The coach got fired, of course, but Harrison was sure the sentiments lingered around every aspect of the team. It was obvious in the way their captain was glaring at Jett, and he wasn’t the only one.
Jett paid no attention to them. He paused his stretching to take easy shots at Powers so he could warm up, his golden-brown eyes damn near shinning with happiness.
When they approached the last minute, Jett skated to the bench with a cheeky grin on his face, waving at his dad behind the glass.
“Why do you look so hot?” Jett asked over the thrumming beat of the music.
“Keep it professional, Fraser.”
Harrison would be lying if he said the flirting wasn’t doing anything for him, but they were at work, and every camera in the arena was pointed in their direction. And to prove his point, a group of girls in the nosebleed seats started hollering with excitement when they spotted how close he and Jett were.
“Come give me a pep talk, Coach,” Jett said, winking as he skated away. The clock had made it to zero, so it was back to the locker room until puck drop.
“It’s not going to be much of a pep talk,” Harrison said into the room of chatting men. They went quiet when they heard him talking, determined eyes locking onto him. “This is what we’ve been practicing for. We know they’re going to get physical, so make sure you take the hits well. Bracken is one pulled muscle away from a 2–4-week vacation, so keep your heads up.”
“Why am I getting singled out?” Bracken scowled, looking to his teammates for support, but they all turned away and laughed.
“Because you’re fucking old,” said Wolf, slapping him on the shoulder. “I was going to bring you crutches to use instead of hockey stick two seasons ago until Powers showed up and gave you reason to live again.”
Bracken punched his arm. “Fuck you.”
“Florida is soft from spending too much time in the sun,” Harrison said, swiftly quieting the room into a hush. If he could do anything to help Jett win this game, it was getting this team on target and ready to kick some ass.
“They spend too much time partying and enjoying the status of being in the NHL, when they’re a subpar team at best.”
There was a round of agreement, and Harrison continued.
“But you’re the goddamn Sunbursts. You spend your Torontonian winters chest deep in slush, and your summers with your balls stuck to your legs. You sweat and bleed and fight for this team in the hardest fucking city on this continent to play hockey in. Our fans? Brutal. But our team? We can fucking do this. It doesn’t matter if you were born in Canada or if this is just where you ended up, but we embrace everyone who makes hockey their game. Let’s go out there and teach those fuckers that while they’ve been sitting by the pool sipping cocktails and posting on TikTok, we’ve been playing fucking hockey. Now, let’s go get us a win.”
Cheers erupted, and Adams nodded his head in thanks. He greatly appreciated Harrison taking over the speeches before games because even if he didn’t say much, he admitted that rambling about statistics wasn’t exactly inspiring.
Jett trotted over to them, and Harrison’s attention shifted to gorgeous golden eyes and blond curls. “You good to go?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jett was practically dancing on his blades. He looked more like himself than he had in weeks. “I don’t even care what the outcome is. I just want to get out there and play.”
They were about to line up. The guys were headed to the hallway, but when they saw Jett and Harrison standing close, a chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” went up.
Jett turned the colour of a tomato, already eyeing the hallway like he was about to run. Harrison huffed a laugh and quickly kissed his warm cheek, gaining another round of cheers.
“No!” Wolf shouted over the loud voices. “It has to be like the one on TV for it to work.”
“I’m not turning our kiss into a game ritual!” Jett yelled back, and then he took off into the hallway to follow Bracken out.
“But we won that game!”
Wolf tried to catch him, his voice echoing in the hall. “It worked then, so it should work now! Get back here!”
Harrison and Adams followed the team, hanging back as the guys bumped into each other to get fired up, and Jett wielded his lumber at Wolf like he was trying to fight him.
“They’re happy to have Fraser back,” Adam mused.
“So am I,” said Harrison.
Jett
The lines had been moved around to add more balance to the team, so Jett was on the first line with Bracken and Ivan Hellström again, and Cote was on the second line with Oliver Cormier and Wynn Hayes.
He was proud of the kid. Cote had been a shy rookie at the start of the season who barely spoke, but now he was a very assertive and valuable player on his line.
