Harrison needed a drink. Maybe he would break his rule and have two drinks.
He went back into the house and slammed the door behind him, ignoring the second crack that appeared in the glass.
Hewould fix it later, after he figured out how to get over Fraser’s words, and erase every moment of their two encounters from his memories.
Jett
Mike gave him shit the second he returned to the rink. Jett had forgotten about going for drinks after the game, and now he had to make an excuse for why he left.
“Something came up,” said Jett, ducking his head guiltily when Mike glared at him. They were sitting in his car in front of the rink, and people were wandering around. He didn’t want Mike to get dramatic like he always did and make a scene, but Jett knew it had been a dick move to abandon him.
He thought following Townsend was a good idea in the heat of the moment, but after pissing Killinger off and then goading him like he did, he wondered if it would be smarter to fly back to Toronto tonight.
What a mess. He finally got to talk to Harrison Killinger, and he not only stalked Townsend like a creep—he trespassed on private property. To make it worse, he then taunted his so-called hero by bragging about stealing the move he was known for.
The last nail in the coffin? He had no idea how to pull off the Killinger. He tried it once or twice, but it wasn’t his style, and he fucked it up every time. But Jett couldn’t stop running his mouth, and before he knew it, he was challenging Killinger to watch him show it off.
Jett didn’t understand why he did it, but hearing Killinger talk like he wasn’t part of hockey anymore felt so twisted and wrong that hehadto say something. Jett hadn’t believed his words for a second, not when everything about Killinger’s posture screamed that he was lying.
And so, he had challenged him in the hopes that he would show up. For what reason, Jett didn’t know. He never thought things through when he was rambling. But every hockey player loved a challenge, and Jett had poked Killinger hard, wanting him to come to the rink and…what? Be inspired?
The urge to punch himself in the face was strong.
He had read the stories and wasn’t stupid; Killinger would never skate professionally anymore. The injury to his leg was career-ending, and that was only the physical injuries he had to recover from.
But when you play hockey, youarehockey. Jett didn’t know Killinger, but he felt like he couldn’t leave a broken man standing on that porch without trying to help.
Fuck, who was he kidding? Jett was a stranger to Killinger. He was nobody in Killinger’s life and had no right to interfere in his business like that.
He gripped the steering wheel until his fingers ached, trying to distract himself from wanting to smash his head on it in an anxious fit.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“We’re still going out,” said Mike, and his tone left no room for arguments. “You owe me big time now.”
They went to Wolfville and found a sports bar near the university. A handful of the hockey teammates were gathered at a corner booth, minus Arlo. Jett slid in next to Mike, ordering a cocktail from the waitress who approached, and handing her a $20 bill.
When he turned, he saw Mike’s eyes on him. “What do you want?” Jett asked. “I owe you a drink.”
Mike plucked Jett’s wallet out of his hand and handed the waitress his Visa card. “Open a tab, sweetheart. We’re going to be here a while.”
Jett nodded at the waitress and gave an apologetic smile as she awkwardly took his card and handed the wallet back to Jett.
“So, you guys went to high school together?” asked Carmichael, the goalie.
Jett opened his mouth to answer, but Mike stretched out and threw a casual arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a head noogie.
“I taught this fucker everything he knows. You should have seen him at thirteen, all elbows and knees. Couldn’t figure out which skate to tie first.”
“Is there a right skate to start with?” asked Theriault, a D-Man.
“Ugh, blasphemy,” grumbled another man. Jett thought he might have been a defenseman on the third line. “You know you have to start with the right one. Messes up the whole game if you don’t.”
“You must have a ton of groupies with those underwear photoshoots you’ve done,” said Theriault.
“You’d know, wouldn’t you, Theriault?” Mike guffawed loudly, and Jett closed his eyes tight and reopened them. “Bet you’re jerking off to his pictures all the time. But yeah, Jett is getting so much pussy from all the advertising it’s insane. The amount of teen girls crying for his autograph was ridiculous.”
Jett wasnotgetting any pussy since he was as gay as gay could get. Plus, the idea of teen girls obsessing over him shot a chill down his spine.
