All the speculation and drama over Jett Fraser’s return was ridiculous. Fans were blowing up social media, and every host on every channel and podcast had something to say about whether Jett was playing in the game against Florida or not.
When Jett spent practice with the team in Florida that morning, everyone lost their minds.
Harrison hated this part of hockey. He hated the politics and the mind-numbing conversations about personal shit that no one needed to know. He hated the witch hunts that often took a severe toll on a player’s mental health. He hated seeing the joy drain from Jett’s expression when he saw something on TV or heard staff gossiping too loudly.
He wasn’t well. Jett was hiding it masterfully, but Harrison knew better. His boyfriend tended to panic and do things that made himuncomfortable—like randomly waking up one morning and deciding to come to practice.
Jett wasn’t hiding in his bedroom anymore or avoiding his father at home, but he was still withdrawn when things went quiet. He also wasn’t partaking in the banter from their chat group, which Harrison wasn’t pushing because he understood that the guys could be a lot, but he hoped things would change soon.
“I’m not a great judge of social situations, but he looks good,” said Adams, gesturing toward Jett.
Jett was cackling at something Poers had said about the Florida team’s goalie while he strapped his gear on. They were about to go out for warm-ups.
“His shoulder is still tender, but he’s in the zone,” said Harrison. That hit to the boards almost snapped Jett’s collarbone, so he was lucky it was only two weeks of rest and rehabilitation. “We’ll see how he is during and after the game, and I’ll give you my opinion once we’re back in Toronto.”
Adams nodded curtly. He just needed someone trustworthy to handle the human and social aspects for him, because hockey players were rough around the edges, and not always straightforward in conversations.
“This will all settle down once he’s played a few games,” Adams said, fidgeting with his notebook that he always carried around. “By the time you return from Christmas break, everyone will be focused on other things like the All-Stars Competition and locking in a spot for the playoffs.”
He wasn’t wrong. Christmas always felt like a reset, and hopefully by then, someone else would get caught in a scandal, so Jett could fade into the background.
“Jett will be in the spotlight no matter what we do. He’s in the running for the Hart Memorial Trophy again this year.” Adams stated it as a fact. “He had a slow start, but he’s been picking up points rapidly. By the time we hit March, he’ll be working his way to being a top-five player, and the tide will switch in our favour. No one will want to listen to stories that badmouth their hero, so we just have to hold on until then.”
“Agreed.”
It was two minutes until warm-up. Adams clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention, and the room went almost quiet. “Warm upand mind your manners—I don’t want to see anyone towing the red line. Save the fights for when the clock is running, gentlemen.”
There were jeers and laughter in response. All the guys knew the comment was directed at Wolf and Bracken, and maybe Bennet Ross, who had a rivalry with the Florida captain.
They stood and lined up in the hall, and Harrison held a hand out for fist bumps as they passed by. Except for Jett, who yanked him into a chaste kiss and scurried from the room before Harrison could scold him, laughing when Bracken cat called and slapped Jett on the ass.
Harrison sighed at how ridiculous they were being and followed everyone out, adjusting his wrist cuffs and straightening his dress shirt so he was presentable.
The cheers of the Florida crowd were deafening. These fans were hardcore and thirsty for a cup after coming close the previous season. The Barracudas put on a huge spectacle as they hit the ice, but he could feel the attention on the Sunbursts as everyone waited patiently for them to join the home team.
Jett turned to give him a thumbs up and a sunny smile, and then he was through the gate, and the cheering from the crowd became a roar. There was a lot of blue in the stands, and it was obvious that they were there to show their support for their star player.
Harrison caught a glimpse of Jett’s red face as he did a loop with the puck, and found himself smiling. He was about to join Adams and the rest of the staff behind the bench when a cluster of children wearing Sunbursts jerseys started calling out to him, waving their hands wildly to get his attention.
“Killinger! Sign our shirts,please!”
“Twenty-five! So cool—please!”
One of the female staff ran over to him with a Sharpie, and Harrison could see no reason to say no. He spent ten minutes of warm-up laughing as the boys whipped off their jerseys to pass to him, jumping up and down excitedly and babbling about how cool he was.
Harrison took the compliments, and he made sure to sign the jerseys of two little girls who could not follow the boy’s example of undressing. He didn’t have sticks to hand out, but he made sure that each ofthem got a puck and a fist bump from him, and then he was free to get behind the bench to join Adams.
He caught Jett’s dad watching him from his seat behind the Sunburst bench, his face red and eyebrows waggling.
Harrison ducked his head, refusing to acknowledge how warm his cheeks felt after seeing Robert’s knowing gaze on him. The man was yelling something, but thankfully, the music and crowd were too loud for him to hear.
He turned his attention to the ice where Jett was stretching beside Bracken. The Sunburst guys were avoiding the red line just as Adams had asked, but it didn’t stop Florida from provoking on their side, blades crossing red paint tauntingly.
The worst instigator was their captain, Josh Campanelli, who was looking for a fight, judging by the glare he was giving Jett. Loic Beauregarde, a giant, red-haired beast of a D-man, was eyeing his captain with a scowl, but it was hard to decipher what it meant.
The Barracudas liked to paint a picture of being a perfect team that had the same vibe as a frat house pool party. Their social media agent posted thousands of pictures from the gatherings their players hosted, which were all extravagant and over-the-top.
Harrison found them cringy as hell, but their fuckboy behaviour drew a huge group of loyal fans who gladly looked past the toxicity. Even their coach boasting about their team having no gay players had been overlooked, and was surprisingly welcomed.
