Page 82 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

Equivalent exchange and all.

“No flirting at the dinner table,” Robert said, slapping a cutting board down in front of Jett, followed by two huge onions. “Save your energy for cutting, Jetty-boy.”

Robert ruffled his son’s golden curls. “I know you’re hopeless when it comes to food, but cutting onions isn’t cooking, son.”

While he coughed, Jett chuckled and stuck his tongue out.

“Is something going on with you boys?” Robert asked, his gaze lingering on Jett’s reddening face. “Do you need me to turn the Christmas music up loud and give you a second alone in Jett’s room?”

Jett smacked the table, and one of the onions went tumbling to the floor. “Dad!”

“ Well! ” Robert said just as loudly. “I can’t tell if you want to punch him or kiss him, and if you ask me, I’d rather not be a witness to either. I like Harrison, but I can’t promise my knife won’t slip if I see him slobbering all over my kid—”

“ Ohmygod !”

Harrison was still choking on his eggnog when Jett covered his face with his hands and melted under the table out of sight .

Robert blinked at the spot his adult son had just vanished from and turned to Harrison. “Can you cut the onions? I hate to ask since you’re a guest, but Jett seems too flustered right now.”

Harrison smacked his chest, throat spasming as he gave a sharp nod. “Leave it to me.”

He couldn’t quite duck out of the way when Robert ruffled his hair like he did Jett’s, mussing up his bun.

Jett didn’t reappear until Harrison had finished with the onions and was working on the garlic. His ears were still pink, but he had his bratty look back in place while he brooded in his chair, dimming the brightness of the Christmas decorations around them.

“Just you wait until tonight,” Jett whispered, shooting glances at Robert’s back to make sure he wasn’t listening.

He wasn’t. Robert was singing very off-key to Frosty the Snowman, adding his own lyrics that made no sense at all.

“Why are you mad at me?” Harrison whispered back, smirking. “I wasn’t making fun of you. Robert was.”

“That’s Dad to you, Harrison,” Robert said, making them both flinch.

Damn. He had the ears of a fucking cat.

Jett put on a mask of cheerfulness that could have fooled a psychic. It almost fooled Harrison too, but he didn’t trust the glint in those golden-brown eyes.

At the Fraser house, Christmas dinner was a collective effort. Harrison refused to sit and do nothing as the famous lasagna was prepared, so he helped out where he could by stirring sauce, cooking the veggies and sausage, and making more eggnog.

It was different from what he was used to with his family, but Christmas at the Killinger household was like an event, and not a very fun one at that. There were a lot of formal clothes, chores and sitting out of sight and mind while the adults mingled and enjoyed each other’s company.

The decorations were always silver and blue, or another bland colour. There was no Christmas music playing on the radio while the hosts talked about stupid shit, just a hired pianist or CD with pre-approved songs .

And because Harrison had to work for every drop of affection and praise from his parents, he never got any gifts either. Presents were for Luca, who had all the time in the world to plan his adult life while in school.

Luca, unlike Harrison, would do well academically, so he could take over the family business after their father.

It was Harrison’s fault for excelling at hockey instead of business and politics.

Harrison didn’t need presents because he would eventually be rich enough to buy whatever he wanted, so why waste the effort on him?

He never blamed Luca for their different upbringings, because despite what his parents thought of him, he had adored Luca since the first day they brought him home from the hospital.

Luca caught on to the Christmas shortcomings at an early age and always made a point of sharing his chocolates and toys when he could get away with it. And that, among so many other reasons, was why Harrison loved him.

He had always thought of himself as lucky for what he had because his parents made a point of reminding him, especially around Christmas.

He never used to think of Christmas with his family as lacking until he spent five minutes in Robert’s house, dodging the reindeer antlers and Santa hats aimed for his head, and wincing at the volume of the colours and music.

It was then that it hit him, the fucking magic of Christmas that he’d always heard others raving about. It wasn’t literal magic, like a fat man climbing down a chimney or the thump of hooves on the roof at midnight; it was this .

It was a warm fire, and the smell of cookies and gingerbread.

It was multicoloured lights on the tree, twinkling along to a Christmas carol.

It was the sound of laughter and off-key singing that was so embarrassing, it left you red-faced.

It was the spicy taste of eggnog, and the cozy company of people you truly enjoyed being around.

The Fraser household came with no pianist or catering.

It had one bathroom that everyone had to share, and outdated wallpaper.

Every Christmas decoration and ornament had a story behind it, sometimes a whole history, because it had been passed down through generations.

Stockings were hanging on the fireplace with the names of pets that died fifteen years ago, and were still honoured with a bag of treats or a toy .

There were no stuffy clothes or agitated parents, or late-night pizza shared between brothers who were left on their own far too often. The homes were opposite in every way, and even though one had been poor and the other rich, it was obvious which one had more wealth.

