Page 88 of Back in the Game (Pride in the Game #1)

What was the emergency?

Well, his ex-friend was having a mental breakdown, and he tried to rape him and kill him with an axe, and now he was chasing his injured boyfriend through the wilderness in a snowstorm.

Address?

Stay inside and lock the doors. Help will be there soon.

No dice, Jett wasn’t going to let Mike lay a hand on Harrison. He would shoot him before that happened.

Jett had ended the call, shoved his boots on, and sprinted out the door to search for any sign of movement in the storm. The wind wasn’t blowing, but the snow was still coming down hard enough to turn everything around him white.

He thought he might never see them, but then he heard Mike’s voice in the direction of the lake, and he knew exactly where they were.

Shotgun in hand, Jett stormed after them. He was prepared to do what needed to be done—that included blowing Mike’s goddamn head off.

The air was frigid, and Jett was only wearing a sweater, but he didn’t feel the cold. His eyes were focused on the two figures ahead, where they stood near the center of the lake.

There was a bone-chilling echo of ice cracking under his feet, and he remembered the comment Harrison had made about the lake not being safe to walk on yet .

He pumped his legs faster, and the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth. He was so close he could hear the voices clearly in the distance.

Harrison only needed to hold on for a little longer, and he would be there. He could save them, he could—

A crack as loud as a bomb made the ice under his feet shudder. Jett heard Mike’s yelp of fear, and then a splash when he fell through the ice.

But where was Harrison?

Had he fallen in too?

Ice was crackling under him, but Jett didn’t stop because he would never forgive himself if Harrison died like this. Not like this . Not cold and alone, drowning in darkness under the ice.

He slipped, nearly falling into the hole created by the men who fell through it. Jett frantically searched the area, but there was no sign of Mike or Harrison.

He was about to dive in after them when the snow suddenly lifted, and Jett caught sight of a hand gripping the edge of the ice.

Gasping, he crawled around the opening as carefully as he could while still moving quickly. He didn’t want to risk breaking the ice and knocking that hand off.

He didn’t know if it was Harrison or Mike, but if any god owed him anything, it would be Harrison’s .

Jett seized the wrist under the water, cringing at how cold it was. He knew he didn’t have time, so he started pulling with everything he had, praying the ice he was kneeling on was strong enough to hold him and another body.

His arms were sliced open on the sharp edges of the ice, but the second he saw a head with long black hair, strength that he’d never known before filled him from head to toe.

He pulled Harrison out of the water, rolling them over again and again until they were a comfortable distance away from the opening.

Jett had to leave the gun behind, but it was a risk he had to take. Harrison needed him. He wasn’t breathing, and his skin was tinged blue like a corpse. He tried to find his pulse, but it either wasn’t there or was too slow to detect.

Harrison did have a pulse .

“Shit!” Jett cried, immediately leaning over him, clamping Harrison’s nose shut and pressing their mouths together to breathe air into his lungs. He started compressions, pumping Harrison’s chest hard and fast—just like he’d been taught in first aid.

When he felt a rib snap, he sobbed before ducking down to breathe for him again.

“Please,” he begged, unsure of who he was asking. “Please don’t—I can’t.”

Harrison’s body was jerking lifelessly with the compressions. Jett hated how peaceful he looked with his face slack and eyes closed. He didn’t want him to be peaceful and dead; he wanted him here .

“Harrison!”

Jett pushed more air into his lungs, and Harrison’s body seized , struggling to come back to life. Crying, Jett shoved him onto his side and hit his back, relief flooding him when water and bile spilled from his mouth.

His sobs kept catching in his throat, burning and choking, but he held himself together and kept smacking Harrison’s back until he was sure most of the water was out.

He was breathing, and his skin was pinkening up, but there was blood dripping onto the snow near his head at a rate Jett wasn’t comfortable with.

Harrison mumbled something, but Jett couldn’t make it out. He began rambling as he checked the back of Harrison’s head and saw the massive gash.

They needed to get back to the house now .

“I got you,” said Jett. The mysterious strength hadn’t left him yet, so he used it to sling Harrison’s arm over his shoulder and leveraged him onto his back.

The ice shifted loudly, but Jett was already on the move.

Harrison was over two hundred pounds of deadweight, but he barely felt it as he trudged off the lake and back to the house.

He didn’t know how long it would take for the ambulance to get there, but at this point, it felt like he’d called them hours ago.

His only thought was to get Harrison warm and dry. He clung to that goal as he exhausted his body to the point of breaking down. Rattling breaths against his neck spurred him on, because as long as Harrison was breathing, then Jett could endure anything.

With burning lungs and shaking legs, Jett stumbled onto firm ground. The snow was so much deeper in the cover of the trees, but he kept moving until he reached the porch steps.

“Almost there,” he told himself. “A few more steps and we’ll be warm.”

Harrison groaned into his neck and said nothing.

When he opened the door, heat smacked him in the face, making him cough. He staggered to the couch and laid Harrison down as gently as he could.

Jett’s mind was a mess of panic as he dragged the couch across the living room, his muscles trembling with both fear and relief.

He positioned it as close to the fireplace as he could, and then dropped to his knees beside Harrison.

