“I don’t own the team, I’m not head coach, and I’m not a doctor,” said Harrison, brow furrowed with frustration. “I’m not saying no to be an asshole, but I’m telling you because I don’t think Adams is going to let you back in. There are only two games before Christmas break, so why not wait until then?”
Jett didn’t know where the anger was coming from, but it was making him stupid. He felt like smacking his stick against the boards until it snapped.
Instead, he pushed away from Harrison until his back hit the boards. “Are you going to Florida?”
Harrison looked at the inches of ice separating them, and Jett sensed he was putting his boyfriend between a rock and a hard place.
“I should,” said Harrison. “But I won’t if you need me here.”
“I won’t need you because I’mgoing.” Jett had made up his mind, and he wasn’t going to let anyone talk him out of it, not even Coach. “I’ll practice the next two days and before the game on Monday. Tell Coach that he can decide if I’m playing before the puck drops, but I’m not staying in Toronto.”
Harrison fixed his eyes on him, pinning him in place with their intensity. This was uncharted territory for them because they didn’t know each other deeply enough to understand where boundaries and hard lines stood. This could end up being their first fight, but Jett wouldn’t back down.
“If I plead your case,” Harrison said slowly, putting a stern tone into each word. “I need something from you too.”
Give and take. An equal exchange.
Jett could do that. He nodded and waited for Harrison to continue.
“If you play on Monday, then sometime in the New Year, we’re going to therapy. Separately and together—because we need a strong foundation in this relationship, and I want to make it work.”
Jett was so taken aback that he flinched. Harrison wanted to…go to therapy?
“I know therapy isn’t macho or whatever the kids say these days,” Harrison continued when Jett didn’t say anything. “But if we’re going to get married, have kids and fourteen cats, we should make sure we’re not going to screw any of them up because we’re both a mess.”
Jett gave a barking laugh, cutting Harrison off. “Harrison, why do you always talk like you’re an old man? You’re only twenty-five, get your shit together.”
The flabbergasted look on Harrison’s face was breaking him down. He couldn’t hold in his chuckles.
“I was isolated for years,” Harrison grumbled. “Fuck me for not keeping up with the times.”
Jett was pretty suremachowas a term from the 80s, but he didn’t want to be mean and point it out.
“Therapy is fine,” said Jett. He could suffer through the awkwardness of talking to someone if it would result in marriage. “I’ll agree to it even if I’m not playing Monday, but I need to go to Florida. I need to fight this the way I always have—and I want that goddamn cup this year.”
Harrison wasn’t a smiley person, but he was when he was with Jett. If they didn’t have an audience, he would have obnoxiously kissed the upturned corners of Harrison’s lips until he pushed him away.
“Alright, Fraser,” said Harrison. “Continue with practice, and I’ll talk to Adams. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Jett grinned and smacked Harrison’s ass playfully with his stick as he skated past him. “Yes, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”
Harrison’s chuckles followed him to center ice, where Bracken and Cote were waiting for him. It was time to perfect their power play line so they could beat the shit out of the Barracudas.
“You done flirting, Jetty?” Bracken teased, holding back laughter when Cote snickered beside him. “Ready to get back out there and show the bastards why you’re the best?”
Jett took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He was where he belonged, and Chase could never take that away from him.
“Hell yeah, fuck yeah.”
Harrison
The mood in the locker room was jovial, but Harrison could feel the hidden tension under the smiles and bickering. Jett had finished his last blue sports drink to quell his superstition and was quietly taping his stick while Wolf and Cormier chirped over the top of his head. He was outwardly behaving fine, but Harrison was keeping his eyes open.
Robert had travelled with the team to Florida, so he had support if shit hit the fan, but Harrison felt the urge to knock on wood to keep back bad karma. Jett needed this night, even if they lost the game—he needed this to refocus his mind on something that wasn’t his brother and the media frenzy.
And there had been a frenzy.
Reporters attacked them at every opportunity. Some tried to sneak past security to get near the locker room, while others waited for the chance when they were getting on and off their bus. Security did a good job of keeping them at arm’s reach, but they couldn’t stop them from shouting questions.
