“Do you need to come into my crease for a cuddle session?” Jason asked him in total seriousness.
Jett tried and failed to keep from smiling. It was impossible not to laugh with Jason waggling his eyebrows at him like a weirdo.
“Bro, I don’t want anything to do with your crease,” said Jett. “But thanks for the offer.”
“Oh, come on. Rai says crease cuddles always make him feel better.”
And again, Jett didn’t feel bad for mistaking them as a couple. Jesus, Harrison would have a field day whipping these idiots into shape.
He must have made a face because Powers grabbed his arm to steady him. “Shit, that wasn’t offensive or anything, was it? Did I push a boundary?”
Jett loved his team. They were seriously the nicest, most welcoming guys.
“No boundaries were pushed, Powers.” Jett lifted his glove for a fist bump, which Jason happily obliged. “I’ll be okay. I’m just working through some shit. Tell Bracken to put a hold on the Disney sleepover for now, and I’ll get my head screwed on right.”
“Dude, we’re still doing that sometime,” said Powers, smiling wide enough to show off all his perfect teeth. “The day after we win the cup, it’son.”
Goalies, Jett decided, were a different breed of human.
The yelling settled into mumbled bickering as the whistle blew, signalling the return to their game.
Jett accepted another rough pat from Powers and went to center ice for the face-off. There were still plenty of glares from Wolf andexasperated eye-rolls from the rest of the team, but they were back in sync—more or less.
Bracken won the face-off with a simple flick of his wrist, and Jett took position on his right with Hellström on his left. They barreled down the ice, finally getting in sync with each other for the first time that day.
Wolf pushed between them to block, but Jett was ready to catch a pass, using his speed to weave through the opposing team’s defence like he was used to doing. Hellström was open, but Jett was feeling good about his position.
He slapped the puck toward the left side of the net, grinning as Jason overcommitted to the block. It ricocheted off the boards and came flying back at him, and Jett took a split second to aim before firing it cleanly into the open gap he’d created.
He was still off, and he wasn’t used to having a goalie in the net, but the shot was heading for the upper-left corner—only until Powers dove for it at the last second and caught it in his glove.
He had failed, but the look of shock on Jason’s face was enough to make Jett laugh out loud, resting his hands on his thighs while he caught his breath.
So. Fucking. Close.
“What the fuck, Jett?” Bracken stopped beside him and stared at the space between him and Jason, who was looking down at the puck in his hand like it had all the answers in the universe.
No, wait. He wastalkingto it.
Jett shook his head at Jason’s behaviour and turned to his captain. “I told you guys I didn’t get much rest.”
Hellström snorted a laugh and skated off, but Bracken continued to frown at him, waiting patiently for Jett to explain.
“Later,” said Jett, pushing toward the new face-off spot as the whistle blew again. He knew Bracken was waiting for him to talk about what happened with Harrison, but hecouldn’tright now.
As the practice game moved on, he knew he was being watched. If he were on any other team when he tried Killinger’s trick, he doubted it would be noticed, but he played for the Sunbursts.
This team had watched hundreds of clips and highlights from Harrison’s games before he got drafted, so the guys would easily recognizewhat he had tried to pull off. There was lingering excitement and anticipation every time he touched the puck, but he didn’t want to try it again.
Coach Zackery Adams was on the ice with him, and his eyes were locked onto Jett no matter where he was on the rink. It was too much pressure right now, and pressure was the last thing he needed when he was still playing like shit.
He was so pathetic. He promised himself he wouldn’t let his relationship with Harrison distract him, but he knew his agitation was showing as the hours passed.
The final whistle blew, and Coach gave Jett a look sharp enough to pin him in place—a silent warning that if he didn’t pull it together, there’d be an office chat in his future. Jett sighed and slumped.
He quickly geared down, cooled down and hit the shower so he could return to his hotel room and sulk, but Bracken stopped him on his way out and pushed him into a small side-hallway.
“Alright, talk,” said Bracken, posturing himself so Jett wouldn’t attempt to get around him and escape. “I can’t take another day of you listening to Lana Del Ray on your headphones so loud that I can hear the angels weeping in the chorus. I feel like I’m a part of the world’s sappiest, tragic love story.”
