Page 83 of On the Power Play

Jack raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open before his knuckles hit the wood.

Country pulled him into a hug. "What the hell, bud, I haven't seen you in ages."

"I was at the game Tuesday."

"You didn't come to the pub." Country pulled back and motioned for him to come into the house. Jack stepped in and took off his shoes.

"Yeah, we had to scoot."

"Press has been a bit much, eh?"

Jack sat on the couch in the living room and scanned Country's bookshelves. "That's why I'm here. So I don't piss anyone else off."

Country laughed and dropped into the chair across from him. "Good luck with that. If you ever want to feel good about yourself, read some of my YouTube comments."

"Never read the comments." Jack lifted his hands behind his head and stretched over the back of the couch. He'd made that mistake when his name and player profile first exploded in articles and posts all over Canada.

"So." Country leaned over his knees. "How are things?"

"Good. How are things with you and Jenna?"

"Good."

"Good."

Jack's chest tightened. The guys on the Snowballs were his best friends in the city, and it seemed wrong to keep such a big secret from them. He couldn't tell Tyler and Brett, but Country understood living in the spotlight. He had to deal with the same kind of celebrity. He got away with saying whatever the hell he wanted on his livestreams, but Jack had never once heard him throw one of their teammates under the bus.

Jack cleared his throat. "I signed a contract."

"For next season?"

Jack shook his head. "I wish. No. A contract with Delia."

Country's brows pulled together, the wheels turning in his head. "You're going to have to give me a little more than that, bud."

Jack dropped his hands and rubbed his palms on his jeans. "She and I are together for publicity purposes.” He let that sink in a moment. “I contracted for appearances and social media?—"

"No. Shit." Country laughed out loud. "What day is it?" He pulled out his phone and opened the calendar.

"It's past April Fools if that's what you're wondering."

Country looked at him in disbelief, then launched into twenty questions. Jack gave him the best answers he could. Saying it out loud made him hyperaware of how much extra time he’d spent with Delia. He'd done more than the minimum, and ever since he'd started asking himself why, he couldn't stop. Why did he think to text her at night before going to bed? Why did he think of her when planning anything with work or the team?

He'd had to force himself to touch her. To kiss her. But not because he didn't want to. It was exactly the opposite. He wanted it too much.

So, he'd dropped into playing a game with himself. Wanting things he shouldn't and justifying why it was reasonable to have them given their business arrangement. It had worked up until Tuesday night at the game. When he'd seen her sitting in the stands. Then every rationalization sagged and broke apart like a toothpick and marshmallow bridge.

“I don’t know, bud. I saw the pictures. You two don’t look like you’re pretending.” Country raised an eyebrow.

Jack had avoided going online since Tuesday. He’d answered his chats and checked his email, but he wouldn’t allow himself to open up his apps. He’d long since deleted his old profiles since previously, every time he logged on, there would be some memory popping up of him and Angie. Now it was him and Delia. He didn’t want to see that other Jack. The one who could hold Delia’s hand without guilt and kiss her in the stands.

When Jack didn’t say anything, Country sobered and let out a long exhale. "If I can give you some advice?" He rapped his knuckles on the coffee table between them. "It's okay to want to be happy."

Country’s words cut through all the chaff and sank deep, brushing the surface of the inky well gaping inside him since Angie died. He'd tried to bury it. Tried to ignore it. When that hadn't worked, he'd gotten damn good at closing it off most of the time, even if it meant turning his back on everything connected to it. He lived comfortably in the top half of himself, floating on the surface and never allowing himself to dive deep.

It’s okay to want to be happy. Like hell, it was. How could he be happy when she was gone? When she didn’t get to feel that jolt of electricity in her chest at a touch or the rush of adrenaline from a kiss?

“I lost my fiancée, Country.” The words scraped out of him. Rubbing his throat raw. “She died three years ago.”