“There’s no problem,” said Ryan, sounding far too stiff. “But you waltzed in here without telling anyone, and people are already talking. It won’t take more than thirty minutes for the press to show up and try to sneak their way in.”
“Practice is good,” said Adams. “I understand that it’s something you need to do, but we want to make sure you’re secure and safe. Next time, please warn us so we can prepare.”
Wolf scoffed, folding his arms. “Prepare what? If one person looks at him, I will rip their eyes from their head and use them as hockey puck.”
Warm affection for Wolf spread through him, taking the edge off his anxiety. It was starting to hit him—he had left his house, where he was safe, and stepped into a world that intended to do him harm.
He hadn’t been thinking straight. He blamed his lack of sleep and the stress, but now that he was facing the consequences of his actions, he felt panic surging.
The hiss of blades cutting over ice told him that Harrison had joined them. He could hear the off-kilter slide of his limp.
Jett turned to check on his boyfriend, finding Harrison’s scowling face as he approached. He wasn’t mad at Jett; he was scowling at the group of men surrounding him like they were the enemy.
“Is there a problem?” Harrison said, blue eyes narrowing on Ryan.
Jett heard Ryan’s sharp intake of breath, and then he was moving away from him, gloved hands held high in surrender.
“Jesus, Killinger—we’re not interrogating him, we’re just asking him to tell us when he’s coming to practice next time.”
The way Harrison was holding his stick suggested he wanted to cross-check Ryan in the face. “Back off.”
They went still, and Wolf let out a whistle. “Big man is grumpy.”
“Big man is wondering why you’re over here slacking when you could be working on that shitty backhand of yours,” said Harrison.
Adams promptly excused himself, and Ryan grabbed Wolf in a choke hold, dragging him away before he started a fight.
A smile was beginning to form on Jett’s face. It was business as usual here, and for that he was glad. He hated the thought of their team dynamic being thrown off because of him, but—
“This is too soon?” Harrison guessed, finishing Jett’s line of thought.
This wasn’t the time or place to cuddle up to his coach, but Jett needed to be near him. He settled for standing shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning against Harrison’s larger frame.
Harrison used his stick to steady himself, and Jett jerked back when he realized he was putting too much weight on his bad side, but Harrison yanked him back.
“My leg is fine.” Harrison positioned them so that he was shielding Jett from the team, giving him privacy. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
“I woke up,” said Jett. “I felt better, so I thought,Hey, I’ll try working out for the first time in forever. Running on the treadmill put stupid ideas in my head, and I left the house like a crazy person and came here. I’m not sure there was much thinking behind it because I was running on adrenaline.”
Harrison hummed, hisgaze trailing over Jett’s body, making him feel hot. “You’re a whole bucket of panic mixed with spontaneous ideas. It’s a very interesting combination.”
Jett blew out a laugh. “Interesting or annoying?”
“If I’m being honest, a bit of both,” Harrison said, muttering. “But you do like to keep me on my toes.”
Jett stared at him, and smirking, Harrison tugged one of his curls from under his helmet and twisted it around his finger.
“I want to play on Monday,” said Jett. He hoped his expression showed how serious he was about that statement.
Harrison’s smirk faded, and he let go of his hair. “Two days of reconditioning after a long break isn’t enough—not against Florida.”
“Don’t care.”
“Jett—”
“No,” Jett hissed. “You don’t get to demand I get out of bed and send your minions after me, and then not let me play when I finally come back.”
