He was expecting an awkward smile from Townsend or a chuckle, but he was unprepared for the look of horror he received.
“I—” Townsend was looking from side to side, like he was hoping a secret door would suddenly appear and he could escape. “I can’t do that. He would kill me.”
Huh?
“He would kill you over a text?” Jett was calling bullshit. A text was just a text. “He was a little grumpy yesterday, but I don’t think he would resort to murder over a message.”
“A little?” Townsend hissed. “Fuck, I thought you were dead and buried on the property somewhere.”
Jett was offended. Killinger was bigger than him, but he was confident that he could take him in a fight.
“I’ll sign anything you want,” said Jett. “In exchange for one text.”
“Or I’ll tell him you said sorry for free and we can all move on.” Townsend was definitely about to run. The difference in personalities on and off the ice was dizzying. “Hell, I’ll get him to sign something for you if it will convince you to leave him alone.”
Tempting, but Jett wanted to talk to Killinger in person, and now that he had made up his mind, he wasn’t going to give in. He wanted to, but he couldn’t get the image of Killinger’s face before he drove away. Even though he had been in the accident that ruined his leg 5 years ago, he still had the look of a battered and beaten man.
Jett didn’t know how to help, but they were star players from the same hometown. If anyone could lend Killinger support, he wanted to make the offer.
“Dude, just give me his number,” said Jett. “If you don’t, I’ll follow you to his place because I feel like that’s where you’re running to.”
Townsend took a single step back. “I am not! Jesus, Fraser—you’re making me nervous here.”
“I’m not above getting on my knees and begging.”
Townsend made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, then he abruptly turned and walked away as fast as his long legs could carry him.
Jett waited for him to take the turn that would lead him to the back parking lot, and once he was sure that Townsend couldn’t see what he was doing, he bolted straight down the hall to where his car was parked out front.
If Townsend wanted to do this the hard way, then they would do this the hard way.
Harrison
The best thing about owning a lake house on 100 acres of private property was the quiet. It was the reason why Harrison asked his parents if he could live there after the accident. He needed somewhere he could renovate to accommodate when he was having bad days, and he needed to be able to disappear from the world.
This property had belonged to their family since the first dirt road began to stretch from Halifax to Yarmouth. They were old money in terms of small-town, Nova Scotian families. And while he had some money left over from his hockey days, he couldn’t afford to turn down his parents’ offers to care for him and pay for most of his expenses.
While they didn’t see or talk to each other to avoid the clusterfuck of pain and misery that accompanied their conversations, he was still their only remaining son, and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. They were never a close family to begin with. Too much of his parents’ time had been spent on anything but their kids, which made it difficult for them to deal with emotions when they popped up.
So, he took their historical lake house cabin and turned it into a five-bedroom, five-bathroom home. Why five bedrooms? Harrison had no fucking idea. The original plan had been to fill them with different hobbies he thought he would pick up now that hockey wasn’t his life, but other than Sudoku and the occasional book, he had yet to find anything worth doing with his time.
He didn’t even want to think about the warehouse on the property, which included a gym and rehabilitation area where he had done most of his recovery. His father had even made a custom area that could be turned into a full-sized rink during the summer so that he had somewhere to practice when his leg healed, but that was made before they found out that his career was over.
His father had been hopeful until the end, and now the warehouse’s only purpose was to torment him. That’s why he spent thesummer after his parents moved away building a shitty wall to hide most of it from view.
Harrison wasn’t a handy person, but he had learned quickly.
Some locals tried to be neighbourly and check in once he was alone, and the nurses, doctors and relatives stopped visiting. That lasted only until Harrison installed cameras at the beginning of the road and posted private property signs.
He appreciated the gesture, but would rather wallow in his misery and not talk to anyone.
He still got notifications on his phone from the cameras every time Arlo stopped by to visit, which was almost every day when it wasn’t hockey season. Still, he was a paranoid person, so he checked every time because there was no way he was going to be caught off guard by any man, woman or child.
When his camera alerted his phone that afternoon, he absentmindedly looked to make sure it was Arlo, and confirmed it before going back to play his mobile game. When the alert popped up again, he raised an eyebrow and rechecked the camera.
No fucking way. There was another car driving down the road.
Harrison immediately called Arlo, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor until his stupid cousin picked up.
