“Are we taking your car to the rink?” Jett asked instead, shoving a final chip in his mouth so he could focus on chewing, and not wondering what Killinger was hiding in his pants.
“Not unless hell freezes over,” Killinger muttered. He motioned for Jett to follow and strode to the front door.
Jett tossed the bag of chips on the counter and wiped his hands on his pants. “If we’re taking your car, I have to get the gear out of mine.”
But Killinger wasn’t walking toward the cars, he was walking toward the shitty, wooden-planked wall that stood out like an eyesore next to the idyllic-looking lake house. Something about the wall gave Jett the shivers. Whatever was hiding behind it couldn’t be good.
“I checked this morning, and we should be good to go,” said Killinger. He took an overgrown path next to the house and disappeared behind the wooden planks.
Jett tried to man up and follow him down the path, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at what was on the other side of the wall. He could hear a whirring sound, like a large machine buzzing that he hadn’t noticed before. He was scared that he was about to come face to face with a slaughterhouse where they cut up cows.
“Uh…Harrison? You’re not hiding a murder shack behind this wall, are you?”
Killinger popped his head around the corner and raised a brow. “No, this is where I cage my ego.”
Jett frowned. “You’re not fucking funny.”
“Are you actually scared?” Harrison returned to Jett with his brows furrowed. He put his hand on the back of Jett’s neck and pushed him forward, giving him no option but to obey. “Seriously, Fraser, you’re a bit of a chicken-shit.”
Jett couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. If he thought he’d found it hot when he stepped outside, it was nothing to how hot he was now. He didn’t know what this scruffing move was or what it meant, but Jett would follow Killinger anywhere as long as he kept his hands on him like this. The way his body relaxed into the controlling touch said something about himself that he was quickly discovering.
There was no murder shack behind the wall, only a giant warehouse-looking building that made him pause in shock until Killinger directed him onward.
“Killinger, what the fuck?”
The hand on the back of his neck tightened. “You’re not about to be killed. Fuckingrelax.”
Jett was pushed through the door and finally released. He had to squint in the dark after being in the sun, but when he started to make out shapes, every thought inside his brain stuttered to a stop.
They stood inside a standard gym with new exercise machines and more in-depth physio equipment. It was amazing, but it was the space beyond the room that Jett couldn’t wrap his mind around.
A rink, a huge rink. Maybe a full-sized rink.
Was he dead? Was this heaven?
“Holy shit, Killinger!” Jett turned and smiled. “This was here the whole time? Why was it hidden?”
Killinger wasn’t looking at him or appeared to hear him. He stared at the parallel bars blankly, his blue eyes dark with whatever memory haunted him.
This wasn’t a place where Killinger had come to have fun. This was his recovery room.
“Harrison.” Jett’s hand reached for him before he could stop, his knuckles brushing over the back of Killinger’s hand. “Hey, we don’t have to do this.”
Harrison’s gaze snapped to their touching hands.
“I can go to the rink in town and practice there. That way you can stay at home, and you only have to stop by if—”
“Gear up and get on the fucking ice,” said Killinger. He drew his hand back and stepped toward the door to the rink without waiting to see if Jett had listened.
Jett was starting to understand that the cursing and dismissive attitude was something that Killinger did to cover up the pain he was in. He didn’t take the rejection of his touch seriously, not when it was obvious that this was all fucking with Killinger’s head.
It didn’t stop him from wanting to grab the guy and hug him—hold him through that initial struggle that he knew would happen until Killinger gave in and accepted the affection. It would probably help ground him after so many years of pushing people away.
If Jett felt like it was doable, he was going to try. If they were going to be friends, they had to be friends on his terms too, and Jett loved physical affection.
Killinger would just have to be taught to accept it.
Harrison
