Page 72 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)
And there had been a frenzy.
Reporters attacked them at every opportunity. Some tried to sneak past security to get near the locker room, while others waited for the chance when they were getting on and off their bus. Security did a good job of keeping them at arm’s reach, but they couldn’t stop them from shouting questions.
All the speculation and drama over Jett Fraser’s return was ridiculous. Fans were blowing up social media, and every host on every channel and podcast had something to say about whether Jett was playing in the game against Florida or not.
When Jett spent practice with the team in Florida that morning, everyone lost their minds.
Harrison hated this part of hockey. He hated the politics and the mind-numbing conversations about personal shit that no one needed to know.
He hated the witch hunts that often took a severe toll on a player’s mental health.
He hated seeing the joy drain from Jett’s expression when he saw something on TV or heard staff gossiping too loudly.
He wasn’t well. Jett was hiding it masterfully, but Harrison knew better. His boyfriend tended to panic and do things that made him uncomfortable—like randomly waking up one morning and deciding to come to practice.
Jett wasn’t hiding in his bedroom anymore or avoiding his father at home, but he was still withdrawn when things went quiet.
He also wasn’t partaking in the banter from their chat group, which Harrison wasn’t pushing because he understood that the guys could be a lot, but he hoped things would change soon.
“I’m not a great judge of social situations, but he looks good,” said Adams, gesturing toward Jett.
Jett was cackling at something Poers had said about the Florida team’s goalie while he strapped his gear on. They were about to go out for warm-ups.
“His shoulder is still tender, but he’s in the zone,” said Harrison. That hit to the boards almost snapped Jett’s collarbone, so he was lucky it was only two weeks of rest and rehabilitation. “We’ll see how he is during and after the game, and I’ll give you my opinion once we’re back in Toronto.”
Adams nodded curtly. He just needed someone trustworthy to handle the human and social aspects for him, because hockey players were rough around the edges, and not always straightforward in conversations.
“This will all settle down once he’s played a few games,” Adams said, fidgeting with his notebook that he always carried around. “By the time you return from Christmas break, everyone will be focused on other things like the All-Stars Competition and locking in a spot for the playoffs.”
He wasn’t wrong. Christmas always felt like a reset, and hopefully by then, someone else would get caught in a scandal, so Jett could fade into the background.
“Jett will be in the spotlight no matter what we do. He’s in the running for the Hart Memorial Trophy again this year.
” Adams stated it as a fact. “He had a slow start, but he’s been picking up points rapidly.
By the time we hit March, he’ll be working his way to being a top-five player, and the tide will switch in our favour.
No one will want to listen to stories that badmouth their hero, so we just have to hold on until then. ”
“Agreed.”
It was two minutes until warm-up. Adams clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention, and the room went almost quiet. “Warm up and mind your manners—I don’t want to see anyone towing the red line. Save the fights for when the clock is running, gentlemen.”
There were jeers and laughter in response. All the guys knew the comment was directed at Wolf and Bracken, and maybe Bennet Ross, who had a rivalry with the Florida captain.
They stood and lined up in the hall, and Harrison held a hand out for fist bumps as they passed by. Except for Jett, who yanked him into a chaste kiss and scurried from the room before Harrison could scold him, laughing when Bracken cat called and slapped Jett on the ass.
Harrison sighed at how ridiculous they were being and followed everyone out, adjusting his wrist cuffs and straightening his dress shirt so he was presentable.
The cheers of the Florida crowd were deafening.
These fans were hardcore and thirsty for a cup after coming close the previous season.
The Barracudas put on a huge spectacle as they hit the ice, but he could feel the attention on the Sunbursts as everyone waited patiently for them to join the home team.
Jett turned to give him a thumbs up and a sunny smile, and then he was through the gate, and the cheering from the crowd became a roar. There was a lot of blue in the stands, and it was obvious that they were there to show their support for their star player.
Harrison caught a glimpse of Jett’s red face as he did a loop with the puck, and found himself smiling.
He was about to join Adams and the rest of the staff behind the bench when a cluster of children wearing Sunbursts jerseys started calling out to him, waving their hands wildly to get his attention.
“Killinger! Sign our shirts, please !”
“Twenty-five! So cool— please!”
One of the female staff ran over to him with a Sharpie, and Harrison could see no reason to say no. He spent ten minutes of warm-up laughing as the boys whipped off their jerseys to pass to him, jumping up and down excitedly and babbling about how cool he was.
Harrison took the compliments, and he made sure to sign the jerseys of two little girls who could not follow the boy’s example of undressing.
He didn’t have sticks to hand out, but he made sure that each of them got a puck and a fist bump from him, and then he was free to get behind the bench to join Adams.
He caught Jett’s dad watching him from his seat behind the Sunburst bench, his face red and eyebrows waggling.
