“I dunno, I think Jett let that cat out of the bag.”
Laughing, Bracken skated off, giving Harrison a salute as he went to join Jett by the net with Powers. Harrison’s gaze landed on Jett’s back and the number standing out in white against navy blue.
25.
Jett
Fuck, so much had happened lately that Jett forgot what it was like to play against Arlo Townsend. And by the end of this game, he knew it would be beaten into his head to make sure he never did so again.
Arlo was nearly as tall and broad as Harrison, with the Killinger temper to match. Whatever Montreal had taught him during training camp was working, because unlike their summer game, Arlo was playing for real and to win.
Jett rounded Montreal’s net and fired a lightning-fast pass to Bracken—just in time to get slammed into the boards as Arlo drove him hard into the corner. He hit the ice with a thud, but before the sting could settle, the arena erupted with the sound of a goal horn and flashing lights.
Grinning, Jett let out a whoop of victory and scrambled to his feet, skating over to Bracken and the others. He smacked Bracken hard on the back, the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins.
“You’re annoyingly fucking fast,” said Arlo’s panting voice beside him.
Jett circled him, grinning as he watched Bracken skate to the bench for celebratory fist-bumps from the team.
“And you’re just fucking annoying,” said Jett, turning to face Arlo. “Try hitting me a little harder next time. I still have a few bones that aren’t broken.”
Arlo cackled and backed away, grinning as Jett followed him to the next puck drop. “Harrison still looks pissy,” Arlo shouted over the announcer and screaming fans. “Are you telling me sex isn’t enough to cure him of that permanent scowl?”
“I imagine the scowl has something more to do with the fact that you just battered his boyfriend, Townsend.”
“You guys are gross,” said Arlo. “After all the shit I went through to get you two together, you owe me dinner tonight.”
“Arlo!” Montreal’s captain, Étienne Leroux, was already waiting at center ice as they came to a stop. “You’re up. Talk later.”
Jett still had another minute left of his shift, so he took his place next to Wolf as they braced for the puck drop.
“It’s fucking weird,” said Wolf. “Killinger and Townsend might as well be twins.”
“Focus, Wolfy,” Jett told him.
The puck dropped.
The Sunbursts won 3–2, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy. Montreal always brought their A-game, but there was something impressive about how Arlo and Leroux played together. It didn’t feel like Arlo was a rookie—it felt like Leroux had been receiving passes from him his whole career.
Their goalie was a huge pain in the ass too, but Jett had outsmarted him in the end, winning the game with a buzzer beater that he scored from behind the net. The D-man chasing him tried to start a fight, but Leroux quickly stopped it, dragging his teammate away like he was a child in need of scolding.
The Montreal captain was so calm and relaxed. He stood out in the group of testosterone-charged puckheads that all wanted to kill each other. Jett envied the way he stayed so cool in every situation. Arlo needed someone like that to keep him in line and make him a better player.
Jett’s skates barely left the ice when Coach pulled him aside. The music blasting overhead was deafening, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the wordinterview.
Great, that was just what he needed. He and Harrison had been lucky to avoid all the awkward questions people had been dying to know until now. It looked like that luck had run out today.
“Bracken will be with you,” said Coach, finally audible again once they entered the hallway leading to the locker room. “Keep the focus on the game and your career. If they start getting pushy, tell them you don’t want to answer the question and move on. The PR team has your back, and they’ll shut it down if no one takes the hint.”
They rounded the corner, and Jett lit up when he spotted Harrison leaning against the wall, looking as grumpy as ever. People milled around them, so he didn’t rush over and kiss him the way he wanted to—but the heat in Harrison’s gaze said he knew exactly what Jett was thinking.
“I got this, Coach.” Jett gave Adams a reassuring smile, which did nothing to erase the frown from the man’s face. “I won’t let them pester me about Harrison, trust me.”
“I wouldn’t give a fuck either way,” said Harrison. “If they want to be stupid and not do their job just to get some gossip, that’s their choice.”
“I like this guy,” Coach stated suddenly, gesturing for one of the staff to hand Jett a face towel to clean up before striding away.
Jett couldn’t remember coach ever saying he liked someone before.