His hands shook so badly he struggled to strip Harrison of his wet clothes, but once they were gone, and Jett had put more wood on the fire to bring it to life, he forced himself to stop and catch his breath.

He was alive. Harrison was alive.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. Fuck, why couldn’t he be dreaming right now?

Jett knew body heat would help, so he stripped and lay beside Harrison, touching him as much as he dared in fear of jostling broken ribs. He buried them in blankets and shivered from the cold temperature of Harrison’s skin.

“You’re an idiot,” Jett whispered, his lips brushing against clammy skin. “But you’re lucky you’re my idiot.”

A tremble went through Harrison’s body, followed by the harsh chattering of his teeth. His eyelids fluttered like they wanted to open, but they were still too heavy to lift. “Su-Sunshine? Where…?”

“I’m here.” Jett propped himself up so Harrison could see him, even if his eyes were squinted shut. “We’re safe. We made it home.”

There were sirens now—distant but growing louder. Help was coming, but Jett couldn’t help but feel dread. He curled his body around Harrison’s, knowing they would have to be separated soon.

“Home?” Harrison said faintly, like he was caught in a dream.

“Yeah,” said Jett, his voice catching on a hiccup. “You’re home. ”

When Harrison smiled, tears stung Jett’s eyes, forcing him to blink so they could fall. He touched his lips to Harrison’s pale ones and held him close, scared that this would be the last kiss they shared.

Black lashes fluttered, and Harrison’s eyelids dragged open, revealing dull but stunning blue.

“Are you…an angel?”

Jett dropped his head onto Harrison’s chest and let out a sniffling laugh. “God, this is a stupid time, but will you marry me?”

“Marry…you?” Those words seemed to revive the man. “I’m going to marry you, Jett Fraser, but this isn’t…our proposal.”

Red and blue lights flashed through the window, strobing over the walls. Jett yanked the blanket up to cover their heads, trying to shield Harrison from the chaos.

“Let me treat you the way you deserve,” said Harrison, and his words began to slur. “I’m gonna romance the hell out of you…so yes, but not like this.”

“You got plans?” Jett guessed.

Harrison’s chuckle was raspy. “ Big plans.”

Feet clamoured up the stairs, and then there was someone banging on the door.

Harrison jumped, and Jett shushed him.

“Wait for me,” said Harrison.

“Police, open up!”

“I will,” Jett promised. And then he ran to answer the door.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his waist as he stumbled to the entryway, his bare feet slipping slightly on the wet, wooden floor. His heart was still hammering from everything, and his shaking made him fumble with the lock, his fingers stiff from cold and panic.

The second the door swung open, the hallway filled with light and noise. Two uniformed officers stood on the porch, flanked by a pair of paramedics hauling gear behind them.

“Are you Jett Fraser?” one of the officers asked sharply, eyes quickly scanning his bare chest and the bruises already blooming there from Mike’s attack.

“Yes. He’s inside. He’s hypothermic, and—” Jett’s voice broke. He cleared it and stepped back. “He fell through the ice. He needs help now.”

The paramedics pushed past the cops without hesitation, medical bags thumping against their sides as they moved. Jett pointed them toward the couch by the fire and followed closely behind.

“He’s in shock,” Jett said breathlessly. “And—he’s been in a fight. His ribs might be broken. He’s—he’s bleeding from his head, and—”

“Sir, we need you to step back,” one of them said gently but firmly as he knelt beside Harrison to begin his assessment.

Harrison groaned at the commotion, trying to lift his head, but one medic pressed a gloved hand to his shoulder to keep him still. “Just relax, sir. You’re safe.”

Jett hovered nearby, watching as they checked Harrison’s vitals and clipped a pulse oximeter to his finger. When they turned Harrison onto his side to listen to his lungs, Jett saw the purpling bruises spreading across his ribs.

The sight made him dizzy.

“He… he fell into the water,” Jett explained, his voice cracking again. “The ice wasn’t strong enough to hold them both.”

The cop standing beside him made a note on a small pad. “Who was the other person?”

“Mike Smith,” Jett said. “He attacked Harrison. It wasn’t an accident—he had an axe.”

The officer looked up quickly at that. “An axe?”

Jett nodded. “You’ll probably find it on the lake with my shotgun. And footprints. There’s evidence out there.” He didn’t even realize he was shaking until the other officer draped a jacket over his shoulders.

“We’ll have a team sweep the property,” the officer said, and then added more quietly, “You saved his life.”

Jett didn’t feel like a hero. He felt cold, terrified, and seconds away from falling apart.

One of the medics waved to get their attention. “He’s stable, but he needs to be transported now. His body temperature is dangerously low. We’ll take him to Valley Regional—”

“I’m coming with him.”

The medic paused, then nodded. “If you’re family.”

Jett didn’t hesitate. “I’m his fiancée. ”

That was enough. They loaded Harrison onto a stretcher and wheeled him toward the waiting ambulance. Jett grabbed a hoodie and sweatpants from the back of a chair and yanked them on while one of the officers walked him through what would happen next.

He barely registered the questions. All that mattered was Harrison.

As he climbed into the back of the ambulance and took the seat beside the stretcher, Jett reached for Harrison’s hand and didn’t let go.