Harrison ducked his head, refusing to acknowledge how warm his cheeks felt after seeing Robert’s knowing gaze on him. The man was yelling something, but thankfully, the music and crowd were too loud for him to hear.
He turned his attention to the ice where Jett was stretching beside Bracken. The Sunburst guys were avoiding the red line just as Adams had asked, but it didn’t stop Florida from provoking on their side, blades crossing red paint tauntingly.
The worst instigator was their captain, Josh Campanelli, who was looking for a fight, judging by the glare he was giving Jett. Loic Beauregarde, a giant, red-haired beast of a D-man, was eyeing his captain with a scowl, but it was hard to decipher what it meant.
The Barracudas liked to paint a picture of being a perfect team that had the same vibe as a frat house pool party. Their social media agent posted thousands of pictures from the gatherings their players hosted, which were all extravagant and over-the-top.
Harrison found them cringy as hell, but their fuckboy behaviour drew a huge group of loyal fans who gladly looked past the toxicity. Even their coach boasting about their team having no gay players had been overlooked, and was surprisingly welcomed.
The coach got fired, of course, but Harrison was sure the sentiments lingered around every aspect of the team. It was obvious in the way their captain was glaring at Jett, and he wasn’t the only one.
Jett paid no attention to them. He paused his stretching to take easy shots at Powers so he could warm up, his golden-brown eyes damn near shinning with happiness.
When they approached the last minute, Jett skated to the bench with a cheeky grin on his face, waving at his dad behind the glass.
“Why do you look so hot?” Jett asked over the thrumming beat of the music.
“Keep it professional, Fraser. ”
Harrison would be lying if he said the flirting wasn’t doing anything for him, but they were at work, and every camera in the arena was pointed in their direction.
And to prove his point, a group of girls in the nosebleed seats started hollering with excitement when they spotted how close he and Jett were.
“Come give me a pep talk, Coach,” Jett said, winking as he skated away. The clock had made it to zero, so it was back to the locker room until puck drop.
“It’s not going to be much of a pep talk,” Harrison said into the room of chatting men.
They went quiet when they heard him talking, determined eyes locking onto him.
“This is what we’ve been practicing for.
We know they’re going to get physical, so make sure you take the hits well.
Bracken is one pulled muscle away from a 2–4-week vacation, so keep your heads up. ”
“Why am I getting singled out?” Bracken scowled, looking to his teammates for support, but they all turned away and laughed.
“Because you’re fucking old,” said Wolf, slapping him on the shoulder. “I was going to bring you crutches to use instead of hockey stick two seasons ago until Powers showed up and gave you reason to live again.”
Bracken punched his arm. “Fuck you.”
“Florida is soft from spending too much time in the sun,” Harrison said, swiftly quieting the room into a hush. If he could do anything to help Jett win this game, it was getting this team on target and ready to kick some ass.
“They spend too much time partying and enjoying the status of being in the NHL, when they’re a subpar team at best.”
There was a round of agreement, and Harrison continued.
“But you’re the goddamn Sunbursts. You spend your Torontonian winters chest deep in slush, and your summers with your balls stuck to your legs.
You sweat and bleed and fight for this team in the hardest fucking city on this continent to play hockey in.
Our fans? Brutal. But our team? We can fucking do this.
It doesn’t matter if you were born in Canada or if this is just where you ended up, but we embrace everyone who makes hockey their game.
Let’s go out there and teach those fuckers that while they’ve been sitting by the pool sipping cocktails and posting on TikTok, we’ve been playing fucking hockey. Now, let’s go get us a win. ”
Cheers erupted, and Adams nodded his head in thanks. He greatly appreciated Harrison taking over the speeches before games because even if he didn’t say much, he admitted that rambling about statistics wasn’t exactly inspiring.
Jett trotted over to them, and Harrison’s attention shifted to gorgeous golden eyes and blond curls. “You good to go?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jett was practically dancing on his blades. He looked more like himself than he had in weeks. “I don’t even care what the outcome is. I just want to get out there and play.”
They were about to line up. The guys were headed to the hallway, but when they saw Jett and Harrison standing close, a chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” went up.
Jett turned the colour of a tomato, already eyeing the hallway like he was about to run. Harrison huffed a laugh and quickly kissed his warm cheek, gaining another round of cheers.
“No!” Wolf shouted over the loud voices. “It has to be like the one on TV for it to work.”
“I’m not turning our kiss into a game ritual!” Jett yelled back, and then he took off into the hallway to follow Bracken out.
“But we won that game!”
Wolf tried to catch him, his voice echoing in the hall. “It worked then, so it should work now! Get back here!”
Harrison and Adams followed the team, hanging back as the guys bumped into each other to get fired up, and Jett wielded his lumber at Wolf like he was trying to fight him.
“They’re happy to have Fraser back,” Adam mused.
“So am I,” said Harrison.