“Wait for me,” said Harrison.
“Police, open up!”
“I will,” Jett promised. And then he ran to answer the door.
He pulled the blanket tighter around his waist as he stumbled to the entryway, his bare feet slipping slightly on the wet, wooden floor. His heart was still hammering from everything, and his shaking made him fumble with the lock, his fingers stiff from cold and panic.
The second the door swung open, the hallway filled with light and noise. Two uniformed officers stood on the porch, flanked by a pair of paramedics hauling gear behind them.
“Are you Jett Fraser?” one of the officers asked sharply, eyes quickly scanning his bare chest and the bruises already blooming there from Mike’s attack.
“Yes. He’s inside. He’s hypothermic, and—” Jett’s voice broke. He cleared it and stepped back. “He fell through the ice. He needs help now.”
The paramedicspushed past the cops without hesitation, medical bags thumping against their sides as they moved. Jett pointed them toward the couch by the fire and followed closely behind.
“He’s in shock,” Jett said breathlessly. “And—he’s been in a fight. His ribs might be broken. He’s—he’s bleeding from his head, and—”
“Sir, we need you to step back,” one of them said gently but firmly as he knelt beside Harrison to begin his assessment.
Harrison groaned at the commotion, trying to lift his head, but one medic pressed a gloved hand to his shoulder to keep him still. “Just relax, sir. You’re safe.”
Jett hovered nearby, watching as they checked Harrison’s vitals and clipped a pulse oximeter to his finger. When they turned Harrison onto his side to listen to his lungs, Jett saw the purpling bruises spreading across his ribs.
The sight made him dizzy.
“He… he fell into the water,” Jett explained, his voice cracking again. “The ice wasn’t strong enough to hold them both.”
The cop standing beside him made a note on a small pad. “Who was the other person?”
“Mike Smith,” Jett said. “He attacked Harrison. It wasn’t an accident—he had an axe.”
The officer looked up quickly at that. “An axe?”
Jett nodded. “You’ll probably find it on the lake with my shotgun. And footprints. There’s evidence out there.” He didn’t even realize he was shaking until the other officer draped a jacket over his shoulders.
“We’ll have a team sweep the property,” the officer said, and then added more quietly, “You saved his life.”
Jett didn’t feel like a hero. He felt cold, terrified, and seconds away from falling apart.
One of the medics waved to get their attention. “He’s stable, but he needs to be transported now. His body temperature is dangerously low. We’ll take him to Valley Regional—”
“I’m coming with him.”
The medic paused, then nodded. “If you’re family.”
Jett didn’t hesitate. “I’m his fiancée.”
That was enough. They loaded Harrison onto a stretcher and wheeled him toward the waiting ambulance. Jett grabbed a hoodie and sweatpants from the back of a chair and yanked them on while one of the officers walked him through what would happen next.
He barely registered the questions. All that mattered was Harrison.
As he climbed into the back of the ambulance and took the seat beside the stretcher, Jett reached for Harrison’s hand and didn’t let go.
Jett
NHL playoffs
Game 7 on home ice in Toronto
