Jett, what the hell? Why did you leave me?”
The side of Jett’s face was plastered to Harrison’s bare chest, but he got an uninterrupted view of his father’s lopsided grin as his gaze flickered between them.
“He left your room, son. He didn’t go to war, for Christ’s sake.”
Harrison’s eyes glanced at his dad, but they immediately snapped back to Jett as he took his face into his hands, searching him for signs of distress.
“I’m not okay,” said Jett, because he couldn’t lie to Harrison. “I’m figuring things out.”
That was all Harrison needed. His posture relaxed, and he let go of him, stepping away to give them both room to breathe. Jett knew that Harrison wouldn’t let go of him at all if he had the choice, but his dad was nearby, and they needed to eat .
Harrison looked down at himself, as if noticing for the first time that he was only wearing boxers. “I’m going to get dressed.”
Jett had never seen the man look so rumpled and lost. If the circumstances had been different, he would have teased Harrison about how adorable he was acting.
But instead of teasing him, Jett let himself fall back onto the couch and put his head in his hands. Maybe hunger could wait another day—he would rather go back to bed.
“Jett. Food.”
He might be able to get away with it if it were Harrison, but not his dad. Never his dad.
Sighing, Jett stood and went to the kitchen, trying his best to feel normal again.