“What are you smiling about?” Jett asked, plopping himself beside Harrison on the saggy couch. He wasn’t acting like a brat anymore. The eggnog and whiskey had brightened his mood as the hours passed by.

“Nothing really,” said Harrison. “I was thinking of how I like your version of Christmas better.”

Jett pressed his lips into a thin line, and Harrison could tell he was debating on asking for more details, but they were interrupted by Robert bringing their lasagna. They were eating in the living room because the kitchen table wasn’t for dinners, it was just extra space for meal prep.

“This is my best one yet,” Robert said, grinning. His nose and cheeks were red from the warmth of the alcohol, and he looked like he was on the verge of breaking into a jig of excitement.

“You say that every year,” Jett teased, blowing on his steaming food to cool it. “It’s been perfect since I was a kid, so stop trying to make it better.”

Robert left to get a serving for himself from the kitchen table and returned just as fast as he had disappeared. He sat in his recliner and kicked the footrest up, chuckling and grabbing the remote. “Do you boys want to check and see where Santa is?”

Harrison had no idea what Robert was talking about, so he watched silently as he found a channel with a Santa Tracker displaying graphics on the screen, pinpointing the sleigh somewhere in India.

What. The. Fuck.

The shock must have shown on his face because Jett sucked in a sharp breath, choking on a piece of sausage that went down the wrong way.

“Have you never seen this before, son?” Robert gestured to the TV, his face turning ruddier by the second. “How did your parents convince you and your brother to go to bed?”

Convince them to go to bed? Did other kids usually get a choice?

“They would tell us to go to bed,” Harrison said awkwardly. “There was no convincing involved. ”

Jett finally stopped choking, but he was wheezing when he spoke. “Your parents didn’t let you stay up late enough to see Santa reach America?”

“Reach America?” Harrison felt like he was living in an alternate reality where only chaos existed. “Jett, Santa isn’t real .”

Jett’s eyes widened, and he jerked away from him, which was hard to do when the couch was so saggy. “ What? ” His tone was one of shock as he looked at Robert in horror. “When were you going to tell me this ?”

Robert hooted with laughter, smacking his thigh. “I was waiting until you were older—”

Jett burst into laughter, bending over so far that his face almost ended up in his lasagna. He stopped to look at Harrison, but then started laughing again uncontrollably.

Harrison was about to start opening windows in case there was a CO2 leak somewhere that was causing the hysteria in the Fraser men—maybe check the paint for lead?—but Jett grabbed his arm and held him in place.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes while Robert did the same. “We’re joking—you were just so fucking serious I couldn’t help myself. I’m so sorry, Harrison. I swear that I don’t believe in Santa, and we know the tracker isn’t real.”

Harrison released the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. Jett and Robert were still borderline crying, but now that he knew they were joking, he couldn’t help but join them.

“Jesus Christ, Jett.” Harrison shook his head because he couldn’t believe how good they got him. “I was about ready to call an ambulance. You were both convincing as hell.”

“We had to lighten the mood after you depressed us with your anti-Christmas storm cloud,” said Robert. “But I’m not surprised your Christmas was abnormal since your mother was a frigid bitch on a good day.”

“Dad!”

Now Harrison was the one laughing. That was one way to describe his mother.

“I wouldn’t say it unless it were true,” Robert continued, ignoring his son’s outburst. “The Killingers only started donating to Christmas Daddies and toy drives once they realized their son was becoming famous, and they would be frowned at for not giving to charity.”

Harrison gave an agreeable nod. “I can confirm that she hated giving handouts to freeloaders, as she called them.”

“Oh, fuck her.” Jett stabbed his fork into his food. “Never mind, call her a bitch all you want.”

“We’re not going to waste any more time on a Grinch like her during Christmas.” Robert switched the channel until he found a Christmas movie for them to watch. “Let’s give poor Harrison his first taste of a normal Christmas so he can start healing from his childhood.”

Harrison turned his attention back to his food. Robert’s words were making him feel warmer than the eggnog had, and even though he was so unbelievably happy, he felt tears stinging his eyes.

“I’m going to finish my delicious food and my bottle of whiskey before I go to bed,” Robert said, bouncing his foot along to the music playing on the TV.

“And then I’m going to make sure my earplugs are in tight before I fall asleep, so you two don’t keep me up all night.

The walls are thin in this house, Jetty-boy. ”

“ Please. Stop .” Jett was turning the same colour as his red Santa hat. “One more comment about my sex life and I’ll throw myself into the fireplace.”

“Well, don’t do that.” Robert grinned at his son, eyes sparkling. “That thing is an antique. You’ll ruin all the restoration work I put into it.”

Harrison ate his savoury, mouth-watering lasagna in silence while Jett seethed beside him. He had nothing to add to this conversation. Nothing at all.

“Are you going to defend my honour, Harrison?”

Nothing. At. All.

Robert laughed, and Harrison shoved another spoonful of pasta and sauce into his mouth to hide his own.

He was going to pay for that later.