If he did, he would lose Luca and Taylor forever.
“Oh, God, Harrison. Please tell me you didn’t do this to yourself?”
Harrison squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t deal with Jett being the one who discovered his weird game of chicken with death. Arlo, yeahsure, even if he would kill him if he found out—but Jett? They barely knew each other. This whole situation was too heavy for a new friendship to handle.
Then again, this might be a good thing. If he scared Jett away now, it would hurt less when he went back to Toronto and they inevitably grew apart.
It was strange to want to avoid the pain of losing someone he considered a stranger, but that was the way his damaged mind worked.
Jett leaned away to switch the water to a warmer temperature, and Harrison bit back a scream of pain. There were the pins and needles—and his stupid, fucking leg.
“I’m going to warm you up and help you out of here,” said Jett. His expression was so serious, and Harrison was a little loopy. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t.
“When you can talk again, you’re going to tell me what the fuck this is about.”
Like hell he was.
Jett smiled softly, as if he knew exactly what Harrison was thinking.
“You scared the shit out of me, Harrison.”
Harrison tried to brush Jett’s words off like he did whenever someone was concerned for him, but he couldn’t. It was different with Jett. Fuck, why was it always different with him?
The guilt eating his insides made the physical pain feel like nothing. Physical pain was easier to escape with medication and heating pads, but emotional pain? It was impossible.
That was why Harrison went through such drastic measures, like freezing himself to death in the shower. Sometimes, it was the only thing that helped.
Jett’s hot hand touching his arm made him jump, pain springing to life like he was being burned by the sun.
“Deal with it,” said Jett, and his grumbly tone suggested he was seriously pissed off. “You need to warm up. You’re a fucking idiot.”
Harrison would give him that one.
He had no choice but to stay where he was on Jett’s lap, teeth chattering and body shivering as Jett rubbed his arms and chest, cupping water in his hands and pouring it everywhere else he couldn’t reach. It hurt,but Harrison dealt with it as best as he could. He didn’t have the strength to stop Jett or push him away, so he kept motionless and compliant.
Eventually, he warmed up enough that Jett stopped rubbing his raw skin, settling for brushing his fingers through Harrison’s hair as he glared holes into the wall. His pissy attitude made Harrison want to laugh again, but that was currently too painful to attempt.
“I think the storm is over,” said Jett, refusing to look at him. “At least the power didn’t go out again.”
“Je-Jett…”
Jett’s gaze snapped to his. He was mad, but Harrison saw his expression soften for a split second before it was covered with a frown.
“We should get you dried off and in bed,” said Jett. “Do you think you can sit up on your own?”
Since his teeth were chattering, Harrison could only grunt in response. Jett steadied him with his arms and helped Harrison into a slanted, but upright position. He couldn’t move, but it put him under the shower spray, so it wouldn’t take him long to get on his feet.
He was aware of Jett leaving the shower and removing his clothes, the wet slap of fabric hitting the floor echoing loudly through the room. He kept his eyes averted as Jett swiftly dried himself before returning with a large, fluffy towel.
He shut the water off and went to work. Harrison wasn’t coordinated enough to fight, but he tried to push Jett away.
“Cnndoit myself—”
“Like fuck you can,” Jett barked. “You can’t even talk, so shut up and let me help.”
He didn’t wait for Harrison’s permission to continue, and he wasn’t bothering to be gentle as he roughed up his hair.
Harrison cursed and braced himself against the wall and Jett’s leg to stop from being pushed over. He didn’t know where Jett had learned his definition ofhelp, but Harrison was sure it didn’t normally mean trying to concuss them.
