“Hello?”
“Who the hell are you bringing here?” Harrison hissed.
Arlo paused for so long that Harrison swore he could catch a hint of the burning smell of his brain cells being overworked.
“I’m not bringing anyone with me. It’s just me.”
He shoved his finger into the bridge of his nose. “Then who the fuck is behind you, Arlo?”
There was another pause and then a panicked, “Oh shit!”
“Stop right now and turn around,” Harrison commanded. “Don’t you dare let whoever it is near the house.”
“I can’t!” Arlo said in a panic. “There’s nowhere to turn around. I didn’t think he would actually follow me!”
“You didn’t thinkwhowould follow you, dumbass?”
“Holy fuck, what if it’s not even him? What some random person is tailing me right now?”
“Serial stalking murderer or me, it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m going to kill you, Arlo.”
The sound of Arlo’s piece of shit car squealing as it sped up made him cringe, but for once, he hoped it broke down and gave him a chance to do something, like find the shotgun his dad had hidden.
Arlo wasn’t making any sense anymore. He hadn’t hung up the phone, and Harrison had to listen to a chorus of curses come through the line, some of his words foul enough to make Harrison think that the dumbass was truly scared.
“Dude, I’m pulling up. Please come help me.”
Harrison disconnected and took a deep breath. Everything was okay. There was not going to be a double homicide on his property today.
The sound of a dirt road being kicked up reached his ears, and Harrison sighed. He threw his phone on the couch and went to the door, angrily shoving his boots on before stepping onto the porch.
He watched as Arlo wrenched his car to a stop and pulled a hockey stick from his backseat, brandishing it like a weapon as he stepped out and put himself between the approaching car and the porch.
“The fuck you doing?” Harrison said to Arlo, because really, what the fuck did he think a hockey stick was going to do in this situation?
All of Arlo’s theories about murderers went out the window when Harrison caught sight of who was in the unknown car, and in his opinion, he would have preferred the axe murderer over Jett Fraser.
Like literal sunshine and happiness, Nova Scotia’s golden boy exited the car, waving excitedly at Harrison like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing to happen in his entire life.
“Killinger! Iknewhe was running to you. I’m so sorry to drop in uninvited.”
“Then leave,” said Harrison.
Fraser’s smile didn’t falter. Fuck, he was so cheerful and annoying. Who the hell was that damn happy?
“Good to see you again, Townsend,” Fraser said as he closed his car door and strode to where Arlo was standing. “But I think it’s too warm to practice on the lake.”
Arlo’s brain had to be offline because he hadn’t moved or said anything since Fraser popped his golden head out of the car.
Fraser had his hands in his pockets as he looked around at the house, then to the open garage and toward the lake before letting out a low whistle. “It sure is nice and private back here in the woods.”
“It usually is,” said Harrison in a dead tone. “Not today.”
Now Fraser had the gall to look embarrassed.
“Right. In my defence, I told Townsend I would follow him if he didn’t give me your number.”
“I thought you were fucking joking,” Arlo said, squaring his shoulders. “NHL star or not, what the fuck, Fraser?”
